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Met at a party. Nothing in common but mutual friends, house music, The Simpsons, and doing drugs. He used to throw a fit if I didn't spend the night every night. Then he'd sit in front of the computer and tell me I was like "furniture" in his apartment. But why not? What would I do at home alone? At least I'd not be getting ignored by him. Felt like I was in love after two months, he's pressuring me to live with him after a couple more. Guilt trip: "I think I want too much out of this relationship." What did I have to lose? I'd wake him up at six in the morning, horny. We'd do it, snuggle, and fall back to sleep for six hours more. "If I were a Christian, I'd ask you to marry me," he once said in bed. Felt like I had to prove my love, and show more maturity than I truly possess. Moved to the ghetto for him. Tried to keep quiet when I wanted more attention, less talk about music and computers, more validation. I started to notice things about him I didn't like: he couldn't relate to me/ doesn't like to read/ thinks poetry is trivial. "Don't think I have enough love to give." Sex life dwindled to just the mornings we were getting along (a minority of the week's days)-- not like in the December of our first winter: love- making sessions (4 times, can we go 5? in one day). But love-hate relationships seem to be the only kind I am capable of.
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