Unloved

I’ve never had a good example of love growing up.

My mums version of loving me was to push. Not in the motivating way, in a way that takes what you want or need out of the equation.

‘I don’t want people thinking that I’m a bad mother’

‘You can do better’

‘I didn’t raise you to be like this’

I remember getting decent grades and it still not being enough. I remember feeling like my entire worth was tied to my grades and how useful I was.

I still feel like that, even though it’s been years since I actually put in any effort. Now I’m just a disappointment, someone she can’t brag about, can’t use as proof that she succeeded as a mother.

Love with my mother is a constant transaction, and the terms and conditions change daily. If you can’t conform, can’t give her what she wants then you’re the bad person.

Loosing my mother’s love has always been easier than gaining it.

Not that she doesn’t love me, she does. Well, no, she loves her children. She has to, she gave birth to them, raised them. She loves her children in the way all mothers are obligated to. She just doesn’t love me, Alex, as a person.

She’s never been in a healthy relationship either. Divorced twice, though to her defence, neither were her fault. I think her most memorable boyfriend was the druggie, who once took me to go buy some drugs.

They used to argue all of the time, big ones at 2am where she’d come into my room with bags and tell me to start packing his sh-t. A routine I shouldn’t have gotten used to so easily.

Then the stalking and all that, anyways I’m getting off topic.

My mother is a lot like her own, which is funny as my mum has always said that she doesn’t want to turn out like my Nan. Yet both seem to be incapable of truly loving anybody beyond what’s expected.

So my example of love isn’t healthy. It’s pretty warped, pretty none existent.

It also made me feel like I was the problem, like I just couldn’t be loved.

So I’d dated anyone who had shown interest in me. Surprisingly enough, it has been quite a few people. Men, women and anything in between.

I’ve never cared about the gender, more the person. A lot of, most, maybe all actually were really unhealthy. I just, I wanted to prove that I could be loved but now I think I did the exact opposite.

I thought my ex loved me, especially when I compared it to past relationships I’ve had. Now, I think differently.

I’m used to being used. I’ve volunteered myself plenty of times for it, not bothered about what it’ll do to me as long as I can help. I have an ex who dated me just to p-ss of their mum who worked at our High-school. I’ve had ex’s who are ‘just experimenting’, ‘wanna try something different’, ‘want an escape from reality’.

I threw myself into each relationship, despite their intentions because I’ve never been someone who doesn’t go all in. I want to make people feel loved, cared about. I want people to have something that I never have. I want to be kept, useful.

Sure, it means that I’m just a placeholder. I get that, I’m whoever you need me to be until you don’t need me. I’m used to that, it hurts sure but it’s like. My brains just wired to destroy itself. Does that make sense?

Now my ex, she was different. I know I go on about her a lot but you’ve got to understand that she was a big part of my life. She’s helped me be more self aware and realise a lot of things even if she doesn’t know it.

She made me feel cared about, seen, loved. I’ve never been so comfortable around another person. I can confidently say that I love her, loved her whatever. There’s no doubt in my mind about it, never a single moment of hesitation, never questioned it.

I love her like it’s just normal, like it’s a part of me. It’s easy to love her when it should be messy and complicated. Sure, the situation we were in was but the love wasn’t.

But now, I think that she was just using me. I’m different, I’m out there. I get that, I can get either bad or good attention. I’m the perfect person to experiment your sexuality with. I’m really open about my own, I’m sweet, kind and understanding. I’m easy, simple, not messy unless you get too deep with me.

I think I was just, fun. Easy. Simple. To her anyways. I think that she cared about me, I just don’t think that she loved me. Which is sad right? Especially when I could go on and on about how much I love her and why but also why there will never be enough words to explain how or why I love her, I just do.

Maybe it’s callous, maybe it’s unfair that I’m just thinking that she lied. Lied every time that she said she loved me, but it’s not a far fetched thought. In fact, it probably explains more that her loving me does.

Knowing this hasn’t helped me stop loving her at all btw.

Now I’m scared that it’s true. I just simply can’t be loved. I know that I’m a mess and I have a lot of issues but idk. If someone can’t love me like this, then why should I believe them if they say that they love me when I’m at my best?

My mother can’t love me and she doesn’t even know all of this. The depression. The dark dark parts of my mind. She just sees the ‘good’ and still can’t love me.

I don’t even love myself. Yet here I am, hoping that someone can love me eventually.

Thats normal though, somewhat. Wanting to be loved, to be seen. I just wish I didn’t feel so desperate for it.