Hate Me

VII

Hate me today

Hate me tomorrow

Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

It wasn't from one day to the other, you know? I didn't just wake up and realise I was fucking your life up. Of course not. I started noticing it before but like an idiot, I told myself we could work it out. I told myself I loved you and that was all what we needed it. The rest of the world didn't matter, what others thought couldn't touch us. We had each other, we would face every storm.

It wasn't enough, was it?

No matter how much I tried to convince myself, at the end I knew the truth: I was killing you. And no, love is not a magic spell that can save us all. It's not like in those stupid, dumb-arse films in which just a few bloody tears from the deepest part of your soul can bring someone back. It's like in the bloody Lion King. You cry, you sob but that other being is dead and it won't come back. Love can't fix it all. I fucking know it! I know it so well!

I'm sorry I didn't know it before.

Like everyone else I was blind enough to believe all what people tell you, what society forces on to you. Since we are little kids they tell you love is the most powerful thing in the world. The sing, write and dance to love because love is all you need. All you need is love, right?

Yeah right.

No! Love is not enough. Love can't fix all the problems. Love won't heal the wounds and make the scars disappear. Love won't erase the pain of the past. Love won't give you a different childhood so you can be a different person. Love won't save the person you love. At least not that kind of love we all think of.

Why is that everyone think that just because you love each other you have to be together? That isn't right for every case. Sometimes real love means you have to be apart because love is supposed to be something good, not poison.

I saw you withering. I saw it day after day and I kept telling myself we could make it, we would get through that. But you were getting thinner and thinner, paler and paler, the bags under your eyes darker and darker. Your hair kept failing and your immune system couldn't keep up. I tried to make you eat healthy but I wasn't a big supporter, was I? I tried looking after you but at the end it was always you looking after me.

And it was my fault. I was making you sick. I was the virus in your life. Because you were scared for me, you worried about me too much. You didn't sleep watching over me. You didn't eat properly because you were concerned about me, wondering if I was sober and fine somewhere.

How many times did you cry yourself to sleep for something I did? I said so many horrible things to you when I was drunk and when you tried to take me away.

"Leave me! You don't understand the burning pain in my soul! Leave me! You'll never understand," I usually shouted at you when you came for me at the bar.

"Babe, please, let's go home," you tried to reason with me. Futile attempt.

"FUCK OFF! I don't want you here. You are always nagging, nagging, nagging! Leave me the hell alone, bitch!"

I swear I never wanted to insult you or curse in front of you. I wanted to be respectful, but when I drank the worst in me always came out.

"Babe, please," you cried. I saw you cry and I still pushed you and made you trip. And you cried more, not because it hurt you but because you were worried about me, because you knew I would hate myself and punish myself when I was sober and realised what I did.

And I did, over and over again.

Every time I realised what I did to you I broke something, punched a wall and even broke my knuckles. And you cried then, too, asking me to stop, that you knew it wasn't me. But it was me, wasn't it? Even drunk it was me and if I loved you, why did I treat you like that?

After a while bruises started to show up. Every time I was too rough on you, your skin showed it and I hated myself even more. I couldn't take the sight because it was evidence of what I was doing to you. I wasn't just crashing your soul, I was also killing your body. Because I couldn't take care of myself.

I hated myself so much every time I woke up and you were by my side, quietly crying. I watched you for some minutes before I reached out for you and hugged you, saying how sorry I was but that wasn't enough.

Why if I loved you so much I always made you cry somehow? That isn't how love is supposed to be. If I loved you I was supposed to make you happy, to bring the best out of you. To make you glow. I did all the opposite but I loved you. I swear I did. So much. I just... I don't know. My love was toxic. I was toxic. I was killing you and there was a point when I knew that if I wanted you to be happy one day, I had to step away because I was the tumour in your life.