It’s been a long time since I have been hurt. You don’t hurt me often and I don’t necessarily think you do it on purpose. But when it happens, I can’t breathe.
I want you to be happy. But I can’t always make the kids behave. I won’t always be in the best mood when you get home. I try. I really do.
I hate how horrible I feel when you hurt me. Like it’s somehow my fault. You didn’t think, you just yelled. Only the look on my face let you know the damage you caused. But it was too late.
I cleaned the kitchen. I folded the laundry. I tried to stay busy and accomplish something to make you happy. To not see that anger again. All I wanted was to curl into a ball and cry. That’s how I feel when I disappoint you. I wanted every bit of fried food and ice cream I could stomach. Then I could at least be mad at myself for a good reason, ruining my diet.
I wrote that yesterday afternoon. When I was still hurting and upset.
I thought I wanted you to feel guilty, but that doesn’t accomplish anything. You apologized, you felt bad. I’m not sure I need any more than that. Torturing you by continuing to be hurt about it isn’t going to fix it.
I just want you to feel better. This stress that has you on edge of anxious all the time is wearing you down. Not to mention what it is doing to us; though that is a pretty selfish motive for change. We have enough to be stressed about. Our relationship, our time together should be a refuge from all that. Whether that can include D/s right now, I don’t know.
I guess I just wish that you didn’t have to hurt me to realize that something is wrong.