Love Isn’t Inherited

If I meet two people for the first time and one is related to me and the other is not, I give the benefit of the doubt to the non-family member.

Biological connection means nothing to me. I only care about how a person treats me and to a lesser extent how they treat people I care about and people in general.

I get that I have benefited from the benefit of the doubt bestowed upon me by family members simply because of our genetic connection. I don’t care if they gave and give me extra care or love because of our genetic connection. I never asked them to and I’ve only ever asked anything of family members with whom I have a real relationship (those who I have more than a biological connection with and who I believe are 51%+ good people).

The notion that similar DNA affords you extra rights and privilege and responsibility is anathema to my idea of morality. Family for me is really just the most ubiquitous long con ever perpetrated on the human race. You are asking me to love you because we share common DNA. You are asking me for a dispensation that is based not in the slightest on your actions.

I think it’s wonderful that many people I love have family members who love them and treat them well (sure, they fight, etc, but that’s normal – I’m speaking overall of a relationship dynamic that is “healthy”). I’m also sure some of the people I care about do not have a healthy family dynamic. And I think that’s probably the most fucked up thing that can happen to a person.

As for me, it’s a mixed bag. Some of the people I’m supposed to love, I love. Some of the people I’m supposed to love are reprehensible vipers wearing human costumes. I make no apology for this opinion. For me, love has always been earned, not given. I know I’ve benefited from unconditional, traditional “family” love. Great, that’s awesome. But I sure as hell didn’t deserve it and I sure as hell will not continue that fucked up tradition.

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