Go on. I dare you. Hurt me again. Tell me to go away again. Tell me you were joking again. Tell me I’m being ridiculous again. Go ahead. I double dare you.
Don’t tell me my feelings aren’t valid.
Don’t tell me I’m overreacting.
Don’t tell me I’m being too sensitive.
Or take things too seriously.
You hurt me. Again.
You said you were joking. Again.
I didn’t hear it as a joke. It didn’t come out as a joke.
There was nothing joke like about you telling me to “go away.” I told you I was hurt and that you were being mean. You didn’t even attempt to apologize until I was crying. Why must I be reduced to tears before you take me seriously?
I tried to leave without you. You wouldn’t let me. I told you to have a good day when we parted. I got nothing but a hateful look in return.
You do not get to bring up every single action you do (whether it be the laundry or hold my had during a panic attack) as an attempt to make me feel guilty for having hurt feelings. You expect eternal gratitude (or a gold star). It doesn’t work that way.
You said something mean and hurtful last week. It came out of nowhere. If it happened once, it can happen again.
I can’t go back and forth between being happy with you and being hurt by you. I just can’t.