How we Kill Ourselves Without Dying

We are all born alone in this world, and that is how we will die. “Unconditional love” is nonexistent, and maybe it is better that way.

I have loved, and cast myself aside for love and been broken by love. I have allowed myself to be isolated, and demeaned, shut out from what it is to live.

Love has conditions and needs. Love is demanding, and if you cannot meet its expectations, you are not loved, after all.

It begs to be heard, but falls into deaf ears. We cannot be loved without meeting the conditions of others, and no matter how you beg for it to- love will not change its form.

You cannot love unconditionally, and expect the same from men. Men do not know what love is but a set of conditions that we must meet, maintain. Love is a standard by which they judge our bodies, our malleable minds. Our ability to break.

We atone for sins we have not yet committed.

We pray for their forgiveness before we have done anything wrong.

We ask to be loved. We need it. It is all we ask for. They cannot give it.

Instead, they give words with teeth as sharp as wolves, and accusations with no ground. Accusations which, despite having no evidence, we cannot defend against. Because how do you defend against your future self’s actions? How do you say “I know I will not do that.” How do you make trust when there is none?

Instead, you bake trust like cookies and watch them devour it. You watch them sit on the couch, happily eating your food, and drinking your wine. Their eyes are hungry still, the eyes of a predator. You cannot feel comfortable in your own home.

You love him.

You cannot stop loving him. Even as his words shatter your soft heart, and leak from your eyes like stain. Even as his fingers caress you ever so gently and whisper words that mean nothing. It soothes you, it reminds you of what he has to offer. Gentle embraces, late nights, and feeling. Without this, could you ever feel again? Wouldn’t it be the same with anyone else?

Isn’t everything your fault? All the problems are because you are too stupid and ignorant to understand what hurts him. You understand that you are wrong, and that your love is sharp and thorny. It is a mercy he still holds you at all.

But his love retracts, dragging its claws heavily against the mangled thing you call a heart. Your cries fall into silence, even as his screams burn into your ears. His words hold you captive, they hold you above the precipice.

You fall.

“You are exactly like your dad.” He tells you.

Dying might feel better than those words, it would be a lighter sentence. My every movement etched with insecurity, my every thought filled with those words.

I do not want to be as blind as my father. I do not want to use my words to guilt him.I am filled with anxiety, constantly it buzzes through my head. I cannot sleep. I cannot stop thinking. I cannot let him leave me, although I sometimes wish he would. I wish he would leave me, so that I might be happy again. That is not to say I do not love him. I do, but he does not make me happy.

But my love was unconditional, and he did not need to make me happy to be loved.

That is how we kill ourselves without dying.