Alejandra's Writing

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

he loves me, he loves me notRemember the childish game of plucking daisy petals, one by one? The sure way to determine whether that special someone loved you or not.

“She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me…she loves me not…” 

We all remember the first love. The first high school crush. The first kiss. The first “special someone.” The first time you felt the fear that perhaps, that “special someone” just wasn’t really that into you. The first time that “special someone” betrayed you.

But…consider this. What if your first experienced betrayal was perpetuated closer to home? What if, perhaps…the first betrayal was done at home?

For the spouses or children who have lived a majority of their life with mentally ill family members, the first betrayal was in fact experienced at home. One minute, everything could be perfectly fine. Amazing even. The next minute, the gods alone could predict the outcome.

 

“He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me…he loves me not…”

 

This, dear friends, is the theme song for those trapped in a home with either an abusive spouse or a mentally unstable parent. There is never a surefire way to determine how to keep them happy. What works one day, won’t necessarily placate them the next. Your best will never be enough.

At first, you tell no one. Because after all…who would believe you? And deep down, you know it’s partially your fault. If you’d kept your opinion to yourself, you wouldn’t have frustrated her. If you hadn’t asked for that extra help with the dishes, you wouldn’t have overburdened him. If you hadn’t insisted on defending yourself, she wouldn’t have had a reason to scream at you.

If you. If you. If you. If you. If you

On and on the blame game goes. Why? Because…borderline personality disorder. Because…bipolar. Because…narcissistic personality disorder.  You were never given the chance to say, “No, please stopYou are hurting me!

 

“She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me…she loves me not…”

 

STOP!

Yes, yes…YOU. I am talking to you, wife of Mr. Narcissist. And to you, son of Borderline Personality Disorder. You need to stop singing that song. You need to rise from the ashes, and realize that you are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

You are enough.

 

And until you can believe it, I will believe it for you. 

you are enough

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