What Love is Not
It is not tirades of rage brought on by the casual mention of your past dating history.
It is not constant accusations and threats about who you may be seeing and where you've been when you leave the house alone.
It is not being called a liar when you have always told the truth, even when you were afraid to.
It is not going through the other person's phone because you don't trust them.
It is not lies and stories that paint him in a better light, and make him the victim.
It is not calling someone every vile name and using every insult you can think of.
It is not lying pinned down, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, with his hands clasped around your throat, hoping if you're quiet enough he will stop.
It is not "I'm sorry. I won't do that again. I promise I will change. I only do this because I love you. I would never really hurt you."
It is not growing so tired of the accusations that you stop leaving altogether, and you stay inside a 24' × 4' room all day.
It is not jealousy over contacting friends - accusations of there being a "history" with the male ones - so extreme that you stop contacting your friends altogether.
It is not learning how to cry silently, repeating some comforting words to yourself in your head, trying desperately to drown out "you fucking whore, worthless bitch, stupid cunt."
It is not throwing someone to the ground, pushing them against walls, kicking them in the face. Love is not grabbing someone so hard it leaves bruises in the shape of fingerprints.
It is not believing that if you could just be more supportive, more loving. If you hadn't slept with X number of other partners. If you moved to a different place. If you were more understanding, you could help him change.
It is not ceasing to take care of yourself, not wearing makeup or doing your hair so you don't seem like you're trying to get attention.
It is not someone pulling your hair so hard that a handful is ripped out.
It is not "you've been drinking, and if you leave I will call the police."
It is not staring into the night sky and wondering what I did to deserve this.
It is not "I'll kill myself if you leave."
It is not pointing a loaded gun at someone.
It is not avoiding songs you used to like, or tshirts you used to wear.
It is not being physically ill with fear of what may set him off.
It is not becoming so depressed that you can't even get out of bed. It is not silently praying every night that you don't wake up in the morning.
It is not destroying someone's beloved property. It is not locking someone in a room, locking the gate so they can't drive away.
Love is not when your grandmother is dying, and you can't see her more often because you live a whole state away and he won't let you travel alone.
Love is not jealous, angry, threatening, insults, suspicion and violence.
