My father never painted a healthy version of love for me. At a very young age, I believed in the unrealistic concept of buying love as deep as the sea.
It's an annual tax for ensuring a pillow to land on when the night dulls over your sins. Give everything you must to be adored by your kin.
An idea where love is limited and must be consistently charged with money but not time or affection. Being worthy of this love is bargaining each wrong action with penance, not human connection.
Even when I say no to help, opinions and money, even when it inconveniences me. This means I owe you and I just want to be free.
I become entrapped in a cycle of feeling angry at myself because you've convinced me I am ungrateful when I am upset with how you treat me.
Forcing me on a path of an internal struggle of not feeling okay with my own emotions, when I just want to be.
I will always have an unconscious belief that gifts equate to how much someone loves me, rip it out of me as no amount of affection or money settles me.
This is the kind of love that will rape you and leave you broken.
