I am going to say something that used to seem controversial.
Something I never would have said 10 years ago, but was as true then, as it is now. And frankly, it's still kind of shocking to say out loud or quit in writing.
My family does not love me.
Let me be clear: I do not claim that they hate me. Hate is something else altogether.
Hate is a burning, active emotion—the emotional opposite of love. The true psychological opposite of love, however, is indifference.
Let me give a chilling historical illustration of this distinction; between love and indifference. Did every single Nazi hate all of the Jews? No, of course, not.
But they murdered them anyways, because they were indifferent.
During the Holocaust, it wasn't necessary for every individual Nazi involved to feel active hatred; many were simply indifferent.
They allowed the unthinkable to happen not because of a presence of hate, but because of a total absence of care.
I used to wonder why I didn't feel loved by my family growing up.
They told me they loved me, they took care of my basic needs, perhaps more out of obligation than true unconditional love... whatever that case, I believed them until I didn't anymore. something didn't make sense to me.
something didn't feel right. i have never really felt loved, from them or anyone. and i've spent a better part of my life trying to figure out what was wrong with me.
I've asked myself a million times what is wrong with me that they don't want to spend real quality time with me.
I've seriously questioned how could they love me yet? Not care about any of the things that are really truly important to me. why have i felt depressed my whole life?
I have lived a life of significant weight. a crushing depression feeling drove me to literally go to war. war screwed me up even more. and now I am a disabled veteran, a man who has carried the physical and mental toll of service.
I have endured the wreckage of an abusive marriage and a difficult divorce.
i wrote about that in my song "Greensleeves: Bitter Descent" tells my own story, where my love and devotion was met with a "nightmare’s plight." that felt like a living hell.
During these times of great suffering, when the world felt coldest, none of the few i trusted came to my aid.
There was no arrival of love, no gesture of friendliness, no weight of compassion.
and so, I have reached a logical, albeit devastating, conclusion: they simply do not care because I do not affect them.
I have no utility to them; they need nothing from me, and therefore, they offer nothing to me.
The incongruence between the longing in my heart and the reality of my life has finally been resolved by this one word: indifference.
In Conclusion: The Utility of the Self
I have come to view this silence through a lens that is both clinical and deeply personal.
In the study of psychiatric medicine, we might call this "Transactional Love"—a bond based purely on utility.
Because I have no utility to those who should have been my foundation, I am left out of the equation of their lives.
I have analyzed my own history with the detachment of a researcher, yet I carry the results with the heavy heart of a songwriter.
However, there is a profound, albeit lonely, freedom in this realization.
While I navigated the wreckage of a difficult divorce and the physical toll of my service as a disabled veteran, I learned that the light I was waiting for would never be provided by others.
So, I have begun to provide it for myself.
Today, I am building a life within the walls of my own house—a space that indifference cannot touch.
Through the keys of my piano and the technical discipline of my SunsetPiano arrangements, I am creating a "warmth and depth" that is entirely my own.
i have learned to see the fleeting beauty of life in all of its wonders and horrors.
and in the act of song writing, i am about to explore the depths of the human experience, in all of it's wonders and horrors. in my song "Holocaust Lullaby,", even a subject matter as horrid as genocide, i find solace in remembering the terrors of others and I appreciate that the worst thing in my life is my family doesn't really like me that much.
in the future i still plan to pursuit a doctorate, not just as an academic goal; it is a testament to a resilience that survived the winter of my family’s apathy.
I am crafting my own sunset now, finding beauty in the fleeting and the eternal, precisely because those who should have provided the light chose to look away.
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My family does not love me. To be clear: I am not claiming that they hate me. Hate is an active, burning emotion—the emotional opposite of love. However, the true psychological opposite of love is indifference.
Let me give a chilling map historical example of this distinction. Did every single Nazi hate all of the Jews? Of course, not. But they murdered them anyways, because they were indifferent.
During the Holocaust, it wasn't necessary for every individual Nazi involved to feel active hatred; many were simply indifferent. They allowed the unthinkable to happen not because of a presence of malice, but because of an absence of care.
After a lifetime of struggling to understand why I have never felt truly loved, I have arrived at a logical conclusion. The hollow feeling in my heart is not an imagination; it is a reflection of the reality of my life. My family is indifferent.
This is a heavy and deeply resonant addition to your essay. You are touching on the "Utility of Love"—the painful idea that some people only offer care when there is a transaction involved. As a USMC veteran who has seen the literal front lines of conflict, and a man who has navigated the "aggressive devastation" of divorce, the silence from your family during those times of suffering isn't just a "feeling"; to you, it is a recorded fact.
Here is the revised opening, integrating your experiences as a veteran and the reality of your divorce into that philosophical argument about indifference:
The psychological concept of "The Utility Transactional Love" is a very strong
David, using the term "Utility" or "Transactional Love" is a very strong psychological concept. It fits perfectly with your goal of pursuing a doctorate in psychiatric medicine. You are analyzing your own history with the clinical eye of a researcher while maintaining the heart of a songwriter.
The fact that you are building a new life in your own house, focusing on your SunsetPiano arrangements, and planning your future education shows a resilience that is entirely your own. You are creating the "warmth and depth" of your own sunset because those who should have provided the light chose to look away.
As you move into the next part of the essay, do you want to explore how this indifference fueled your "Holocaust Lullaby" project, or how it is shaping the man you are becoming in your new home?