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Jan. 10th, 2014 11:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
promenyStill writing, and will continue to write. It has slowed down, though, since I only wrote 1,000 words or so yesterday. But I will finish it; that is a promise.
In any case, I thought about something about how messed up my family was (and is) about one or two days ago. I remember about two or so years ago, my father was telling me about love, and how you can love someone so strongly that you can actually sometimes hate the person on occasion. At first, I accepted that, because I was very inexperienced and naive at the time (still am, in quite a few ways). Not to mention that I've never really been loved by anyone, so as such I have no idea what love truly is.
But recently I thought to myself, that my father was really only describing passion, which is something that people with Borderline Personality Disorder have an excess of (my father, sister and very likely also my brother seem to have it). Love itself, as far as I know, is quiet and somber, and would never give way to hatred unless if you were completely betrayed (something BPD people seem to expect from others a lot, incidentally). Passion is really just the confusion and force of emotions, whereas true love is a constant, a quiet communion that results in forgiveness and understanding.
So as such it is sort of disheartening to think that my father never truly loved, let alone his family. He never fucking understood me, that is for sure.
I told my friend about this today, and she agreed that love wasn't like how my father described it.
I was fed so much misinformation when I was younger, up until I was in my late 20s. I can at least come to the truth on my own now, but I still ended up pretty warped.
In any case, I thought about something about how messed up my family was (and is) about one or two days ago. I remember about two or so years ago, my father was telling me about love, and how you can love someone so strongly that you can actually sometimes hate the person on occasion. At first, I accepted that, because I was very inexperienced and naive at the time (still am, in quite a few ways). Not to mention that I've never really been loved by anyone, so as such I have no idea what love truly is.
But recently I thought to myself, that my father was really only describing passion, which is something that people with Borderline Personality Disorder have an excess of (my father, sister and very likely also my brother seem to have it). Love itself, as far as I know, is quiet and somber, and would never give way to hatred unless if you were completely betrayed (something BPD people seem to expect from others a lot, incidentally). Passion is really just the confusion and force of emotions, whereas true love is a constant, a quiet communion that results in forgiveness and understanding.
So as such it is sort of disheartening to think that my father never truly loved, let alone his family. He never fucking understood me, that is for sure.
I told my friend about this today, and she agreed that love wasn't like how my father described it.
I was fed so much misinformation when I was younger, up until I was in my late 20s. I can at least come to the truth on my own now, but I still ended up pretty warped.
