Do you know what love is?

Love is having walked away from an abusive family, rebuilding your life, and your sister’s husband ringing you in tears that she has childhood memories too and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Even though you are afraid, you don’t trust them (they could be spying for an abuser who’d previously harassed you, your friends and the other side of the family) you are selfless enough to let your ‘brother in law’ have your address. Against the advice of your loved ones. Your real family. You know she is in pain, and you remember 2015 and the hell it was and you don’t wish that upon anyone. You give him your address. You refuse to name names, but she guesses. You neither confirm or deny, you’re just there to listen.

That’s Love.

Do you know what love is?

Love is your abuser has died. You’re being slagged off because what you did to him was ‘unforgivable’. The fucking audacity of that. I never even named his name outside of my best friend, my mother and stepdad, an emotional support worker and my boyfriend. I didn’t give a statement on him when I was dragged into that situation with detectives and investigations having to revisit a past I didn’t want to revisit. They’ve taken up enough space in my mind and time in my life. ENOUGH. The only reason I gave a statement on one of the other pervert was because I believe he may still be a danger to society. Love is, being slagged off by a morally bankrupt delusional ex family. Gobshite cousins who didn’t know him. Some in a very fucked up stockholm syndrome kind of relationship with him. Utterly vile and bizarre to me. Slating me. All I want to do is scream from the rooftops what he did to me as a little girl. All I want to do is go to that funeral look them in the eyes and set the record straight. But Love is keeping a dignified silence because I know his son had to be cut down from the ceiling (thank God he was found in time). So Love is keeping my mouth shut and not contributing to anything that could push someone I have love for over the edge. Biting my tongue and it is hell. It’s is unbearable. I don’t quite know how to survive this level of pain yet, but I’m hopeful I will figure it out. I have kind souls around me. People who really do love me. I’ll bare the injustice, frustration and slander. I’ll keep it classy. I’ll move forward with my dignity and self respect.

Do you know what Love is?

Love is allowing your phone number to be given to someone who has been horrific to you. Even though you’re afraid of them. Even though they accused you of an attempt at extorting money (pathetic). I have evidence to prove that that’s BS. Try again. Fool. He asks for your phone number and even though he doesn’t deserve your sympathy or love you can’t help but still love the dude deep (very deep) down. You allow that phone number because you’re led to believe he’s had an epiphany. You’ve been led to believe maybe he feels remorse. Or has something meaningful to say. That he’s not in a good place. After everything he has done, and even though you’re afraid of his cruel disposition, you allow the contact. To be disappointed. But not entirely shocked. A message that could have been passed on through a mutual contact. A message that seems like an insult after all of this. At least it has made it easier to move on.

That’s love. That’s selfless. You can say a lot about me but selfish isn’t in me. It’s so far removed from my character.

I am disgusted that I let someone back in. Against the advice of everyone person who loves me. But they haven’t said ‘I told you so’. No. They said they wish they could protect my gentle heart. That they understand I can’t turn someone away, especially in distress not matter how intimidated I am by them or how cruel they’ve been to me.

Someone who’s main concern seems to be financial. Really? Why is someone so disgusting, so abusive, so perverted’s will constantly on your mind? Dirty money. Filthy dirty money. Why does being written out of the apparent ‘fortune’ bother you? Fuck me, integrity. It’s not a rejection. My name being on that paper would be a final insult. I demanded many years ago to be written out. I went to the length of showing him the charities the money would go straight to if I wasn’t written out. Around the time of the petty email all in capital letters from someone 30 years my senior telling me i’m uninvited to their funeral. This was over 10 years ago. Maturity eh?

Money evidently matters to people with zero integrity or self respect. I was an absolute fool for allowing a door open back into my life. I was an absolute muppet. You’ve been awful to me most of that time. When I tried to express myself, I was accused of wanting an argument. I read a quote that says ‘stay away from people who accuse you of trying to start an argument every time you try to express yourself’. Wow. That resonated.

I can’t live where I go to bed on an argument (life is short). I can’t sweep things under the rug and let them fester. I do the work. I talk things out and so do my loved ones and we have such authentic solid relationships now. My parents and I did the work. It wasn’t easy, but now we’ve truly moved on. Not clouded by resentment. Sure, there are things that still hurt but I don’t dwell on them and we’ve addressed their mistakes. My best friend and I talk everything through. We don’t let resentment build. Clean out the wound and let it heal.

When I said I want healing and peace, someone’s response was to tell me to fuck off and laugh. Really? That’s what you think of peace and healing? Wow. Fuck that energy. Bye Felicia.

Like my parents said ‘A leopard doesn’t change it’s spots’. I believe some people can change. But that requires integrity. A level of decency that none of them possess. I tried the arms length approached but even that left me returning home feeling depressed or feeling disrespected, annoyed… hurt.

I am under no illusion that i’ll be allowed to move on with my life without them trying to hurt me in ways still. It’s a heavy weight on my shoulders. I am careful now. I will not allow them the opportunity to hurt me but I know the route they’ll take. I see it on the horizon. I see their malicious plotting and scheming. They cannot stand anyone being happy or doing well. I have an anchor to them. An anchor I won’t try to lift because I love the anchor. But I know they know that how to crush me. Through her. I don’t put anything past them. No low too low. No act too malicious. I’ve voiced my concerns with her, and she’s assured me that they can’t do that, but I know the extent of manipulation others are capable of.

A family where you’d lock your memories in a box because .. money and being weak. A family where to get back at an ex wife you (allegedly) threaten to kill your two youngest children. Sick. A family where there’s (allegedly) a dog rapist on the family tree. I threw up when I heard that. I carry that shame with me. That that is on my family tree. Vile.

A family where the person who served time for abusing his stepdaughter is invited to her wedding and has a creepy relationship with her. Where he’s the photographer at a baby girl’s christening. Fucking embarrassing.

I will learn to not carry the embarrassment and shame of what they are/were one day. My friends will no longer have to remind me ‘It’s just DNA. It’s nothing you should be ashamed of. It’s not you’.

Dysfunction isn’t a strong enough word to describe the absolute bat shittery i’ve escaped. I’m tired of crying in the foetal position on the floor, planning the most selfless way to leave this planet, scared i’ll go to hell for committing the ‘sin’ of ending my pain, unbearable pain. To wonder if I’ll ever find real (romantic) love and not an asshole guy who uses me or a dude who does love me dearly and wants to grow old with me but doesn’t want marriage or kids. The latter is non negotiable to me.

I can’t imagine having a husband I can’t open up to. Or one wife after another on a carousel of shallow mean spirited women. I hope the latest instalment in that saga is a kind person who inspires him to be better. |An authentically kind woman. If she is such a beautiful soul I hope he doesn’t hurt her.

I can’t imagine having a mother who’d be angry with me after cutting me down from the ceiling. My heart broke when I heart that. I’d not have been angry. I’d have been an ear. I’d have been a reassurance. A gentle hug or tight squeeze. I’d have been better. Kinder. I’d not have prioritises anyone else feelings, certainly not my own. Just the person suffering. I’d hold them. I’d hear them.

I told my best friend, my true family, that I do not how to survive this amount of pain. But fortunately I have a hand to hold whilst I figure it out. Several hands.

I have Love.

Unconditional, authentic, legit love.

You cannot buy that.