What if

At times, I think of love as twisted and a kind of danger.

As if love should be something to fear.

“Love” has made people around me blind. And they’ve done some of the stupidest shit I have probably ever seen.

Love.

Maybe it’s not love though. Maybe what they create in their mind is obsession mixed with lust and it makes them toxic.

I’m not perfect. I know I am not. I am full of flaws. Psychologically and physically wise. I am aware.

I don’t know, maybe I’m the strange one for not following the pattern that most people in my family have taken.

“Love.”

Was “love” the reason my parents kept going back and forth to each other? Fighting and yelling and then later on in love forgiving and forgetting all. As if all was ok. Was it love all those years I saw them hurting each other mentally and physically. Was it love when I would see them talking and sharing affection and gestures that were meant for them to share with only each other but instead were directed to other people.

Like when I saw my dad kissing a woman when he would take us around the block on the big blue 3 wheeler tricycle after he said he told my mom he was going to take us for a walk as she stayed home. Or when I would hear my mom talking on the phone with men flirting and she’d go clubbing. Or when I heard the conversations she would have with my aunts.

Was that love?

Or what about the time I saw my mom destroy the apartment while she threw a tantrum like a child where we lived in. Picture frames broken, glass shattered, torn pictures scattered the floor, work certificates torn up. The screaming and yelling I still remember. Her locking herself in her room and not wanting anyone to bother her.

Or of the time my mom went to pick us up from my abuelita’s trailer and my father was drunk. He would not let my mom close the door to the van for her leave. We were already inside the van. We should have left. But they instead yelled at each other. And seeing as my dad grabbed my moms body and kept shaking her as she tried to pry herself out of his grip. He pulled her out of the van.

Was that because he “loved” her so much?

And he grabbed her hair dragging her through the gravel, rocks, dirt, and mulch as she pleaded for him to stop. Was all of it love? When he hit her and she did the same was all of that love for them.

“Love.”

Because despite that all that happened they still would find each other and end up together later on.

Only for it all to result in broken unrepairable hearts and souls and trauma that’s all been passed down.

“Love.”

Because even when we moved far away, hours away, and he being an illegal not being able to come my mom still drove to him and spent time with him.

“Love”

For the way they used to twist my mind and thoughts blaming each other. “It’s his fault. It’s her fault.“/ “He did. She did”. It’s because of her./It’s because of him. I did everything I could to make it work.”

Everything except admit your mistakes, admit them, and work on themselves. Everything, but think of the people around you.

Was it the reason why my father decided to end his life slowly by drinking and destroying himself inside. He used to say he loved his family. He used to say I want my family back.

Love wasn’t enough to save him though, but maybe it was enough to kill him.

Love

One of the reasons why I had my heart broken at such a young age.