Did you know that since my birthday, you have called me chubby, or pudgy, or fat, or commented on how much I eat, or what I’m eating, at LEAST once a day?

Did you know that since my birthday you have had a drink EVERY night, except one?

Did you know that the week I was home we fought more over NOTHING than we had for months beforehand?

Did you know…any of that?

Do you know that I essentially work two jobs - my own job, and going with you to yours?  I don’t mind doing it, at all, but I am hurt when you don’t recognize this.

Did you know I get defensive when I get tired now, because of how mad at me you get?

Did you know that I’m crazy in love with you despite all this?

So why can’t you support me back?  Ok, you do support me - why can’t you find a way to NOT be mad at me? 

God I wish you had this shit under control. You think you do; you so don’t. I wish you’d take that white paper pill again, so that the falsehood of your control could be real.

So, basically…every time we have conversations with my dad about relationships, this happens. Because of we have two completely different advice-giving styles.

That’s LIFE.

I haven’t been picking fights with you, I’ve been expressing my opinion. Yea, sometimes I said some stuff passionately - but so did you.

There is nothing about the last few hours that I would classify as me being a jerk to you, or picking fights - I’ve been trying to give my input on my dad’s quest for relationship help…ALL NIGHT.

This is not the only time this has happened, and somehow I’m not surprised it happened again. I wish you just saw it for what it was, rather than being pissed about shit. 

(Source: dontcallemloso, via hidebehindimagination)