Why do I do it? I ask myself at the end of every fight. When the night seems like all mine to fight as much as I want, I throw goodbyes like papers to the bin, I keep hurling the choicest of abuses and I wear the super bitch look. And it never ends because I won’t give up the fight easily and I won’t relent, won’t forgive for the next 5-6 hours. I want to make life hell for the don. I succeed.
“You just lose it over silly things.” “Well, do I? What about you? You are no less”. “But I didn’t say this.” “And I meant this.” For the next few hours, you explain, don explains. But the hurt continues to nag. You have a heavy head and when you finally hit the sack, there’s a feeling of not enough, of whatever. Like a typical chick flick, fight, goodbye, fight, goodbye, fight... and make up. Sometimes, the nights are long.
It’s funny how fights can bring out the worst in us. I hate to even recall what I am told during these insane moments. For a moment you think, “Am I like that in reality?” Like someone has just placed a mirror in front of your face and shown an ugly side of you, you react and there’s a royal comeback. “Oh, you’ve no class, after all”. “I know what the future will be like.” You didn’t want to hear that. "Go, get lost forever," you add. Time to end. You get all quiet. I think I screwed up bad. I fuss and fume and fret. No sorry yet! You wait… It sucks that so much energy is spent here.
We nearly ended up splitting. And nearly sometimes is as close as almost. Like a hair breadth distance. It’s not fun when it happens too often, once in a while it feels like living… We lose the sidelines of our lives in the process.
But I continue to be enchanted by the real us…