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Love Is Not A Lost Language

Love is something that I've always believed in. It was believed in but not understood, based fully on assumption and misinterpretation. What I assumed to be love was a constant whirlwind of confusion, hurt, disappointments, all under the guise that I was supposed to deal with that because that came with the package. You know who's doing that was? My own. I never really had a representation of love. My parents weren't together after I was born, which wasn't a bad thing might I add, it's just one of those things that have always made sense. Speaking of parents, my only representation of *love* was one parent's volatile relationship with their partner. Throughout my teen years I watched them fight and argue in ways that weren't imaginable, it was like some shit that only happens in video games and comedy sketch shows only no one was laughing. Cheating, lying, destructive behaviors + actions with no regard for me or anyone else. In short: it was hell. The only positive takeaway from that volatile situation was that I didn't want that to be how I experience love, it was actually the first time that I even considered that I could have a choice in what love meant to me. Crazy how that works. Alas the road ahead was still very much full of bumps and potholes.


I thought I was in love once upon a time but after loads of reflection I've come to see things for what they really were. Looking back it wasn't love, it was attachment and dependence. It was a distraction from my home life, a way to runaway without actually running away. Because I was using that *love* as an escape I dealt with way more than I should've. Why? Because it was my escape and I didn't want to lose it, it was like a drug. The thing about drugs is that they can easily lead to addiction and dependence and that's exactly what happened. Two people trying to escape their problems was definitely a recipe for disaster. I repeated this same cycle for years and it was the hardest thing to accept that someone so close to me could be so bad for me but it's not like the signs weren't there all along, I just didn't want to see them. The flags were all around and they were blood red but I guess back then that was my favorite color. You live and you learn. You flow and you grow.


To be completely honest this experience scarred me from ever wanting to fall for someone again because falling hurts and that fall did not come with a parachute, crash pads, or life insurance and that just didn't sit right with my spirit. I equated that entire experience to love as a whole and made myself believe that all experiences would be the same. I allowed that feeling to consume me with fear and rule my life. How avoidant of me but it's ok because it was apart of the process. Following this I didn't take what I learned from the previous situation and I repeated the same patterns and cycles in different forms, it happens... Life. Human. A word of advice:


▪︎If you feel like you keep dealing with the same situations try looking at things differently (perspective change) and see what you can learn from the situation, rather than repeating the same actions and expecting different results. That's what helped me help myself.


So, you might be wondering what my stance on love is now and I do have an answer. Despite everything I still love, love. I am so full of love that I could never doubt it's existence or stray away from it, even if I've never seen it presented to me in a way that makes me feel at peace. I want to be my own representation of love or rather: I am my own representation of love and I'm damn proud of that. I still have lot's to learn and there's lots of growth to take place but I'm in no rush, this isn't a race and I'm finally content with the experience.


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