Punishment, or TLDR: I should have shut the fuck up.

  You say You don't do it to punish me, but You know damn well that's how it feels, what it looks like, how it functions. When I walked in the door, I could tell something was off. You maintained a distance from me, and I had been gone all day, our last communication giving no evidence of any tension. There was, from what I could tell, nothing I had done to warrant the distance. But, not wanting to be invasive, not wanting to repeat the previous hug fiasco, I didn't draw in to You. I tried to tell You about the moon, the yoga, the night...when You said we should go lay in bed, I thought that perhaps now would be the time; but, no. You crawled into bed as I made us tea—tea You would not drink—, and covered Yourself, chin to toes, as if I were not even allowed to look at You. You were very clearly avoiding me, contact, touch...and perhaps it was not enough that I did not reach out to touch You. I tried to give You a space to talk, and instead of telling me that You did not want to, were too tired, You give me vague answers about speaker and audience, then seemingly fall asleep. I was frustrated, because I felt like You weren't acknowledging me, that You were edging around the subject, and then acting as if I have no reason to suspect that there is an issue. You asked me about normality, as if, from Your perspective, everything was as usual. It felt like You were being callous—knowing that every day I look forward most to coming home to You, eager, every day, every hour, for closeness. Something about, after being alone for a while You don't know how to be around people...

  I told You what my perception was, specifically, that You were upset about having to change the plans You had made, You were decided not to be close to me and to make me suffer as You were suffering. I admitted that I could be wrong, but that I couldn't see another reason for Your distance. I asked, nicely, for You to either confirm or deny what You call my "accusation." Because You didn't like what I said, or how I said it, or why I said it, You chose not to address it, and to let it fester in me. This is what I meant when I told you You had the power to alleviate my concern. You say that I make mistakes, when after years of observation I should know better. But, after years of observation, has it ever helped me to "see more clearly" or to "calm down" when You don't answer the questions I ask, when you walk away, when You get out of answering by condescending to me? That is the surest way to elevate my frustration and anger. I know that sometimes I walk away to smoke when we are arguing, to give myself a space to breathe and redirect, and I try to make that clear, and I think You know that when I get a clove, I'm calling time-out; but, when You walk away, it makes me feel like You are doing it to—I've already deleted this and started over because I can't get it right, and everything I write inspires images of Your disgust. What I'm trying to say, is that I feel like You can hurt me, so much more than I can hurt You. I know that I have, and it tears me up, because I love You more than anything. And, it feels like You know, as well as I do, that You have a power over me that I do not hold over You. You know, it hurts me when You leave the bed in anger. You know, it hurts me when You withdraw, physically or emotionally. You know, it hurts me when You don't speak to me. You know,starting or ending the day with stress, without affirmation, is painful to me. All of these little hurts that hurt so much—I don't have this effect on You, You don't feel the need for me that way. So, believing that You know these things, I can only believe that these wounds are intentional. 

  Maybe it's true, I am an abuser—I won't deny that in the past I have acted out against You—maybe, I abuse myself. mostly. I've told You, and it's true, that I have never gotten so riled by anyone as I am by You; I never hit anything or anyone until we started having really awful fights. I don't blame You, but I think, a long time ago, when I saw You handling Your anger by being destructive, I learned how to do it too—and now, we both have to break the habit. But simply voicing my observations, accusatory or not, isn't abuse. Bringing attention to the fact that we haven't had physical contact in 24 hours isn't abuse. Getting angry, feeling hurt and lonely, these are not abuse. I was trying to have an honest conversation last night, because something was obviously on Your mind. We could have avoided this whole fight, all of it, if You had just been honest with me. We are both guilty.

  You were still in avoidance mode this morning...else , why did You not kiss or caress me, as is the usual morning greeting? So, I waited as long as I could, lying awake, aching for touch, for connection, until finally, I had to get up. Usually, if You are not upset with me, You will say "Good Morning" as I come down the ladder; since You said nothing, I assumed, taken with the lack of physical touch, that You were still upset. You come to me, while I am at a disadvantage, and ask if I am still mad at You, I say I thought You were mad at me...shouldn't that have been the end of it? If neither of us was mad anymore, what happened? You thought I was being short-sighted, I wanted You to acknowledge my observations, concerns, as legitimate. I wanted a hug. A kiss. A pat on the head.

  You asked me if I ever look in a mirror. Of course I do. Every day. What do I see? A crooked face, a weakened and warped body, a twisted soul. What is the "double?" I'm not up on my Lacan. The self, and the other self, okay, fine...but I haven't figured out how to remove myself from myself to find something better. I fail every day. I was a little proud of myself yesterday, making it through the day even after a rough morning, doing three separate yoga sets, trying really hard not dwell on negativity, to connect with breath—but now it feels like a useless effort. Nothing changed, nothing got better—I didn't get better. I came home, was rejected anyway(regardless of malice), lost control of myself for a moment, slept unsatisfyingly, and managed to anger You while wanting not to. So now, I just feel like shit. Punished. By You, by It, and even by me. And now that I think about it, it really is my fault. 

  There I am, desperately wanting to be hugged, and I guess if I couldn't get that then I was going to get some kind of engagement. I mean, it makes sense, right? I am angry because Your body language, and even verbal language, indicated You didn't want to talk with me at all. I should have just shut the fuck up. I'm sorry.