You spin me right round, baby, right round…

This is why I can’t have nice things.

I am stupid.

After a week of lunging with outstretched arms to catch every morsel of incongruent vulgarity he vigorously slung my way, the general theme can’t be mistaken. You know you’re dealing with an imbecile when every attempt to communicate is received with streams of random misogynistic slurs shamelessly bound together with a smug over-enthusiasm for profanity.

This isn’t my first rodeo, but I always feel compelled to defend myself against claims of such little substance.

Argue with a fool, however, and it makes two of you.

Behold! the fine line of self worth, where I’m currently teetering between ‘I don’t deserve nice things if I’m legit this repeatedly and consciously stupid’ and ‘If he just gives me one more chance I’ll prove to him I am worth caring about’, with humiliating fragility hoping he’ll go back to being sweet and caring.

We can get past this, grow from this. Our relationship will be even stronger. He just can’t process emotions well. Anger just masks other emotions. He only says those things because he loves me deep down so of course his feelings are magnified. And I was bugging him when he said he didn’t want to see me for a few days. Why did I need to make a big deal about it anyway? The only reason I was confused is because I’m a fucking idiot. It’s simple but as usual I fucked it up because I’m stupid.

Either that, or he doesn’t love me, and that hurts way more than just feeling stupid.

Men have abused me since my earliest memories as a four year old girl – sexually, emotionally, mentally and physically – but none have quashed the flame of my romantic idealism; only deepened my desire to be loved properly.

As badly as I want him to be, I know I’m not being loved properly.

I’ve been gifted with enough intelligence for me blatantly ungrateful if I am to feign ignorance any longer.

Steve. Doesn’t. Love. Me.

Nice things are the rewards from good choices. Bad choices don’t deserve nice things.

The lure of the hamster wheel is as degrading as it is irresistible. I find myself scurrying to jump back on as soon as he so much as blinks in perceived encouragement. He has been my weakness and the rip I’m my sails for 7 months too long. I can no longer claim victim status as an error of judgement.

If I can’t beat it, then I’m just going to have to bloody destroy that motherfucking wheel of temptation so hard it whimpers a safeword. Eye of the tiger, baby.

It’s time to break this Cycle of Abuse, and I’m the only one that can do it.

Bulletproof. As. Fuck.

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