I hate my brain. I hate my insecurities. I hate that I’m bothered by the “first thing in the morning, last thing before bedtime” whatsapp conversations, the almost daily “I miss you”-s, the nicknames that I never got and how insignificant it makes me feel despite me having all I have. I hate the stupid arguments. I hate the days ruined and lost because of those arguments. I hate the fact that I frequently turn into this crazy insecure person, I hate that there are circumstances that push me there.
I look back longingly to the days, weeks in February when it was just the two of us and nobody else. Nobody. I hate feeling lonely and like I haven’t spent time with my husband in days, weeks. I hate that even though we spend every evening together, it feels like I haven’t seen him in forever.
I hate feeling this way.