i hate you. i really do

sometimes when its too much to bear, i want to scream at her with all my might. to scream my reason on why i drive her to the walls. to scream at her the consequences of what she had made me do 3 years ago but mostly i didn't because its just too much. to talk about what he was like is akin to asking me to relive my hell all over again as i'm not sure if the words that tumbled out of my mouth would be just to the action of his. how he tried to caged me and made me into becoming who he wanted me to be. how i detest the sight of him. whenever i hear her call him, i always had the urge to tell her the truth; that the saint that she painted him to be is a far cry from who he really is. but again i didn't because talking about it made me ill with disgust. disgust at him and her for making me who i am today - the cynic who really didn't know how to be happy for i was brought up in a mess of a family and then tried to be molded in a docile traditional female in my adolescent. i hate him with all my heart and because of that i begrudged her for chaining me to him thus the attitude.

i'm not sure if i'll ever tell you what had happened between me and him because these events are greater than what mere words could tell and i'm even less sure if i'll truly ever forgive you for pushing me to him because you're the one who is suppose to protect me not hurt me. instead you didn't because you didn't know, still this excuse is too flimsy a one to heal the wound that both of you had made in me.