You Only Love Me When I’m Angry

-by Ryan

I’m tired of fake family love.
The kind that only shows up when I’m pissed off.
The kind that only wants to check in when I’ve finally had enough and let the anger spill out.

Where were you when I was silently breaking?
Where were you when I wrote long messages trying to be honest, trying to tell the truth about how I feel—about my pain, my past, about being locked in a system that’s designed to chew people up and spit out what’s left?

You ignored it. Or worse—you filtered it.
Didn’t share it. Didn’t want to “stir the pot.”
You didn’t protect me. You silenced me.

And then, when the weight gets too heavy and I finally speak up in anger?
Suddenly, everyone wants to care.
Everyone wants to talk.
Everyone wants to remind me how much they “still love me.”

Stop.
That’s not love.
That’s guilt.
That’s convenience.

You want to say I’m angry? Damn right I am.
Because every time I open up, somebody decides my truth is too much—too raw, too messy, too inconvenient.
And guess what? I’m still left picking up the pieces.
Correction—my wife is left picking up the pieces.
She’s the one who’s there when the phone hangs up. When the mail doesn’t come. When the silence from my “loved ones” hits harder than any prison wall.

You think you know me because you’ve known me since I was a kid?
Nah. You knew the version of me that was still trying to survive the chaos.
You didn’t check in when I was using.
You didn’t speak up when I was spiraling.
You didn’t offer help when I was falling.
But now you want to pop up and critique my healing? My honesty? My anger?

Let me say this loud enough for every fake seat at the family table to hear:
I don’t need people who only see me when I’m breaking.
I need people who show up when I’m trying.
When I’m quiet.
When I’m fighting demons silently in a 6x8 cell and trying not to lose my mind.

You say you love me.
Prove it.
Not with empty words or messages sent once every blue moon.
Not by “protecting” others from my feelings.
Prove it with presence.
With action.
With consistency.

Until then?
Keep your guilt.
Keep your sugar-coated apologies.
Keep your filtered responses.
Because I’d rather have no family than fake family.

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