I hate you
I hate what you turned me into. This needy, sobby, broken woman. I hate how much you make me hate me. And I hate myself so much. I feel lost and I don't seem to be able to put my pieces together. You stole my dream from me. A perfect life, a blissful domestic life. A baby girl in my arms while we watch you mow the lawn. We would read it to her before bed, Blaze would play with her and teach her about compassion and pokemon.
We would spend sunny days at the beach or eating fish and chips by the bay. I would help you go through college and you would help me finish Celta and would support while I get a teaching job. We would be together in this. You would truly love me and not my body. We could be happy. But in reality, I ended up alone, crying in the dark, trying anything to get rid of this empty feeling.
Don't worry, in a way, I know I'm lying to myself. I would resent you from never trying to be more than a pool boy, and you would understand my distress because you do feel satisfied with your life. But I would never be. I could never be happy as a waitress, fighting to survive paycheck after paycheck, having to smile to creepy man and obey spoiled kids. You would also be miserable, one way or the other. We would either have sex once in a blue moon - which means would resent me and stop loving me in less than two months thanks to your priorities - or we would have to keep our relationship open - which would destroy me, thanks to my own insecurities and fears.
If I'm, to be honest, I don't miss you at all. And I don't love you anymore. I haven't felt love - nor loved - in a while. Maybe since December, when you hang up on me to see the other girl while I was travelling across the country for the first time. I'm not sure if that's when things happen. If it wasn't there, it was definitely when you sent me home so you could have sex just a couple of days after we found out I was pregnant. I was terrified, waiting for the abortion day.
You know, I still can't talk about that. I wanted to talk about the whole thing so much and I asked you to talk to me so many times that now I can't even think about it, my brain just shuts down and I enter the whole "I need to get high or drunk or hit by a truck right now, because anything is less painful than trying to deal with it. I work and I take care of the house and I hang out with all my friends as much as possible. Anything to make me feel a little be alive. Nevertheless, I still am happy I came back home. Above all the hate a feel for myself and all the pain I feel now, I'm still happy I came back home. I had to leave you so I can start looking for myself again.
I miss everything that could have been.
I'll find my way back to the dream, by myself.
