I’m sorry that my jealousy never seems to lessen. Even if you do everything right, even if you delete your dating apps and never even glance at another girl while I’m in the room with you, I will still be paranoid about the possibility of you cheating. I will still wonder what you’re really doing on the other side of the phone when we’re texting from afar. I will still torture myself with questions about whether you’re attracted to your female friends or to my female friends. No matter how much I trust you to stay loyal, there will always be an cynical voice in the back of my mind, warning me that you might betray me sometime soon.
I’m sorry that I have trouble taking a compliment. I know it can become frustrating when I’m constantly complaining about how my hair is a mess or how my skin is breaking out or how my eyeliner is askew. I know it can come across as insulting when I shake my head after you tell me how I’m the most beautiful girl you have ever seen. I know that confidence is sexy and I wish I had more of it. I wish I could walk out of the house with my head held high instead of second guessing whether I’m good enough.
I’m sorry that I become so defensive from time to time. I have low-self esteem. I don’t think much of myself. So when you use a slightly different tone than usual or make a comment I deem offensive, I assume you’re angry with me. I assume you hate me as much as I hate myself and jump down your throat without meaning to do so. I take my frustrations out on you when the person I’m actually annoyed with is myself.
I’m sorry that I need constant reassurance. Questioning whether you care about me is not a sign that you aren’t being a good enough boyfriend and showering me with enough attention. It’s just a product of my own self-doubt. I cannot see how anyone loves me, which is why I need you to repeat the words so often. I’m hoping that if you say them again and again, they will eventually sink into my head deep enough for me to believe them.
I’m sorry that I have a habit of making problems out of nothing. I will assume your friends hate me because of a stupid joke they made. I will assume your parents wish you would dump me for somebody better. I assume the worst because my expectations are low. I’m always waiting for something horrible to happen to me, which is why I’m uncomfortable even around people who I should be used to by now.
I’m sorry if I push you away when I’m upset because I’m embarrassed for you to see me cry. I’m sorry if I get quiet in groups because I’m worried about acting awkward. I’m sorry if my lack of self-love has made me difficult to love.