Pain is my love language

Pain is my love language

Pain feels good, right? Okay, maybe not for you. But me? I kinda like it.

Not physical pain, though — I’m a total baby about that. I’ll pop a Norco for a paper cut. I once went to the ER for a migraine and refused to leave until they gave me Dilaudid. But mental pain? Its so addicting.

I’ve always thought maybe its a trait I share with other ambitious totally normal healthy people — we don’t run from pain, we face it head-on. We wrestle it. It’s how we grow. My father always told me no pain no gain. So I grew up trying to push through the pain, so I would be a better version of myself. Tougher, stronger, more valuable. Sounds noble, right? Until you realize… sometimes we just like the suffering.

It’s like watching that one couple — you know, the ones who can’t stand each other but still won’t break up. Miserable together, toxic as hell. We all know that friend. Some of us were that friend.

From the outside, it looks simple: “If you don’t like how they treat you, then leave.” Logical, right? But emotions aren’t logical. They’re chemical warfare. And some of us are basically love’s lab rats.

I grew up watching what love wasn’t. My mom was a fighter — not the motivational kind, the throwing plates at 2 a.m. kind. Every boyfriend was a new remix of the same heartbreak. They’d fight, she'd cry beg him not to leave her, he would anyways, by the next night he was back doing it all over again.. Clockwork. As a kid, I couldn’t understand it. Why walk into the same fire and expect not to burn?

Then I got older and realized: Oh shit… Am I acting like my mom? Those were not my best moments..

When you grow up watching love wrapped in pain, your brain gets trained to confuse chaos with passion. You think love means fighting for someone — even if that fight is killing you. It feels like loyalty, dedication, even nobility. Ride-or-die energy. In fact i believe it makes me a better person, it drives me to be better, work harder, get in shape, create art.. it awakens me.

Some people fall for potential. Others fall for pain. Me? I fall for both.

There’s a certain breed of lover who loves you when you’re broken — not to heal you, but because fixing you gives them purpose. They say, “I love you through your dark days.” What they really mean is: “I love the drama.” The highs, the tears, the chaos. If you’re not careful, you’ll start mistaking that chaos for passion. .

Because real love? Real love is steady. Safe. Boring. Ugh. “He treats me right”? Disgusting. Pass. Where’s the fun in that? I need something to vent about, something to crash out over, what's more fun then obsessing over someone? It makes me feel alive. I used to think love was supposed to be a rollercoaster. If it wasn’t thrilling, it wasn’t real. It was boring.

Some people’s love languages are gifts, touch, quality time. Mine? Pain. Ghosting. Avoidance. Silent treatment. Maybe you won’t admit it, but I know I’m not the only one.

I’ve been in relationships that could’ve doubled as hostage situations. The kind where you both swear you’re leaving — and then don’t. My ex could make me livid I'd hate his ass for an entire day maybe 2 tops, but by the 3rd day. For the life of me I cant remember why I was even mad. That went on for 5 years!!

My body called for an intervention. One day, I woke up and couldn’t stand his smell. You know it’s over when someone’s natural scent makes you gag. That’s not pheromones — that’s your soul begging for a restraining order.

The chaos gave me a hit, and I was a junkie. That spike — that high — becomes your drug. And when peace comes along, it feels flat. You start pushing buttons just to feel something.

Then came another man — different vibe. We connected. He said all the right things. Because he was either a pathological liar or he knew that he would have never had a chance in hell with me if I knew the real him.. so he snaked his way into my heart..that was fun. He was going through his own drama and wasnt able to dedicate enough time to mine.. so naturally that was unacceptable. The old me would’ve stayed, would’ve loved him through his drama to prove my worth. I would have gladly taken it on the chin... but this time i'm like boy, your trippin.

So what did I do? What all emotionally “evolved” people do when they still have zero boundaries — I devised a plan to make him hate my guts.. How else would I protect my energy? I remember talking to my friend, plotting the meanest possible thing to say so he’d hate me and leave me alone for good. I was so proud of myself for that. Cuz that was my version of walking away, Thats my version of ghosting.

It wasn’t pretty. But it was progress.

And yet, even after walking away, my brain didn’t get the memo. I was still fighting with him — in my head, alone . I didn’t even need him there. I could carry on the toxicity all by myself..

After a few months, and it not going away and me not wanting anything to do with anyone else I had to have a little one on one with myself.

“Girl, you’re starting to look pathetic. Get a grip.”

“But I miss him, I love him.”

“No, you don’t. You didn’t even know him, once you did you didnt like him”

"Yeh, I guess. you have a point, so then why do I feel like this..."

That's when it hit me ding ding ding!!

I wasn’t trippin about dude . I was in love with the ache. . The pain was the only thing that made me feel alive. And when I finally made him hate me, that triggered something worse — rejection. The ultimate hit. Or I guess you can say the best high ever. lol

It’s like being a rat pressing a lever for treats. Except the “treat” is heartbreak.

Peace doesn’t trigger adrenaline. But peace is the only place real love can live.

At some point, you have to be honest with yourself: do you want to spend your life bored and healthy, or addicted to the chaos.

Because I’m no volunteer therapist in lingerie. I’m not a rehab center. And I don’t do free emotional labor. I’ve got better ways to spend my time.

Maybe I’m crazy, maybe I’ve got childhood wounds that still haven’t healed. But at least I own it. I air out my dirty laundry in public because honestly, it’s cheaper than therapy and twice as fun. I get a kick out of baring it all — it’s thrilling, kind of embarrassing, yet fun being vulnerable. Your virtual impressions hit me.. They do! I feel them.Your thoughts I hear them. “Should I post this? No. Yes. No. Fuck it.” Then comes that sweet dopamine hit.

And that, my friends, is growth.

Moral of the story?

I never cared about anyone. I just liked the pain. Now that i've figured all this out, i'm healing GENERATIONS of pathetic dumb bitch trauma.. Bc my mother obviously learned that from her mother and her mother from hers. The buck stops here.

If any of this sounds like you, take it from me: awareness is step one. Step two is realizing you deserve a love that doesn’t hurt. Step three? Start showing up for yourself the way no one else ever did. Start finding new ways to get a dopamine hit.. Like working out.. thats been working great for me lately.

love , Nina