My boyfriend just flat out chose to play the new Star Ocean game over talking to me / going out.
He couldn't even just pause the game for one minute to hear what I had to say.
It's not this that bothered me so much, but, he got angry. Anger petrifies me to the bone, I don't know how to handle anger and I never have. I can't pick it apart like sadness, or loneliness. I can't make it heal with words, all I can do it shakily step back and let it simmer down.
This boy, he is no man, my boyfriend of almost 3 years, stays in my house rent free, he eats my food, he uses my electricity, he uses my body. Shouldn't I be entitled to just 5 minutes of talking with him? He has the rest of the day to play his game, he has the rest of the day to do whatever he wants in my house - thanks to me, Mademoiselle Pushover.
I'm too much of a coward to retaliate or make a stand about it. I simply don't have the energy to even bring it up. But, I don't think it's right to feel unwanted in your own home, to feel frightened.
And so, I think it's time to feel the warm, liquid-gold burn of Whiskey sliding down my throat, coating my insides, dulling my brainwaves and making everything temporarily OK.
He couldn't even just pause the game for one minute to hear what I had to say.
It's not this that bothered me so much, but, he got angry. Anger petrifies me to the bone, I don't know how to handle anger and I never have. I can't pick it apart like sadness, or loneliness. I can't make it heal with words, all I can do it shakily step back and let it simmer down.
This boy, he is no man, my boyfriend of almost 3 years, stays in my house rent free, he eats my food, he uses my electricity, he uses my body. Shouldn't I be entitled to just 5 minutes of talking with him? He has the rest of the day to play his game, he has the rest of the day to do whatever he wants in my house - thanks to me, Mademoiselle Pushover.
I'm too much of a coward to retaliate or make a stand about it. I simply don't have the energy to even bring it up. But, I don't think it's right to feel unwanted in your own home, to feel frightened.
And so, I think it's time to feel the warm, liquid-gold burn of Whiskey sliding down my throat, coating my insides, dulling my brainwaves and making everything temporarily OK.
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