I can pick a fight about anything. No literally, anything. I turn it into some huge hurtful action against me. No matter what.
Everyone loved your painting? That’s nice. I just…I don’t understand why you never paint a picture of me. Everyone knows I’m not important to you, just look at your work – I don’t inspire you. I wish I was an inspiring person, that I made you just have to take a photo or post a Facebook status or draw a picture. I’m sad you don’t feel that way; you deserve someone who makes you feel that way.
Everyone loved your painting? I bet that girl was there, wasn’t she? I’m sure she just loved it, like how she loved watching you paint it. What? I’m not there, it’s not fair. She gets to be there for all of your big moments and I’m not. Oh she wasn’t there? Still. Art makes me think of her and what you did. I’m just hurt and sad.
Everyone loved your painting? I told you it was good but you don’t care what I think, you only care what other people think. I’m not good enough for you, I never will be. I don’t understand art. You want someone who understands art, understands your weird brain. I’ll never be like that, and you’ll resent me, and you’ll meet someone who adores your work and gets it and wants it hanging in her bedroom, and you’ll be with her and not me. Which is fine, but just break up with me now, okay? We shouldn’t be together.
I can ruin any moment. Especially the happiest, goofiest, greatest ones. I’ll ruin those every time these days. It’s going on my resume under “Special Skills: absolutely sucks the life out of you just when you’re feeling good.” I’m like the Dementor of relationships.
That’s what those things are called, right?