The Blame Game
Yes, it’s all my fault. You have had absolutely no hand in anything that’s gone on in this relationship. I made you come to my house all those nights. I made you meet some of my family and my friends. I forced you to let me meet your son. I shoved the fucking food I had cooked down your throat. I made you wash your clothes at my house and use my laundry detergent. I made you talk until all hours of the night so you couldn’t get any sleep. I made you wake me up in the middle of the night, sometimes more than once, to have sex. I made you give me a key to your house. I made you let me drive you to drop your son off at the meeting point with your ex. I made you miss paying your bills because you don’t have enough time to yourself. Oh, and because I was so “smothering”, I made you fuck that other chick.
Are you fucking kidding me?? How old are you? I thought you were 42, but obviously, that’s only chronologically. Emotionally I think you’re about 12. Wait–that might be giving you a couple too many years, because my son is 12, and he can take more responsibility for his behavior and decisions than you can!
But guess what Fuck Stick? I’m not going to own it. It’s not mine to own, so I refuse to. If you can’t take responsibility for yourself and your actions, you’re not a man. You have no balls, and I have absolutely no patience for a man who has no balls.