This feels one-sided. I want out. I lay awake dreaming of leaving, yet I keep coming back for more.
A bad relationship is an apt metaphor for Love, the Netflix show about a couple of self-obsessed Los Angeles types who are oh-so-wrong for each other they might just be right.
The entire second season debuted earlier this month in one easy-to-binge package, so, just like I did with season one, that's exactly what I did.
Now that it's over, I have only regrets. I devoured 12 episodes over four nights, despite developing an absolute hatred for the Judd Apatow-produced comedy.
Mickey and Gus, Love's main couple, are despicable people. They are narcissistic, self-involved schlubs who do mostly horrible things to themselves and to each other.
They whine, they complain, they sleep with other people. They fight, they break up, they get back together. Then they hook up with exes, and meet up for snacks.
Excuse the pun, but I'm not rooting for them. I don't want to see Mickey and Gus together. I don't want them to last the distance. I definitely don't want to see them share another super-awkward kiss.
They're making me miserable, so why would I want them to be happy?
Sure, Love comes with a great supporting cast, including Claudia O'Doherty as Mickey's awesomely quirky flat mate Bertie, and Brett Gelman as her super intense radio boss, a love therapist who is terrible at relationships.
That, along with Netflix's oh-no-the-next-episode's-started-now-we-have-to-watch-it bingeability, is the only reason I've stuck it out for two seasons.
Part of me things Apatow is delivering his ultimate meta troll: making me have a bad relationship with a TV show about a bad relationship. That seems too deep for someone behind Pineapple Express.
But I managed to break up with The Walking Dead after seven torrid seasons. So I'm going to try and do the same with Love and bow out before it's too late. I don't want to make the same mistakes.
Wish me luck. I'm going cold turkey.