As I lay here, chest pounding, mind; racing. I recognise the familiar agony seeping through my stomach.

I love him. I know I do.

My attempts to comfort myself, feeble.

Tear stained cheeks, stinging, as if taunting me; making sure I don’t forget the pain staking interaction I had just suffered through.

I needed to be heard. Why is that so bad?

As I hagger myself with intrusive thoughts, my boyfriend lounges in the front room. Unphased by the interaction.

Confusion still racked me.

He doesn’t love me, he told me so. Yet he remains here, with me.

I cannot help the sob that escapes me.

Why do I allow myself to be tormented so. Don’t I deserve better?

Unwillingly I flashback to the stinging words uttered to me, mere moments ago.

“It’s just too much, your too much. This, it’s too much” His words cutting me like a sharpened blade.

My knees had buckled under the weight of every sentence.

All I could do was cry. Feeling over come with heartache.

“How can I support you, how can I love you, when you become a mess with every conversation?”.

Insecurity over someone’s feelings for you is one thing. But hearing words such as these uttered by your significant other; nothing comes close to that pain.

I let out another cry, shaking over coming me as I continue to stir over the events of the evening.

Even after such a harrowing interaction, he didn’t leave. When did I become a victim, again.

Was this manipulation? Was this abuse?

Iv never felt so unsure of anything.

The only truths obvious to me were that 1. I loved him deeply. And 2. He did not love me back.