You’re killing me. Killing me slowly. Killing me so gradually…I can only describe it as torture. Every biting insult, ever cold shoulder, every screaming match. Every time it happens it takes a piece from me.
You’re so fucking frustrating. When we have a fight I can never say the right thing. Every time I say I’m sorry something else goes wrong. You’ve got a new reason to hate me.
The panic attacks, the uncontrollable anger, the complete mental and physical exhaustion. It all builds up inside of me until I just want to make you fucking bleed.
But I’m the only one bleeding here.
I’ve begun keeping my razors next to my bed, I need them so fucking frequently. I cry like a fucking baby every time we fight. I just sob and drag the razor across my skin.
I run the sharp blade over my wrists wishing I had the fucking strength to slice them open. But I fucking never can.
Despite all of this, I still love you, Shavo. I love you more than anything I’ve ever loved.
But sometimes I really fucking hate you.