"You are just like me, Ryan!" She rolled over and jerked the bedspread after her, closing out any hope for intimacy that night. "You are just like me!" Repeating herself for emphasis.
I was convinced that she was right at the time, but would come to realize much later how wrong she was. We were nothing alike. And when she had wasted so much time and energy trying to convince both of us she was, she finally realized it too, and gave up and let go.
She couldn't change me, but she had tried. And I had tried to change for her. Valuable life lessons, learned the hard way.
She'd yell and scream and thrust her hips from side to side. She'd say things. "Why won't you look at me!?! Why don't you say something!?!" I'd shut down and curl up on the bed and bury my face during those episodes. "Are you depressed? What's wrong with you?"
She had built me up in her mind over the last five years. I wasn't who she thought I was at all. She had an image of this perfect Ryan that I never was, and when she finally faced that, it infuriated her. She hated to be wrong. But to be wrong for so long a time when you know for sure that you are right was a terrible thing.
She came to hate me and I grew to need her. I'd built my life around her and left my old life to build one with her. And when it all came crashing down, we would both have to start from scratch all over again.
All we knew about love didn't exist anymore.
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