I often say that I hate you, and I never ever stop to think how that makes you feel. After all, you look after me pretty well even after an operation, being ill for a year, all of those antibiotics, all of that alcohol and all of the stress I’ve thrown at you.
I say that I hate that you’re not how you used to look, or how I want and imagine you to look. But it’s not your fault, it’s mine. I’m the one who puts into you what I do. How can I expect you to be perfect when I don’t put any time and effort into our relationship or into making you what you have the potential to be.
There’s curves, you’re soft and womanly and go in and out in all the right places (more out and less in than i would perhaps like), and in the right light and with the right underwear on, I guess you look pretty ok. After all, I’ve only ever had compliments, not complaints.
I’ve felt for a while now that what’s on the inside and what’s in my mind, doesn’t match what’s on the outside. I’m like me, zipped up in a fancy dress costume, pretending at being someone else.
In a few weeks, I’m starting a new. With someone I love, in a new country. A new start. So how about we make a deal? I’m a bit nicer to you, and tell you more positive things. I’ll be giving you nice fresh food, plenty of fish and fruit and veg as well as smothering you in good suncream to stop you getting wrinkled. In return, I would like it if you’d help me out a bit and shape up for me, with my help of course.
I promise to try and be nicer from now on, but you’ll have to be patient…It’s hard to stop thinking the way I have the past few years, but I’ll get there.
Lots of love, me xxx