Three-letter word

I say everything I feel like saying to you. When something comes to mind, I tell you. When I'm angry, I let you know. When I'm disappointed, I pout, and when I'm sad, I cry.

I guess I'm pretty honest with you - at least, I think I am. I'm as honest with you as I am with myself, which sometimes isn't honest at all.

But with you, I even feel free to say bad things about you to other people. I tell them your name to me is just a three-letter word, that I don't understand how you can say you love me when you are letting my life fall apart.

It is falling apart, you know. I know you know. You say you're omniscient, and I want to believe you. I want to believe you're truly as wonderful as my friends say you are.

They say you're my provider. "The Lord your maker is your husband," I'm told.

Why, then, am I unable to work, paralyzed by anxiety, unable to move to another apartment, and unable to pay for all my medical expenses - expenses which I wouldn't have to have if I could somehow be healed by you, which my friends say is possible?

I hate having to try so hard to talk to you. If I could just see that you care, it would be different. If you would sit across from me and look at me, giving me some assurance that you are not going to let me face even more despair, perhaps the crippling depression would lift.

I hate that I think I'm honest with you but feel as speechless as I do on a first date. You're not really interested. You don't really want to make my life better. You don't give a damn that I'm floundering.

Life without you would be pointless, but spending my life trying to get through to you is unbearable.

I hate that I feel this way about you. I hate that being around her makes me feel less myself with you. I hate that you gave me her as a mother.

I hate that you are sovereign because it means you let me come into existence with her as my primary caretaker. She totally messed me up.

I'd like a do-over, please.