You learn to love differently when you have tasted love just to lose it in the end.
I am a divorced child, of divided, uncertain background. Within this division I – supposed fruit of their love – no longer exist. It happened nearly forty years ago, yet to me nothing is sadder than my parents’ divorce.
Words are meaningless to you unless they are followed by actions. You believe neither in empty promises nor in intentions.
You learned at a very tender age about the significance of actions rather than meaningless words. The “I Iove you” and “I miss yous” and the “for better or for worse” don’t mean a thing unless they are executed through actions. The being there. The showing up for someone.
You pay no heed to sugarcoated shit like “but baby deep down you know that I love you” No. This means absolutely nothing to you unless they actually give their efforts to win your precious heart.
You don’t flinch when people ask about your parents. You have recurrently recapitulated the script in your mind. You have dealt with trust issues for a long time. Yeah, you don’t want the cliche labels: The one with abandonment issues. The forever unloved one. The one looking to fill a void.
You don’t want others to sympathize with you. You don’t want anyone’s pity – so you keep this pain hidden among your bones and flesh, where it is comfortable and warm, away from the nudging society, a tiny inkling that you need to fight every time someone tries to get close to you nevertheless.
At the same time, you are afraid of love. When you finally start feeling a connection with someone, you constantly question it.
Why should you not?
You’ve been the witness to what you believed, was an everlasting example of true love, shatter into millions of pieces, how fireworks eventually combust, how fierce passion evaporates into thin air and how promises are broken at the drop of a hat.
So you put up a shield you spent years crafting it – it’s a strong shield preparing you for the worst.