I don’t like who I am when I’m with you. That’s just a facade of who you want me to be or think I am, a meaningless act I keep involuntarily to preserve your image of me, even if it’s one of the lowest opinion. I don’t like being restrained from being myself, even if it’s myself who cannot break these chains. It has been so long I cannot be anything else with you anymore. You have this idea of the person I am and you impose it on me negating my vain attempts to breath.