“Y’know Tina, no matter what happens in my little arguments with your mom, I will always love her. She truly has showed me a new side of me since the day I met her.” My dad told me once when I was around eleven years old. To me, I thought that meant all men would say the same. My mom had told me once after my first breakup when I was fifteen, “You deserve happiness booger; you deserve someone to treat you and praise you the way your dad treats me and praises you. Someone to look like you like if you’re a million bucks.” From there, I realized my mom was right and started to set my standards up high. My dad absolutely loved my mom with his soul, he looked at me as if I was Simba being shown to the rest of the amazon after being born. 
But sooner or later, I realized what true kind of love my parents had. 
It wasn’t until I had reached sixteen years old that I had noticed that as much as my parents loved each other, they were envious of each other, they seemed to despise each other some days. By this time in life, I had been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and ADHD. I was a complete mess still trying to put myself back together. I was starting to self-sabotage every now and then, and generally had a terrible fallout until this one guy came into my life. I had already known him for a while and kind of liked him a bit, but never really did much until I found out feelings were mutual. From that point on, we were inseparable, just as my parents were. That should’ve scared me honestly, but I felt a sense of comfort in that thought. 
That relationship was too good to be true; We hardly ever had disagreements, hardly ever fought. I was happy, I felt loved. But at the same time, I felt myself slipping away. 
I didn’t feel like myself anymore.  
That’s where I realized I was becoming my dad in the relationship. 
Not knowing how to live on his own if my mom were to ever go out, which she hardly did. The only difference between my dad and I was that he was a heavy drinker, I wasn’t, but my ex was. 
I was envious of him as my dad was with my mom. I always started picking fights about it, just like my dad did with my mom. I hated as to how much freedom he had, how he never felt tied down or forced to do anything. Knowing that I was slowly becoming my father did not sit well with me, even my ex noticed the shift in my attitude and mood. He had known the faults of my family and how broken we were, how nobody in the family of six knew anything about each other. And in his family, they all enjoyed each other's company and always had a good time; I was envious. That was my mistake telling him those things, and I regret every minute of that. 

My dad would always get mad when my mom would drink. He hated it, very hypocritical of him don’t you think? Of course, neither me nor my siblings could point that out or else we would get in trouble. Just like my ex, he would get mad about me pointing out little things like that.  
I always hated drinking, smoking, etc., I saw no purpose in it, and I still don’t. I grew up around it, so I am obviously aware of the side effects of it, and I don’t like it. It always made me uncomfortable and made me feel bad for the people drinking or smoking. I knew it was a way of either having fun or trying to fill that void people had inside. I didn’t like partying either. That’s one of a few things I don’t have in common with my parents. I hated all of it, I barely started getting comfortable with the idea of parties now that I am older and am going to be surrounded by it more often. It sucks more than it did because I started falling into that hole quick, only because I started to feel free and able to do what I wanted to do. 
It stressed me out though, I was constantly worrying about my parents if they were drinking too much or when they would fall over and hurt themselves somehow. I felt the need to baby them, as if I was their mother. I did the same with my ex. I always felt the need to mother or tend to him when he was drinking or even when he was sober, “Hop off me dude, seriously, you’re not my mom. Go with Lauren or someone, just let me be.” And he would just walk off or turn to his friends and continue whatever he was doing. I would just stand there looking dumb thinking he would give me at least some attention or comfort. I really had no one to go to at parties or small hangouts with his friends, except for his brother's girlfriend, Lauren, she was always there for me, and I was always there for her. Other than that, I was alone most of the time. They would all be drinking or smoking, and I would just be watching and waiting for him like a lost puppy until it was time for me to leave or for him to take me home. 
I would watch my mom do the same with my dad when we would go to family barbeques, and he would drink all day and pretty much all night. My mom would always call out to him, “Come on babe, we need to go it’s getting late, and I still need to drive us home.” But of course, my dad wanted to stay longer to keep drinking, “Lorena por favor, ya dejanme enpaz!” Even my uncles, my mom’s brothers, would step in; you would think they would step in and defend my mom a little, but they would get mad at my mom too and say to let him stay ten more minutes then we could leave. We wouldn’t leave until three hours later of saying it’s been ten minutes.

It started getting worse between my parents as time went on since then. At first, they were still the way they would be when I was little. But out of the blue, my mom had started being accused of cheating on my dad with a "family friend” (air quotes are used because the guy is super creepy and no one in my family likes him, he just kind of showed up one day). They both kept it on the low and away from us in hopes of resolving the issue in private. It worked for a bit because I hadn’t heard about anything until after my ex had broken up with me the day after new year’s, such a fun way to kick off the new year. 
I still remember that conversation, everything that occurred prior to the breakup. Of course, it revolved around him being out too much and drinking when he said he would cut down on the drinking, and so much other stuff that is for another day. He was always brittled with lies. Will I ever truly understand as to why him drinking and quitting smoking was that big of a deal to me? No, but I will forever have my reasons. 
After that breakup, I tried my best to suck it up and keep going because I had so much other stuff going on with my parents, school, sports, and just trying to keep my peace and my sanity. But my parents just weren’t helping at all with their constant arguing and fighting and throwing random stuff at walls. 
Looking back on my relationship with my ex, I realized I am my parents’ child.  
I wanted to constantly know where he was, what he was doing, or just sometimes act like a straight toward him for no apparent reason. I hardly ever had a good reason to be angry with him. I self-sabotaged leading up to the breakup, I was an emotional wreck. Not only that but I wouldn’t eat, I would barely sleep, and was starting to fall behind in school. I genuinely lost myself in that relationship, I put too much into that relationship to receive nothing in return. 
A little after a month from new year's, I was slowly recollecting my thoughts and feelings, starting to feel like myself, I had met another guy who didn’t try to push any on me to make me feel uncomfortable, but showed he would be there for me if I needed it. The fights between my parents were starting to get worse. They were getting bad to the point where they would not talk to each other for days then go back to acting like they were never fighting in the first place. 
As much as I hate it when my parents do that, not only act but constantly fight over the same thing, I just want them to shut up and just stop talking in general. I love both my parents to death; I would do anything in my power, even if that meant risking my own life, to give them their own form of peace and clarity, I would. But I just wish they could stop fighting. 
I gave up trying to help them both in my own way. I stopped caring about what I would hear them say down the hall or in their room; I stopped caring about what my brothers would hear; I just stopped caring about it all.  
I stopped caring once it started. I had grown completely numb to it all. As much as it sucked having to deal with all of it, I just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. I still don’t. 
I hate growing up with that perspective on love. I hate the fact that my parents would tell me to find a form of love like theirs, then see things like this happen in front of me. I hate that I must keep living like this, dealing with this, having to listen to this until the day I leave for college. 
My mom was the only one who told, almost begged, me to “get out of this town, this house, this life” and create my own home, my own life, somewhere where I could be me and not fear for how I feel. With tears in my mom’s eyes, I realized she was right. I couldn’t deal with it anymore; I shouldn’t have to keep living like this just because they’re my family. 
I don’t want that kind of “love” in my life, I don’t have time for that kind of “love”. What my parents have is the last thing I want.  
What they have, what they call tough love, I want no part of it. 
I want the kind of love where I can come home and already feel the love as soon as I walk through the door. I want to be able to talk about how I feel and not feel overlooked or ridiculed just because my feelings hurt the other person. I just want to feel loved, appreciated, seen, heard. But I also want to give my partner the same. I don’t want to be the reason my partner hurts and doesn’t feel seen. I don’t want to hurt my partner; I don’t want to hurt. 
I don’t want to hurt anymore just because of how I was assumed to perceive love.