It's my fault

I loved you and that's a fact even I can't deny, and it is on sleepless nights such as tonight that the memory takes me back to happier times. Today, I went to Cynthia's workplace at East Coast Park to drop by for a visit and she introduced one of her colleague to me, knowing that he's my type. But in return, I without thinking voiced out my defeat saying, 'Ya he's my type. Actually there are many others who are also my type, but I've conceded to the fact that I will never be another person's "type" because I don't think there will be another "Jerome" who can accept me for all that I am.'

It's after I said it that my own words rebounded and hit me. It's like there was a time lapse somewhere in the middle because I only remember the very good first year and the very bad last year. I seriously don't remember when everything started its downward spiral but honestly, I think it's me. Somewhere along the way, I started being impatient, petty, all things typical of an absolute tyrant. Somewhere along the way, I was no longer that contented blissful girlfriend.

1) Egotist: Feels superior to others physically, intellectually or in some other way.
    "I'm the smartest, prettiest and most talented."  

2) Egoist: Preoccupied with oneself, but not necessarily feels superior to others.
    "It's all about me regardless of how I compare to everyone else."

The definition and difference between the two fills the memory gap now. It was after Jerome entered uni. At the start I was still the loving partner, ready to lift the burden off his shoulders after a tiring school day, fetching him from school then sending him home, volunteering to be relied on for whatever deadline coming his way. But slowly, I started to get irritated. My tone changed from that of a courteous assistant to a domineering ruler. I couldn't understand why I was producing such outstanding results with barely any help from him. It was from here on that I felt I was too good for him. Between stressing myself out working on his assignments alone in his room and hearing his outcries of frustration and defeat from playing Dota in the living room, the question goes through my head repeatedly: "Why am I doing this? Do I deserve this?"

But why did I became that way? I was doing it because I wanted to help my boyfriend. Yes, I deserved it because I wanted to help him and he deserved my help. But all I could think of was 'He doesn't deserve me.'

Now I remember. It's my fault.