“I’m a very patient person,” he’d said when I moved in, and I thought that was great. I’m a very sensitive person, so we had this lovely chat about how so many other people are thoughtless and rude, and how we’d both lived with unpleasant people in the past and it was great to have found each other.
That Saturday, he said it again,
“I’m a very patient person.” This time it was when he found some crumbs I’d left by the kettle, only there was a slight edge to his voice. And I thought Whoah! It’s only a few crumbs! And I actually had a little cry, because it seemed a bit mean. He felt guilty though, so I thought we’d be alright from then on.
Then he said it again on the Monday when I left a ring around the bath, only it was more high-pitched. I said, “Well I’m a very sensitive person, and I can’t live with this kind of atmosphere,” and I slammed the door and didn’t speak to him for three days.
I hoped that had got the message through, but then again, those words, spoken through gritted teeth while pointing at the coffee splots on the floor. He didn’t even seem to see how unreasonable he was being, so I poured my coffee all over the carpet and up the doors, because all this tension is intolerable.
We were fine then, until this morning. I was just chatting to him about something at work that had upset me, while he was doing the washing up that I’d left in the sink to soak over the weekend. Everything was fine, but then he started being so rough with the washing up, that he actually broke one of the plates, and then stormed out! His anger just came from nowhere.
As a sensitive person, I need to leave for the sake of my mental health. I don’t think he’s patient at all.