I believed I was in love. I convinced myself that our constant arguments and reconciliations meant we were destined for marriage and a happily ever after. I thought our satisfying physical connection and his attraction to me ensured a lasting relationship. At 21, I endured a year-long relationship with him, believing he was the one because he was only the second man I had been with. It didn’t matter that he introduced me to alcohol before the legal age and to drugs. We were having fun, and I believed it was love.
It did not matter that he threatened to kill himself every time I ended the relationship or that he would show me the self-inflicted cuts all over his arm every time we got into an argument. It did not matter that he made fun of my weight or that he joked about leaving me for someone prettier. It did not matter that he didn’t trust me around my male co-workers or kept me confined to the apartment and allowed me to only go to work. I was not allowed to have a social life, but he was allowed to come and go as he pleased. I was not allowed to have friends of the opposite sex, but he could.
Despite all of this, I stayed because I believed he would change. I believed that this was love, and I made sacrifices because I was in love. I would ask him to change, and I was met with promises and sweet words that convinced me that this was worth staying for. However, the toxicity of the relationship only escalated over time.
Even after I drove him to and from work, I was only deserving of a shoplifted keychain during the holiday. His appetite for sex knew no end. He would spend countless hours engrossed in illicit content, despite my pleas for him to stop. He convinced me to be videotaped when we engaged in intercourse. I came across illegal content on his laptop, and when I confronted him about it, he would get mad at me for believing he would even watch something so heinous. His promises to stop watching content would always end with a relapse, or him trying to cover his tracks so he could continue to feed his habit.
The downfall started one morning after I awoke and went to the bathroom. He and I had a long night of drinking at home. As I began to pass urine, I felt something shift in my loins. I reached down between my legs, feeling something slimy. Panic set in as I thought an organ was coming out of me. My heart raced as the fear continued to swell up inside me. I urged my bladder to continue and heard a plop in the toilet bowl, and upon looking, I found a condom. Anger welled up inside of me. We hadn’t had intercourse in 3 days; where did the condom come from? It wasn’t possible to be from anyone else since I never left the house.
I had only been at home with him.
I went into the bedroom and found him sitting on his laptop. I demanded an explanation, but he continued to deny any wrongdoing. The trust in our relationship was shattered at that moment, leaving me with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Time passed, and I tolerated living in an emotional prison. The event that set me free occurred during a night of heavy drinking. We went to bed that night, and I passed out from having too much liquor in my system. I awoke at some point during the night while lying on my back, feeling my pajama bottoms around my ankles. I could feel the weight of his body on top of me as he tried to force himself in between my legs. Groans began to escape my lips as I slowly realized what was happening. As drunk as I was, feeling the room spinning, I found the strength to roll over on my side, causing him to fall off of me. I lay in the darkness, hearing him scurry off of the bed and retreat out of the bedroom. As I lay in the stillness, my anger quickly sobbed me up. I sat up in bed, pulled back up my pajama bottoms, and stormed off into the living room, finding him lying on the couch.
Mustering my strength, I screamed, “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”
I severed the chains by moving out that same week.
After that, I attempted to go on with my life and moved back in with my parents, feeling as though I had finally cut my relationship with him off forever. Sometimes he would call, leaving voicemails pleading with me to return. I would not respond to his advances.
He had called my mother a few times, but she had always told him that I wasn’t home.
He arrived at my place of employment with a knife strapped to his arm and visible. He had etched my name onto his upper arm, encircling it with a heart and leaving an ‘X’ through it. My manager noticed him and lingered close. I told him he was causing a scene and needed to leave my work. He surprisingly did, and once he was out of view, my manager ran to me to ask if I was okay. I explained I was, and she finally asked, “Do you know him?” I felt embarrassed to admit, “Yes, that’s my ex-boyfriend.”
I eventually started dating a co-worker, and he eventually found out. I felt like he was watching me at all times, and I couldn’t shake off the feeling. He showed up at my house while my new boyfriend was over, and I received several texts asking, “Who is that?”
I tried to tell him it was none of his business, or hopefully push him away by telling him that I had moved on.
I attempted to get a restraining order, fearing he was becoming unhinged. If he showed up at my workplace with a knife visible on his person, I wasn’t sure what else he was capable of.
My heart sank when the judge denied the restraining order; she reasoned that I never stated that I feared for my life.
It all came to a head when I received a voicemail one morning from him saying goodbye and that he was going to take his life. He left my mom a similar voicemail, and she notified the local police. The police arrived at his apartment, discovering that he had attempted to take his own life by overdosing on pills. He was committed to a psychiatric unit for several days. I heard from his sister that once he was well, he moved out of state to live with his father. My fear left with him once he was out of the state.
Years later, I was wondering what had become of him. After searching online, I discovered he was incarcerated for possessing and distributing child pornography, which made me sick to my stomach. I constantly gave in to my need to be in love and justified his behavior. I felt resentful of myself for attempting to make the relationship work. I sought psychiatric help after realizing that what he had done to me amounted to rape. The realization didn’t hit me until some time later, as I had excused it since we were in a relationship. Therapy showed me that it was not my fault for what had happened to me. He is responsible for his actions, and I feel at peace now knowing he is behind bars.
After being single for a while and taking time for self-reflection and personal growth, I gained clarity on what I wanted in a partner and how to be a better partner myself. Unexpectedly, I met the love of my life, and the journey to get to where I am today was worth it. It took countless relationships that ended up broken to realize that you should not alter someone to fit your idea of “perfect.” The one that is right for you will make all the necessary changes to keep you. You should not have to beg for someone, nor should you have to ask them to stop hurting you, because true love does not hurt.
