Sometimes, reading backwards I really want to delete things.
Things that I said, but didn't really mean. Things that I wrote trying to convince myself that I was happy and fine. I am not good at lying.
But I am very good at pretending.
At skirting around the issue. Writing at length about a lost ring, neglecting to mention that I never wanted it in the first place. Neglecting to mention that I wasn't remotely even in love-ish, but that it was nice to feel loved.
Love is nice. It is warm and comforting and safe.
Until it turns into control, and then it isn't really nice or safe anymore.
It's scary feeling and smothery.
Except you're not scared because you haven't been told that you're scared. You are fine.
And while we're at it, you are helpless and weak and shouldn't eat that thing because you'll get fat. Fatter, really. And why don't you come out tonight, I said you'd come, they're your friends too, if you don't come I'll look stupid, I said you'd come without asking you therefore you must. And you wouldn't even be passing university without me. Do you remember what you were like when we met? And now you're getting As. Do you remember what you were like when we met? You couldn't even eat in public or finish a meal (No don't eat that thing you're getting fat). Look at your belly, what do you mean you're not in the mood? I have needs. You're still beautiful to me, I'm trying to help you. I have needs. What do you mean you won't? What do you mean no?
You really overreacted last night.
But it's okay.
It was your anxiety.
Remember what you were like before you met me?
You're really so much better now.
It turns out that freedom, is actually nicer.