It’s not you. It’s me.
I’ve searched my heart—mercilessly—and have put a ton of thought into this. The thing is, I’ve tried to adapt to you. To work with you. To sacrifice parts of myself so that we can stay together. But apparently, I’m just not capable of making it work.
You see, I don’t know who you are anymore. We started out with the promise of love and commitment. I was eagerly optimistic. I deeply want to be loved and have an intimate relationship that makes me feel secure in this big bad world. I probably want that more than anything else in life.
But the promises you made devolved into controlling rules that left me with burdened sadness and isolation. You became territorial and were really judgmental of my friends. You shut me out when you disapprove of me or don’t understand me. And sometimes there have been serious mind games. You try to convince me to believe a reality that, well, isn’t real. Almost as crazy as saying the earth is flat! I’m embarrassed to be seen with you when you act this way. And in my experience, you are like this way more than you’re not.
I can’t be myself with you and you make me feel like shit.
On second thought, maybe it is you.
This blog piece is an excerpt from Confessions of an American None: A Credo of Sorts.