He says he loves you, and you believe him. He says no one will ever be able to love you like he does, and you believe him. You love him. Truly, deeply, wholeheartedly and a good helping of other sincerity-infused adverbs.
He demands exclusivity, which is fair, I’ll grant. He is your provider, your refuge. What would you be without him?
Yet criticism is out of the question because, obviously, he’s perfect. You learn to dismiss any misgivings or questions people have about him because they don’t know him like you do. What you have is special. It can’t be explained to outsiders, because they don’t see what you see, how wonderful and radiant he is. What basis would they even have to criticise? He chose you, and you chose him! To hell with scoffers, right?
How conveniently you ignore the fact that he takes credit, or rather you give him credit, for the things you achieve. You work hard and achieve them because he enables you to. Or because he somehow curried favour with those who may have given you a push. It’s never him directly, but in your mind it’s always him ultimately.
How conveniently you ignore the fact that everything that ever goes wrong is your fault, even when you can’t say how. When you really need him to step up, he does not; and it’s because of something you did, or failed to do.
He is in control of you, and you are essentially aware of it, because he tells you he can take care of you better than you can. And you believe him. He prefers you be friends only with people who explicitly approve of him. He would like you to put in a good word to those who are indifferent to or wary of him; or, failing that, cut them off. You trust him, so you go along with it.
Let’s face it: it is reprehensible, and I am sure you have felt the frustration of seeing someone dear to you stay in, and even vehemently defend, such an arrangement. I am sure you have felt the powerlessness that comes with not doing anything about it because you don’t have the right to interfere with expressed wishes, nor the ability to make your dear one see what is obvious to you.
A relationship? No, that’s not what this is, unless you mean it in the loosest sense, the way my fingers have a “relationship” with the keys they strike as I type. This isn’t a relationship. This isn’t love, and if you insist it is, I can’t have much respect for him, the one discussed above.
And I think our only point of disagreement here is that I make no exception for the divine.
