A Life Without Love

Although it was over 25 years ago, I remember like it was yesterday... it was my first impression of "love". She called me to her room and invited me inside. We used to spend hours in there playing school... a complete setting equipped with a chalkboard, books, ruler and even fellow classmates of the stuffed and fluffy variety. Everything was in place, as usual, but today's lesson and the ones to follow for years were "special" and performed behind locked doors. Instead of a chair or a makeshift school bench... the lesson was to be taught on the floor or sometimes the bed. She would remove her clothing, lay down and with a smile, invite me to join her there where she lay. She would direct me to lay upon her and showed me how to touch her and kiss her... "love" her. In those moments, while my innocence was stripped away from me, I played both roles in this lesson of "love". Not only was I the victim, but I had become the abuser... the molester and the molested. It wasn't the act that forever warped my understanding and definition of love and intimacy... I remember those times as a pleasurable, comfortable and safe environment. It wasn't violent, scary or awkward... it was "love" in my childish mind. A "special" time for me and my big sister...something I looked forward to and greatly enjoyed. It was years later, while on vacation, that the trauma sunk in and the damage done manifested itself, causing the confusion that I still battle with to this very day. She told me that we had to stop sharing these "special" moments together... that it was wrong and evil. I remember that day well... my heart broke and I had felt abandoned, rejected, unwanted and unloved. My inner child was screaming, "How can this be wrong, when it felt so special and safe? Why are you taking this away from me? How could you hurt me like this?". The circle was now complete... it was the beginning of the end. For the next 5 years, I buried all of those memories and returned to the "normalcy" of childhood. When my body began to change and started the process of maturing... I started to remember. I hated her for hurting me like that... taking away the "love" we shared. I wished her dead for all the heartache and I wanted revenge desperately. By the time I turned 15, she started to become physically ill and continued to become increasingly sicker. My hate, fury and confusion grew with her afflictions and soon the feeling of vindication settled upon me. For the past 10 years, she has been bedridden and unable to leave her house... sick with everything from auto-immune disorders, chemical sensitivity and now cancer. Looking back, I can see clearly that it wasn't just her that became ill, but I too had become sick... only mine is a mental sickness and dysfunction. I don't know what love is or how it is supposed to feel. I am unable to feel people's love they claim to have for me. I don't know or understand where the boundaries for relationships stand... the difference between a friend, family or romantic interests emotional ties. Everything is mixed and bleeds into each other, ultimately causing me to separate myself from all relationships in my life by the means of sabotage. Do I hate my sister now, years later... no. I hate that child, my younger self, for feeling the way he did during those "special" moments. It is just one example of the many things I have endured... just one reason why I hate myself.