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Frida Kahlo's Venomous Love Letter to Diego Rivera: "I’m Amputating You. Be Happy and Never Seek Me Again" | Open Culture
From the short story called Love Letters
In a lifetime, we are taught by our family and peers what love is. We are forced to adopt their beliefs and their views. It’s not until we venture out of their hold that we come to realize what love is.
Love is persistent. Love is loyalty. Love is withstanding despite all flaws. Love is not restricted to just one person...because that’s egregious.
Love shows itself in many forms either through pets, good friends, close relatives and well, your lovers. They come and go like night and day...yet there’s someone for everyone. It may take awhile, but that’s what they said.
On the contrary, sometimes we never learn what love is. I say this because some have been hurt on this false identity love bears. It’s a tricky subject wrought by emotions and attachments, the very thing that holds us together. Attachments is how we survive and emotions is how we react to our environments.
I look behind me and I see piles of letters I’ve written to former loves. I have an extensive archive that’s about as large as my growing virtual and physical library. The mess organized chronologically is busting at the seams of my estate. It reminds me I was a writer, and a lover, that swooned the ladies and gents. I was a lover once. Yes, I was a lover, and then I was robbed. The man who did it has evaporated from existence. I still remember and in my old age, I hope my memory of him doesn’t follow me to the grave.
Despite the jaded philosophy he taught me, it altered my perception. It wasn’t right, it was wrong. It skewed my view of love from what was long taught.
“If this is what it really is, I do not want!” I shouted back at the celestials that forged the earth.
Then I met others, poor lost jaded souls, like me, but to varying degrees. It was through them I remembered the love for myself. I understand now, love is not restricting.
Love is freeing just like the first time I kissed a girl in my youth or just like the first time I had great sex with a gentleman I rekindled with years later. Love is being okay with yourself despite past hurt or pain. I may have been robbed of my sanity and dignity, but I still remain. My love life may be dull compared to my vibrant youth, but I still remain. Wholesome...and better because of it.
