Three wins for the Maple Leafs in a row, gotta love that. Except how some people love this hockey team is very confusing, which makes sense because love is a confusing feeling. I’ve been thinking a lot about what love means. What it feels like to be loved and what it feels like to love others. My concept of love is very… complicated… and definitely twisted by the magic that made me who I am.

I have no memory of my parents together, if I did it wouldn’t be a happy one. By the time they settled into their own stable and loving relationships it was already too late because I was getting raped on the regular. And because of my autism (and my extreme young age) I processed all that anger and fear and confusion and pain and desperation and loneliness as love.

As I sit now and actively consider the things, I think it was the molestation that formed the greatest part of my flawed perception. Seems like an obvious thought but when your whole world is turned into a swirling mess of confused and conflicting truths it’s important to consider everything, even the obvious stuff. The autism and the divorce made the soil where the seeds of rape grew very rich. It affected/effects every relationship I have or had. I couldn’t/can’t have male friends without having a tumult of confusion regarding my sexual orientation, because even if they aren’t asking me to blow them I probably should or else they won’t be my friend. I couldn’t/can’t have female friends because as soon as I feel any sort of warmth I became hopelessly and obsessively infatuated beyond all reason regardless of how destructive the circumstance may be. I couldn’t/can’t have a mentor of either gender because I do not perceive my having any value outside of being a fuck toy and so I shy away from anyone trying to reach out.

Fundamentally I learned that love is sex. I learned that pain and shame are just part of it and I learned that if I wanted to receive affection I would have to do things I didn’t like. The thing to remember is that none of this was processed actively, repression was a gift that my spirit gave to my brain so that I could survive until I was stronger. Not that I feel particularly strong, but definitely stronger than my four year old self. The problem is that realizing that sex and suffering are not synonymous with love doesn’t provide a replacement.

I am married. I have children. I tell them I love them because that’s what dads do. They tell me they love me and I hear them, but it doesn’t mean anything. Intellectually I understand what is being said, but there is no emotional impact. I spent some time yesterday playing with my kids and trying to pinpoint the feelings I had. My experiment taught me that love is unrelenting and unreachable expectations that escalate with every moment. Small sample size to be sure, but it proves that I have a lot to learn about what love is.

This might be the most useless and circular blog post I’ve ever made. I refuse to delete it though, there are lessons to learn and there is growth to strive for. Nothing can make up for all the time I spent feeling lonely and worthless but that time can be a jumping off point. I am surrounded by people who are determined to convince me of my value. I have access to compassionate friendship and inspiring role models in a way I have never had before. Or maybe I had access before but I couldn’t allow myself to take advantage because of how horrible I believe I am.

I still believe I am the worst and there is literally no point trying to help me because I’m destined to prove my pathetic failing nature, but I’m starting to understand that I might be wrong. I don’t have an answer for what love is, but I’m starting to understand that whatever it is starts with me. I’ve survived the worst part and I am not alone. It’s not too late to feel and I love that.