You say you love me, but instead of being my biggest fan and supporter you’re my harshest critic, and you’re just mean spirited about winning an argument. I know I’m not perfect, but every time you say mean things to me I feel like you’re slicing a piece of my heart out, and I’m running out of heart to cut.
You say you love me but instead of thanking me for the way I do anything you’re the one person who takes me and everything I do for granted, as if anyone you met would just naturally do whatever it is. I feel used and tired and my heart is dying.
You say you love me, but when I ask you to show me in the simplest ways you almost always push me away, move away, or act horrified out like I’m asking you to murder someone, or hack off your own finger, or grossed out like I disgust you. I’m not a bug or a snake or a pile of green slime or rotten trash, but sometimes you treat me like I am.
You say you love me, but you don’t even know me any more. I’ve changed and become different and you act like I should feel guilty about what I’m becoming. You seem like you’re regressing to someone I never knew, instead of blossoming and growing with me like I wanted you to when we first started getting to know one another. You’ve changed in physical ways I’ve continued to admire, but also changed emotionally in ways I frequently really hate. It proves that love and hate aren’t diametrically opposed, they are adjacent facets of a relationship, like rolling a dice. Six, you love me, five, you want me to work for you but since we’re in a relationship I’m supposed to act like a slave and just do it, four you criticize me, three, you hate me but you’re afraid to tell me, two, you push me away.
I hate the brick wall you throw between us whenever you feel slighted or offended. I hate feeling like you are a kind of armchair psychologist with behavior modification ideals to tailor me into something I don’t want to become, and I hate the bitter, bitchy way you act whenever I refuse to be whatever that is. I hate feeling like an old appliance that you’ve kept around- you want to replace it because it doesn’t work exactly like you want it to, but it’s convenient because you don’t want to go to the store to shop for a new one. I hate being pushed away. I hate being criticized whenever I don’t do exactly what you want.
The more you hate the things about me that you hate, the more I think even though you say you love me, you really don’t. You love a concept of me that you wish was me, and until I measure up to that, you’re going to continue to hate me. I’m not going to become that concept, and I’m tired of trying.