If I have ever loved someone, I have loved them with all my heart — through every high and every low. But I often wonder, did they ever love me the same way?
This question has followed me since childhood. Why do we obey or respect people who disrespect us or treat us badly, and still call it love?
Ironically, I fell into the same kind of love I used to question — in friendships, relationships, and even in everyday connections. Many of the relationships I had ended up using me in some way.
As a child, I used to judge my parents for maintaining relationships with relatives who treated them poorly. But life has its own sense of irony. My first best friend used me — for emotional comfort, for good grades, and for many other things. Over the years, several friends did the same. They asked me to complete their projects, help with assignments, share answers during exams, and absorb their frustrations. Some even demoralized me and spoke harshly to me because they knew I would listen quietly without protesting.
Looking back, I realize how naive I was.
But have I changed now? Or have I not? That is still a question I sometimes ask myself.
During one of the hardest phases of my life, when I fell into severe depression, I slowly removed many people from my life. Not just because I was depressed — but because nobody even asked how I was doing when I could barely eat, sit up, or function. I spent days on drips and in constant pain, yet silence surrounded me.
Even then, I fought.
I don’t know why I always fight. It feels like something I was born with. I fight for myself, and sometimes even for people who have nothing to do with me. Maybe it comes from watching my mother. She rarely stood up for herself, but she always fought for me.
Eventually, I let go of a large number of people I once believed loved me. Some relatives were easy to let go of because I never expected much from them. But the harder part was letting go of relationships I had built with the belief that they truly cared.
In the end, during my worst days, I saw clearly who actually stayed. My husband, my brother, and even my dog were visibly distressed seeing me in pain. There was also an old neighbor who still asks about my health even today. We had grown distant because of circumstances, but she still checks on me, and I will always remember that kindness.
Over the last eight months, I have mostly stayed inside my home while dealing with my health. I was slowly getting better, but now another challenge has appeared — thyroid issues. My levels are high, and the pain is constant.
Recently, someone who disappeared from my life suddenly began advising me about my health. After more than a year of silence, she now seems interested again. Perhaps it is because when we spoke on the phone, I sounded like my old self — joking, laughing, making conversations light.
People enjoy the cheerful version of you.
A depressed person is not someone most people want to be around. Many assume depression is pretending or exaggeration. They say things like, “Life is so good, what could possibly be wrong?”
But depression is invisible. No matter how much you explain it, many people will never truly understand.
I saw something similar in my own family. My maternal uncle struggled with mental illness. Even when he wandered the streets talking to himself and hurting himself, people still refused to believe he was sick. So how could they believe someone quietly lying in bed is suffering?
So I stopped explaining.
And this brings me back to conditional love.
This is not just about romantic relationships. It is about love in general — between siblings, parents, friends, and everyone around us. Any relationship can become conditional.
There is a thin boundary between people who truly love you and people who stay because they expect something from you later. That expectation can be material, emotional, or social.
Over time, I have seen every kind of expectation.
Some people left because I stopped spending money on them.
Some left because I could no longer provide the fun they were used to.
Some left because they feared they might have to support me emotionally.
Some left because they thought I might need financial help from them.
What is strange is how easily some of them try to return later — as if nothing ever happened.
Many people forgive such behavior because they don’t want their social circle to break, or because they still love the person.
But after loving many wrong people, I learned something important:
You can still love someone and close the door on how much access they have to you.
It is difficult, but it is possible.
I have also noticed patterns.
People who left because you couldn’t give them material benefits will return when there is material benefit again.
People who left because you were temporarily unavailable will come back once they want attention again.
People who disappeared when they feared financial responsibility will reappear when you become stable again.
People who left because you were emotionally unavailable will eventually come back when they need someone to listen to their problems.
The truth is simple: when life starts moving in your favor again, many of those people will return.
But they return not because they are strong — they return because they were weak enough to leave in the first place.
The ones who stayed when life was difficult are the ones who were always meant to stay.
I already had a wall built inside my mind to protect myself from such people. Somehow, I opened that gate again and let another group of hunters in. Perhaps because humans are social beings.
And I will not stop being social.
But I have learned that boundaries are the best protection against conditional love.
Despite everything, I still consider myself lucky. There are people in my life who love me unconditionally.
Some people never experience that kind of love even once.
So I choose to stay grateful for those who stayed — because when you truly have them, you don’t need the rest.
P.S. What I have written here only touches the surface. Every story behind these words carries a deeper weight and pain that cannot be contained within a single page. Maybe those stories are simply waiting for their own moment to be told.