Funny, I created this journal because I couldn’t stop thinking, and I figured it would help to let some thoughts out/ write stuff down; now I’m typing and I don’t know what to say.

I don’t quite know where I’m at any more. I think I may be 50% a nice, kind person who cares for others and does good things. Then the other 50% is a raging, narcissist bitch, who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything that doesn’t directly impact me. 

I’m struggling to handle my stupid emotions these days. I remember when we used to argue and, even after we’d resolved it, you’d dwell on things for days, yet I could move on straight away. I miss that, being able to skip straight back to being happy again. Maybe we just argue so much these days that I don’t get a chance to skip back to happiness?

Argue is the wrong word. We rarely actually argue. You glower silently, sometimes you shout or look at me disgustedly; I try my best not to cry- that’s about the size of it. I hate crying in front of you nowadays. I find myself biting my tongue, closing my eyes or just waiting until I’m in the shower, or alone. It’s odd, because I’d happily cry with you as part of a cathartic spanking session; I just don’t want to cry when you’re angry with me. You hate it when I cry in front of you too. It used to affect you a lot more, but we both know that your empathy disappeared a long time ago. Now, it just annoys you.

I’ve really tried hard this week. I thought we were doing pretty well too, we’ve had some nice times together over the last few days. Still, as soon as I don’t do something as well as you expect me to, we’re right back to where we were. I don’t know what to do any more. I’m trying my hardest to be better, but it’s never good enough. I know you hate that I’m focussing time on just myself at the moment, but I need that space. I’m sick of feeling so isolated and I’m finally enjoying doing something that’s just for me. I know you’re having a hard time with work at the moment; I’m trying to support you, but you won’t even talk to me or tell me what I’m doing wrong sometimes.

I wish I could share things with you and talk about how I’m feeling, but I know you’d just get even more annoyed with me. I can hear your voice already, telling me how this is my own fault. Maybe I already know that, and that’s why I don’t want to hear it from you.


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