The Cost of Loving America

“I'm addicted to you / Don't you know that you're toxic?”

The costs of living in America cannot be tallied by dollars alone. You cannot put a price on safety, on joy, on happiness. Make no mistake, these are expensive costs, but the interest they accrue does not get measured in dollars and cents but rather in heartbreak and fatigue. 

So when I continue to ask, “What does it cost to survive here?” I am recognizing that some of the priciest costs are ones you might take for granted every day. 

Let me tell you about one of the longest lasting relationships I’ve been in. It wasn’t until fairly recently that I came to recognize that I’ve been in a long-term toxic relationship with the United States. 

As much as this country brushes me off and treats me like an animal, I keep holding on to it. I keep waiting for this country to love me the way I’ve come to love it. The intermittent feelings of gratitude for a country that barely tolerates me are mixed, too, with the recognition that I am used cheaply and painfully by this country. 

In her 1995 book, Toxic People, Lillian Glass defines as toxic relationship as “any relationship [between people who] don’t support each other, where there’s conflict and one seeks to undermine the other, where there’s competition, where there’s disrespect and a lack of cohesiveness.”

At nearly every stage of my life in the U.S., my efforts to find safety and to pursue my dreams have been undermined. The labels placed on me intentionally disrespect me and diminish my sense of worth. 

It’s not just a cost of living in the shadow of this toxic partner that saps my joy. Ask yourself, what would it cost you to love and never be loved in return?

As I write this, I am thinking about the patterns in my personal relationships with other people. I am thinking about the ways I keep distance and the ways I hold tight. I am thinking about the constant fear of not knowing when the bottom will drop out of any relationship with friends and with family. This is because my toxic relationship with America models my relationships with others: I give all of myself over to others. I don’t have much of myself for myself. What we love can be our biggest prison. It can bind you so tightly that you can barely breathe.

When your toxic partner continually tells you that you are not enough, your brain rewires itself. You become a needy and unfulfilled person. It may not happen overnight. Across my years of surviving in this country, I have come to accept that this country is always ready to prey on my vulnerable condition. I have come to assume the same of the people around me as well. 

Do not forget that something toxic is poisonous and can splash onto the surrounding world. In this way, the “toxic” part of my relationship with America pollutes my relationships with others. One of the many un-tally-able costs of undocumented American living: I’ve closed myself off to love.

Propina

We’re keeping the propina short this week:

What song would you add to a playlist for this week’s post?