Nothing.
When I first met you, you let me know how much you hated it when you asked people “what’s wrong?” when there was clearly something wrong, only to be met with an obstreperous “nothing.” I made a mental note of this, and weeks later when we met, a silent annoyance was festering inside me because of something my Mom said earlier that day, an argument I had with my brother, or I was just feeling moody for the sake of it, and you when asked me what’s wrong, I said exactly what.
At first you enjoyed this disclosure, enjoyed being able to help me with my problems, because these were problems you could grasp. But sometimes, you took on my bad mood, especially when my mood was born of little more than hormones, hunger, or exhaustion. You became fed up with the way my issues became your issues, and began to take any sadness on my part, no matter how rare in occurrence, as a personal slight. You coerced me into fights I didn’t want to have in the moments I was trying to explain my feelings. You told me I was boring and selfish.
The next time after that, you asked me what’s wrong, I answered “nothing,” even when the sky was falling down upon me. I felt like I was no longer entitled to my emotions, from the rawest and the deepest to the most fleeting and frivolous.
When I first met you, you let me know how much you hated it when you asked people “what’s wrong?” when there was clearly something wrong, only to be met with an obstreperous “nothing.” I made a mental note of this, and weeks later when we met, a silent annoyance was festering inside me because of something my Mom said earlier that day, an argument I had with my brother, or I was just feeling moody for the sake of it, and you when asked me what’s wrong, I said exactly what.
At first you enjoyed this disclosure, enjoyed being able to help me with my problems, because these were problems you could grasp. But sometimes, you took on my bad mood, especially when my mood was born of little more than hormones, hunger, or exhaustion. You became fed up with the way my issues became your issues, and began to take any sadness on my part, no matter how rare in occurrence, as a personal slight. You coerced me into fights I didn’t want to have in the moments I was trying to explain my feelings. You told me I was boring and selfish.
The next time after that, you asked me what’s wrong, I answered “nothing,” even when the sky was falling down upon me. I felt like I was no longer entitled to my emotions, from the rawest and the deepest to the most fleeting and frivolous.
