If I look back through my journals I can find several entries that are clearly full of fury. My writing becomes messier and bigger than normal. All writing in moments of rage about how angry you make me.

I hate the way you make me anxious. Most days I know I will be stuck in closed spaces with you I can feel my chest tighten. Most days I know I have to talk to you within those close spaces I fight for breath.

I hate when you text me mean things. The condescending way you judge me for things you don’t even understand.

I hate your memory. All the times you never showed up followed by poor excuses. The numerous occasions you’ve reminded me not to rely on you.

I hate the way you’ve belittled or questioned my life choices.

I hate how you know every button to push to piss me off. And you press them purposely.

I hate the way I act when we’re fighting. We both get too low.

I hate how you make me feel like I’m broken. The way you casually make fun of me for fidgeting or making a mistake. Or when you comment on my childhood, my family, or my friends as if they are bad.

I hate the way you protected me years ago, yet at the same time took advantage of my brokenness. I hate the way you disrespected my boundaries. The way you confused the word “no” with “go ahead.”

I hate how many times you’ve lied to me. And how many time you’ve lied about me.

I think what I hate the most is that no matter how much I want to hate you, I will always see the good in you. I see your eyes and lips on my daughters face. I see your goofy quirks and funny faces when she jokes. I see your smile in hers. She is a constant reminder of the things I love.

I love the way you know what I need when I am emotionally out of balance. And the way you can pick up on my mood so quickly.

I love how you hug me when you see I’m on the verge of tears.

I love the way you act when you’re at a party.

I love that you try to make me smile even when you know I’m mad. And you always succeed.

I love the way you will still show up for me in ways I don’t expect.

I love that you’ve always pressed for family photos, something I now appreciate.

I love the way you sometimes invite me into your very own family.

I love the way you confide in me when you need to talk. And the way I feel comfortable confiding in you when I’m at my weakest.

 

I hate many things about our relationship. I love many things about our relationship. We operate in a constant state of ebb and flow. And I guess we’re strapped in on this roller coaster for the long haul, because like it or not – we’re family. I hate you. I love you. That’s how family works anyhow, right?