We grew up in a world where happiness was seeing your dad smile to your mom. Where he takes care of the groceries as she cleans the house. Where happiness was that glimpse of your mom's excitement when her family comes around. And joy was that day when she cooks your favorite meal as you sit next to her in the kitchen as she cooks.
We grew up thinking that dad loves mom, and mom loves dad. Thinking that they're fighting over who kept the toilet seat up, why she bought that pot without checking with him first. Thinking he was teasing her when he said that she got chubby. Thinking that she slept in the couch that night beccause she was up all night reading a book.
It was never the case for either of our parents. You suffered as much as I did. We realized early in life that dad never loved mom; the later was happy when her family came around because she was relived of my dad's constant nagging. They used to fight cause dad didn't care about her feelings when she shared what hurt her, because he beat her. Dad stopped loving my mom cause she got fat.. cause she doesn't satisfy him anymore, or maybe he just felt stuck.
We learned at a very early age that our parents don't really love us, rather invest in us. That our dads expect us to become their product not their kids. That our moms only care if we're pretty enough.
Yours left the moment things got hard, mine cared only after she believed every lie. Yours hit you and thought you'd never make it in life, almost killed you even, mine only started to believe in me when he saw me getting there.
The damage was already set and done when you met the woman that you thought you'd marry. You loved her, you cared for her, and spent what could be an eternity in your thoughts with her. She messed up, and until today she begs for another chance. Still, you find a way to put faith in me. The ones I trusted violated me, left me when I needed them the most, which lead to me never believing in ever finding something real ever again. Unlike me, you did. You came back and believed in the possibility of us making it. We are somewhere where no one else has ever been; we've been through the same hell, and still survived. Somehow, the only damaged piece is me. Yet I learned from you that some things are worth fixing.
But how can I be fully convinced in that, if you turn numb on me when I look at you? I don't feel you getting where I'm getting. Feeling so distant because of the idea that you're too broken to be fixed. Absorbing the sour truth that you might never love me. I feel lost and shattered every time I see myself being somewhere you're not, somehow, you find a way to hold me down. Reassuring me.
You're making me believe that
I am her.
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