I’ve had my fair share of relationships; I think about my twenties, and I cringe — not because of my taste in boyfriends, but because I was such an insecure, hot mess.
I’m pretty open and honest and like to pour my heart out. The irony is that I’ve always attracted the most closed-off, introverted people on the planet. So it should come as no surprise that I was often ghosted or on the receiving end of the silent treatment, and it made me go absolutely insane.
I had to voice my frustrations, and that’s what fighting was for me: a monologue of criticism, blame, and anger. I said hurtful things, anything to jerk a reaction, anything to get the other person involved in a dialogue, even if that meant fighting. After all, how can you be in a relationship with someone if you’re not able to “relate”?
It was an incredibly unhealthy and abusive way to behave, but I didn’t know better. I was suffering, and that’s how my hurt came out: through mean words.