There’s nothing I hate more than the two of us. Not separately, because I love you and I love myself…but I hate us. Us, together. Together we are like this toxic, violent, exhausting combination that should be destroyed. Comparable to a cockroach that lives on through the nuclear wars and the constant battles against fear.
Our relationship has survives battle after battle.
However, you know when you have fought so long that you don’t want to fight anymore. And you think to yourself, what would it be like to give up. To give up on life, this life of exhaustion and disgust. Where fighting with you feels like an arrow driving straight through your heart.
It leaves you gasping for air, clutching the ground, the life being drained out of you.
But you don’t die. Somehow, another leg of the relationship forms and we pick each other up only to throw each other back down.
I remember after one of the brutal days. Sitting and watching the rain. Watching the streaks of water drizzle down the window, each droplet leaving a faint trail. I remember thinking about the last times we smiled at each other.
Really smiled. Not the fake smiles we constantly throw around. Deep smiles that make you feel like you’ve grown wings. The stupid happy in love smiles that make you feel warm.
It’s been a while.
It’s time for this relationship to die. It’s time to pull the plug. It will be hard. Because knowing the pain will be lessening rather than thickening helps me sleep.
Without you beside me, I know that I will get better. So will you.
This is our story. Blood, tears, pain and sorrow.