Violence is love.
I mean, that’s what I was taught growing up.
When my dad yelled and swore at my mother, pushing and punching her up against a wall, it was all out of love.
When my dad screamed at me, claiming I was a jinx and the reason his business was failing, it was all out of love.
I wore scars and bruises for years like they were my armor, but they were all signs of love.
Having broken bones had become a second nature to me. It was okay, it’s how my dad showed me that he cared about me.
All these thoughts boiled back down to my dad. One moment he was hug me and tell me I was important to him and then not much longer I would be wearing a brand new armor.
The sad part was, my teachers and classmates saw how I looked everyday, yet no one would say anything about it.
I spent all of my childhood and most of teenage years thinking that if someone loved me, violence would come with the deal. This thought process messed with my relationships. If I someone I was dating decided to manipulate me, it was okay in my books because they just cared. If they decided to get violent it didn’t matter because it was all out of love, and I of all people deserve love. If a ‘friend’ wanted to use me, I allowed it because I mattered to them.
I can’t believe I thought like this.
I can’t believe other people think like this.
I can’t believe I still think, to this day, that violence comes with love.