I thought it was love. I thought it was commitment. I thought it was compatibility. But in reality, it was just me trying too hard to make it mean something. That love was just comfort, the peace I brought while they thrived on my chaos. That commitment was towards my silence— expected every time I was trashed or ridiculed, the kind they demanded when I was disrespected. That compatibility was nothing but them using my own vulnerabilities against me, cleverly and cruelly. We often misunderstand people's love for us — it's rarely about us, mostly about them. They don't fall for our hearts; they fall for the benefits of being loved by us. People don't love you-they love what they can extract from you. And the rare ones who truly heal you? They never make you bleed first.