Sometimes we confuse infatuation for deeper feelings. Sometimes we latch onto others for support a little too strongly and too quickly. Sometimes we share too much, expect too little, and know no better.
It was a whirlwind of a romance if it could even be classified as such. He and I conversed for hours on end through Facebook Messenger, never once tiring of each other's attention. Just a week prior, a friend had destroyed my trust in them; I'd been humiliated in front of someone I held in high regard, and I hit academic burnout. I was emotionally drained and in urgent need of words of validation and sweet reassurances from anyone who would deliver, and here was this cute dude who went to the same high school as I did, a bit too willing to give me exactly what I was seeking. I was elated.
It was oddly convenient timing, and to this day, I still have no clue as to whether or not he'd planned it that way.
Everything moved too quickly, but I didn't care. Days after we'd exchanged our first messages, he asked me out, and of course, I accepted. When else would I get another opportunity like this one? He told me that he'd always be there for me after I lamented about my lost friendships. I was showered in compliments I wasn't good at accepting. Over and over, he exclaimed that he understood my emotions, that he could relate, that I wasn't alone, that what I was feeling was real and not silly and okay. He excelled where other friends would get off telling me that I was paranoid, overreacting, or simply reading too much into events.
"This is it; this is exactly who I need in my life right now," I thought to myself. It was too good to be true.
One often sees into the past with much more clarity than the present, though that is not unusual. To accept that one overlooked blatant details, however, is not easy.
While I spoke about my problems to him, he'd speak about his to me in a give-and-take exchange. I opened my heart to him, never once doubting that my honesty would be reciprocated. The way he painted his stories made them seem so somber, so deep, that I threw out my own issues, declaring that I'd help him shoulder the weight of his past traumas so he didn't have to do it alone. From that conversation on, he'd tell me a new tale of his depressing past every day, each one darker than the last. I listened attentively, doling out my own words of comfort to him because I was made to feel that he needed them more than I did. My problems seemed silly compared to his.
It didn't take long for me to feel as though I was walking on eggshells around him whenever I tried bringing up miscellaneous topics. The surge of energy he'd given me when we first met quickly fizzled out into meager cinders. Talking to him was exhausting. I was afraid of mentioning old friends, particularly a girl because she'd allegedly psychologically abused him. I couldn't talk about my parents because his own parents were unpleasant to talk about. I had to talk him down from nightly panic attacks, help him breathe again when he received a message from his ex, and make sure he wouldn't blame himself for things out of his power, all on a highly frequent basis.
He'd walk away from conversations still shaken, leaving me to feel guilty for not having been good enough to console him the way he was able to console me. Then he'd come back and tell me that I was his everything, that he didn't know what he'd do without me, and that he was sorry for making me worry. It was a roller-coaster of emotions that I wasn't strong enough to handle, and before long, I didn't want to be there anymore. The thought of leaving sickened me, however, because I convinced myself that I was being selfish. He'd accepted me when I felt low, so why couldn't I do the same for him? I forced myself to stick around.
Not like I could refuse anyway. He'd told me about how he'd decided to rewrite all his plans for the future because of me. Plans to leave town turned into a request to help him look for affordable apartments to stay in town. His conviction to become a detective mysteriously faded into nothing as he instead chose that he'd study psychology. I became the sole reason for which he changed it all. I felt tied down. If he'd sacrificed it all for me, the least I could do was repay him by listening when he needed someone to talk to, at the expense of my own emotional state. It was okay if I was constantly tired. If he felt well, that was what was important.
I'd stopped caring about my own happiness and placed his above mine, all while he used me as his crutch. He had a therapist he could speak to weekly, yet he treated me as though I were the only one qualified to help him work through his issues.
One particular conversation remains very vivid in my memory. We were talking about what we hated most in the world. His response was those who cheat in relationships, as his ex and his mother were prime examples. I told him that I hated liars.
When we had our first kiss, I lied and told him that I'd enjoyed it. I never told him about the panic attack I had in the campus library bathroom five minutes after our date was over.
I later discovered that a year ago, he had cheated on his ex with the friend I mentioned earlier and that he had been playing them both. That was why I couldn't talk about my friend, or to her.
We ourselves were the epitome of what we hated most.
Our relationship lasted around three weeks before I snapped under the tremendous pressure I felt every time we interacted. I was consistently being drained of energy in his presence. He was always trapped by his past traumas, and I honestly still hadn't gotten over mine. It felt like he was competing to make sure that I knew his problems were much worse than my own struggles. It was suffocating. I lied out of courtesy and told him that it wasn't his fault I was breaking up with him. I told him we could still be friends.
He didn't take that too well.
In the weeks following our breakup, I began to see his actions and words toward me in a new light. He heavily guilt-tripped me for leaving him on his Tumblr, but when I went to vent my own thoughts, I was suddenly the villain. He told me he'd give me space, but he obsessively stalked my blog for weeks at ungodly hours of the night.
I learned from my friend that his behavior was nothing new. He had pulled the exact same stunts a year prior. Blocking him gave me the strongest sense of relief that I'd felt in months, but I didn't do it before delivering a solid clap-back on Tumblr. Maybe it was unnecessary to call him out so brashly, but the sense of freedom I felt after standing up for myself and for my friend and proclaiming that we deserved better than to be fooled with by people like him was elating.
Recognizing signs of toxicity in a relationship while you're in it is tricky, especially when the subtlest signs may not actually seem toxic. I thought it was normal to place a partner's needs above my own. I thought it was normal to make sacrifices for their happiness. I thought it was normal to not expect anything in return for being supportive, or as I saw it, a decent human being. I confused the feelings of queasiness and anxiety I felt when I saw him with happy tummy butterflies.
The experience wasn't all bad. I learned that I deserve to not be treated like a doormat for people to wipe all the shit they've stepped in all over me. I discovered that I was exhibiting symptoms of borderline personality disorder while I looked for resources to make sure I didn't make things worse while I comforted the guy. I reconnected with my friend through sharing our awfully similar experiences with our mutual ex.
I'm not totally recovered from the incident, but I can proudly say that I've gained enough insight on my own behavior to walk away as a better person than I was before meeting him. A little damaged, but stronger.
Take some time to evaluate your relationships with people, romantic, platonic, or even with your family. If anyone uses you as a dumping ground for their problems and belittles yours, be wary. It's okay to try to limit the amount of time you spend around them however possible, whether it's by spending less (or more) time at home, joining (or leaving) clubs or groups, or simply by busying yourself with other things like school or a hobby.
Don't let them make you feel bad for trying to protect your own mental health. If you are not a therapist, don't let them treat you like one. It's okay to ask a friend for advice or to vent about the occasional frustration, but if they desperately need somebody to speak to about more serious matters, cautiously refer them to a professional who is trained to deal with them. Make an effort to find yourself a therapist as well, if you feel you need one.
You matter too.
