Stuck

I don't actually hate you. I want to hate you, but instead I hate myself.

I wish I could figure out why being around you sends me into a tailspin of depression. It's been almost a week since I saw you, and I'm still struggling.

Did my impending financial crisis finally sink in, or did seeing you reignite the smouldering sense of self-loathing that lurks behind every negative interaction with you?

Before I left to see you, I felt almost normal. I felt able to take on the challenges of my situation.

Now, even writing seems too great a task. I pick apart my sentences and criticize them for their choppiness and unvaried structure. And today I couldn't even go out of my apartment.

Every time you are mean to me, I relive the traumatic moments like a hamster stuck in its wheel. Round and round I go, unable to stop the memories of your vitriol.