“Maybe my base personality is bully,” he says proudly. And it’s true. Throwing my things in the garbage like I don’t even get to decide what lives on my table. He doesn’t like looking at it. He doesn’t understand why I want these things. None of them are his so why should he care?
Why do I allow myself to be treated like this? He doesn’t see the house as ours, he doesn’t see my table as mine. And, when I return, of course the excuses begin. The fucking justifications. You didn’t tell me a time. I’ve been saying it for months. And, of course, I’m so fucking worn down I just agree.
I can’t wait to leave.
“We’re together and you have to admit there are many advantages to that,” he says. But what’s the price of peace? Do I have to get used to doing things without my partner so I can avoid getting bullied? I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling like this. Sure, we have good times but what is the price of my inner peace? Is it worth all this? A house, two pets, having to deal with the next blow up and the next blow up and the next, the next, the next, the next.
Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do
Do I just have to accept that he will never change? What happens when I do that?