"What was love like in your family?"
I was asked that today and I didn't know how to answer. I really had to think about it.
Love in my family was great until I was five. My parent's loved me, both of them. When my brother was born though, I was forgotten. It sounds so cliche and dramatic, but I've spoken about it with my grandmother and she confirmed how unfair the situation was. The favouritism. She felt so guilty that her daughter and son-in-law would treat their first child that way.
Love was near non-existent. I didn't get hugs from my parents. I got special grandad-hugs, hugs from my nana, hugs from cousins and friends. Not my parents.
Love was taking your kid to their big gymnastics competition to represent Western Province, and complaining all the way of how inconvenient it is.
I was inconvenient. Maybe that's why I struggle with love - love was taught to me by my family.
I'm called a drama queen for feeling.
Disciplined for having an imagination.
Medicated for being sad.
Beaten for being curious.
Cheated on for not being enough.
Teased for being different.
That's the only love I've ever known.
No wonder I'm screwed up. But I recognize it, and that's good, right?