An open letter to a passive-aggressive partner

I can't tell you how I hate you, how much, how little or even if I do.

There's a fine line between love and hate, and try as I might, I don't want to trip over that line.  I do hate the way you neglected to open up to me. I hate the way you used insincere words and a lack of action to control me. I hate that you neglected and took advantage of me because, in your words, "you could."

I hate the silence, the puppy dog eyes that follow me from room to room, from this life to the next. I despise the fact that you will never take responsibility for your part in this, only to say that "we tried, but we couldn't make it work."

There's a fine line between love and hate and I walk that line precariously, my feelings changing on a minute by minute, breath by breath basis, mourning for what could have been and relishing the thought of stomping out what it actually was.

I hate that you would never open up, taking my feelings and discounting or discrediting them. I hate your inability to really get close, connect, make love without thinking about your shortcomings. Control replaced love, insecurities replaced closeness and at the core, you blamed me.

I hate the way you made me feel when time after time I forgave you only to realize that it would happen again because you didn't want to change, you didn't want to own your mistakes. It was rare that words followed by legitimate action, only enough to appease me. Until the next time and there always a next time.

I hate that I believed we were entering into a partnership, one that was doomed from the start because you could no longer hide things from me but tried anyway. I hate that the mere definition of a passive-aggressive bears an uncanny resemblance to you. I hate that you held onto grudges for a year or more, or even for forever and that I would never know until you exploded from surpressing everything, stuffing everything down and sticking your head in the sand and pretending you didn't know that the world, our world was crumbling. I hated that you lied to me for three years or more, and that I had to find out from the police officer that pulled you over. I hated you for thinking you could get away with it. And, that you almost did. I hate that I had to take a final stand, and even then, you will not learn.

I hate that you found it so easy to ask for one last favour even after admitting to taking advantage of me, and that my natural reaction was to acquiese despite proof that you were not to be trusted. I hate the fact that silence hangs in the house, accusations a blanket shrouding what is real. I hate that you were surprised when I told you I had considered looking elsewhere when you witheld from me for years with no explanation.

There is a fine line between love and hate. I'm not sure which side I now rest. I just know that it's more important to love rather than hate and I have to start with myself.

Wishing you all that you deserve,
Scribe