I walked on eggshells and screamed.

Sometimes the thought would cross my mind that he actually hates me; other times, that I was just inconsequential: fun to have around if I could play the part, but not worth making much effort for, and easy to replace.

I walked on eggshells, folded myself up, muted my personality to give him more space. I accommodated far more than was healthy, conceded ground that I sorely needed to hold on to. I’d go along with everything he felt like doing, from the time we got up till the time we went to bed, and still I’d be chided for not layaning his whims enough, for always choosing the wrong moment to discuss problems, for the parts of my personality that didn’t mirror his. 

And the funniest thing about all this? I was happy. I was genuinely happy during the time I was with him. Lack of self awareness might have played a huge part in this, but I still made the choice to become that person for this man. And by doing that, I learned, I grew, I became the woman I am today.

We never bantered, jousted, or screamed in each other's faces over anything; it was something I would boast about to my peers. We were the couple people close to us would envy and most see as sensible, mature, steady. When we see couples having fights in public, we joke about how embarrassing and immature that is. With us, even doing that within the confines of our own four walls was embarrassing and immature. 

All these rules and structure set within our relationship were never said or discussed. He never explicitly told me what I should or should not do. He never said anything outright or did anything physically or verbally repressive. He was literally the epitome of a perfect boyfriend; understanding, patient, accepting, outgoing, smart, meticulous, well travelled, all that. 

But still, loneliness grew. 

This loneliness only hit me hard in the face 4 years into the relationship. 

This monster was lurking in the corner, eating up all the negative emotions that I pushed away. 

Then as it’s no longer able to contain itself, it slowly spilled out in the form of sexual energy. Sexual energy that yearned fiery passion and human touch. 

I told him I need a break. 

I told him we need a break.

He breathed.
He realized. 
And for the first time,

Ever,

he cried. 

I cried.

We both cried.

For a long while.

We will come back stronger as individuals,
and better as a team.
That was what I held on to,
until I realized that he had let go. 

He had let go.

Fast forward a few months later, and here I am typing this out. We are still friends, he wants to stay good friends. We spend time together, 

but why do I still feel alone?

He says that he wants to be there for me, and I can see that he tries hard to,

but why do I feel like I am going through this alone?

All this while I’ve been screaming for help,
hoping he’d hear me one day,

I am still screaming today,

he never did.