It started with you. 

Wanting a bandaid meant I wanted attention. Crying was just a pity party. Emotions were smoke, nothing felt real. I needed constant validation that my reactions weren’t fake. Sifting experiences through you to get “reality”. 

You say he has such patience and what a good man. And I feel myself wanting to tear him down because I’ve always been the “dark angel”, “the evil crow”, “the scary witch” to you. But he’s just too good for me. Funny how love and support make a person lovable and supportive. 

I’m just a starved, dried up worm. 

I do this thing now that you do. I’m not sure I can explain it. It’s like all the negatives overpower a person and I sour on them. Or no, maybe it’s picking out truths in order to pull the rug out from under someone.

I fell for manipulators and gaslighters. I craved pain and fear. I delighted in the chaos and the thrills. They felt like the only connection I’d ever had. It felt like love; the love I knew.

And I don’t really blame you. Because you have your own story. But I beg, that I don’t destroy my boy in this way.