I never get into anything too emotional or personal in my writing. Sure, I rant about “how to be happy” and things that I have learned about life from my past experiences, but I never get into too much detail about what these “past experiences” are.
I don’t like being alone. And I’m not ashamed to say that because I think most girls would say the same. I am always “talking” to a guy or am in a relationship. That’s just how I am. Do I need men to make me happy? Absolutely not. I am a firm believer in the fact that you have to love yourself before loving anyone else. However, it’s rather flattering to know that someone wants to talk you all the time. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think the same.
What I am about to write is about a past relationship I had. I’ll warn you now, this is going to be a long one. It’s my story and I think censoring would make me feel worse. I want to get it all out there.
I am not writing this to get back at him. I’m doing this for myself and for the well-being of anyone who can relate to a story like mine. I have changed names and small details for privacy reasons. The purpose of this is NOT a “Bash Your Ex” blog. Please try to understand that this is a tough part of my life to dive back into, but I think it’s important to tell the world.
I have tried to tell this in an unbiased way. However, I know there are two sides to every story. This is my side (the right one..in my eyes).
It was the first week of my freshman year (I know, I should’ve just started with something even more cliché like “one time at band camp..”). Just like any freshman, I was vulnerable, excited and totally unaware of what college life was like. I called more people my “best friends” in my first week of college than I have in my whole life. I’d exaggerate my drunkenness to impress people and made sure that EVERYONE who followed me on social media knew that I was in COLLEGE. So, basically, I was a stupid and embarrassing freshman.
A few girlfriends and I went to a different dorm to pre-game with some guys who had a mutual friend. We walked in, and thanks to some liquid courage in my system, I made small talk with one of the guys.
Let’s call him “Joe.”
Joe complimented my dress, and we covered all the basic, introductory small-talk: where we were from, what we majored in, things like that. He was a year older, so I felt pretty cool. And he was fun to talk to, not awkward or shy. He seemed like a decent guy.
We acted like a couple for the rest of the night. We danced, held hands, and then I went back to his room afterwards. Since my friend had known him for a while, I felt pretty comfortable doing so. We didn’t sleep together, but talked and joked around all night. It was fun. Everything was okay.
I went back to my room the next day and told all my friends about Joe. I told them how great he was: such a sweetheart, always complimenting me and making me laugh. Granted, this was a drunk interpretation of him, but like I said before, having a guy around to tell you you’re pretty is quite satisfying.
I started seeing this kid every day. We were constantly talking; I guess you could say that I was a little obsessed. Looking back, I think I was more obsessed with his company than him. It was probably a week into our “relationship” when he told me he loved me. This took me by surprise. It seemed very early and I really hadn’t gotten to know him that well. I sat there in shock, unsure of how to react. I laughed awkwardly; he sat there on his bed with an upset look on his face. So, I said it back, and his face lit up.
The more we hung out, the more I began to realize something was off. I’m not sure if it was the almost-perfect SAT score he claimed to have received, or the ring he “bought” me for our one month anniversary (which was a stolen form his mom’s jewelry box). Somewhere in there, I figured out this kid had a lying problem. But you lie, I lie, we all lie. It’s human nature to spit out something stupid in the moment or just use a little white lie to avoid conflict. I lied when I told him I loved him, so I let these slide.
I was truly infatuated with him: talking 24/7, eating every meal together, going to the gym with him. Basically, we were together all the time. My friends called me a “house cat” because I would be gone for days at a time. I’m not sure why I spent so much time with him because I actually really like spending time by myself. I need time to spend by myself. It all felt like too much. But, he made me laugh and liked the sound of my voice, which was nice.
We would always get into small arguments about his stupid little lies. I thought I had finally gotten Joe to give it up until he told me he, “went out of his way all day to get me these gift cards.” It was two weeks into us talking, and I don’t know how I knew, but something was fishy about it. Who buys a college girl a Build-A-Bear gift card? On the way back to my dorm I called the phone numbers on the back that provide the balance. I knew these gift cards were not new. It wasn’t the money that mattered to me, it was the lying.
That was the first screaming fight I had ever gotten into. I screamed at him so loudly that the RA had to come in and tell me to quiet down. What was I turning into? I never scream at people. Well, whatever I was turning into, I didn’t like it. The next day, he wrote me a love letter via text, and then suddenly everything was fine. I was happy again.
I could get into the all of the arguments we had, but that would take up way too much time. They always started and ended the same way: he lied, we screamed at each other, I’d break up with him, storm away in tears, he’d construct some type of story to make me feel sorry for him, put the fault on me, we’d get back together and act like nothing had ever happened. His enraged eyes would turn into a bright smile, and everything was okay.
Why was I so weak? Perhaps it was the emotional state I was in upon coming into college, dealing with struggles at home. Or, maybe it was the relationship that was making me weak.
When you think about what an “abusive relationship” is, you usually think about bruised arms and a helpless woman crying in the corner. An emotionally-scarring relationship is rarely mentioned, but often just as bad. But I’d never allow myself to get into an abusive relationship…right?
It took some time for me to actually admit to myself that that’s what this was. The first week, it was all smiles. I was in a fantasy world, allowing someone to tear the wall down in front of my heart just because he could make me laugh, which (for those of you who know me) is not that hard to do.
Joe was obsessed with the gym, which I can’t criticize him for. It contributed to my 20 pound weight-loss, and I am now a gym fanatic myself. I started seeing changes in my body that I was proud of. But, it was never good enough for him. He judged me whenever I would eat something unhealthy, and I was only allowed “one treat” a week (am I dog?). When I’d ask him if I looked good (weight-wise) he’d say yes, but then always end it with something like, “I think you could look better if you did more.” I’d spend over two hours with him at the gym every day (if I had to skip one day because of homework, I’d get the “you ate a cookie last night” lecture). I wasn’t paying attention to school, my friends, or anything besides him, for that matter. Everything was okay, though.
The fights continued, and just intensified as the months passed by. I felt myself emotionally breaking down, hating myself. I’d fall asleep every single night wondering, “How can I break up with him without him flipping out? How can I escape this relationship that is turning me into a person I hate?”
- Wearing skirts out when Joe wasn’t there was slutty and a form of cheating.
- Yoga pants were frowned upon because other guys would look at me.
- If I was blonde I would be way prettier. Dark hair didn’t look good.
- It was okay that he asked another girl to send him nude pictures, because he was only going to show them to his roommate.
- I’d gain all my weight back if I had a bowl of ice cream.
- Even though I needed money, getting a job on campus would take up too much of my time, and I didn’t need one.
- I wore too much make up.
- He expected me to cook him something and would leave his dirty dishes for me to clean.
- My mom didn’t care about me or love me.
- Neither did my dad or sister.
I skipped classes, meals, and hanging out with friends for Joe. If I chose to do something instead of spending time with him, I feared what he would say or do. His reactions were unpredictable and I just didn’t want to deal with any of it. I figured if I just did what he wanted me to do, we could avoid conflict.
My friends had seen me at my worst. I’d always complain and tell them about the fights we got in, but then the next day I’d show them the cards he made me, or the loving texts. I’d desperately try to convince them that he was changing, but I was really trying to convince myself. I was trying to convince myself that this guy was a good one, even though I knew he wasn’t.
If I didn’t feel like staying over, I’d get a response like, “Ok, but I brought you a smoothie earlier and do a lot for you. I just don’t think you really appreciate me or care about me and it really hurts.” I would then pack my bag and head on over, no matter how late it was.
I really don’t know how to describe it. He made me feel like the most amazing girl in the entire world, but made me so miserable at the same time. I had never felt so loved by a guy in my entire life. He told me he wanted to be with my for the rest of his life, and kind of convinced me that I wanted the same. It was never “love.” It was an obsession. And I guess I was kind of guilty of being “obsessed” too.
I broke up with him in February, we broke up pretty much every week, but this time I convinced myself I was serious. About three days later, I received an email from the president of the company he worked for. It said something along the lines of: “Hello Beth, This is ______ from _____ . Joe has been telling me that you need a summer job. He talks so highly of you that I’d like to offer you a position for the summer: 35 hours a week, $20 an hour plus tips. Let me know what your thoughts are. I emailed Joe all the paperwork, so you two will need to meet to discuss the logistics.”
I gasped at my computer screen. It was too good to be true, but I somehow believed it. I mean, the email was from the president, so how could it be fake? I guess you can bet what happened next: I met up with Joe, did some paperwork, and we got back together. The next day I even had a phone interview with the president who had emailed me, and it seemed legit. I was pretty excited to start. This story I’ll finish at the end.
The biggest blowout Joe and I had was on my birthday. It was a Thursday and, being March in New England, was snowing. So my friends and I stayed in for some birthday-like activities. Joe came over to join; things were going great, and eventually we went back to my room.
I had never really opened up to him about my personal life or anything that I was dealing with. I spilled the news that my mom started dating another woman shortly after my parents’ divorce and I was really struggling with it. Normally, when someone tells you something like that, you reply with something sympathetic. His reply, “Well, um, doesn’t gay run in the family? So, like, are you lesbian too?” Followed by a laugh.
That was the first time I’ve ever smacked a guy across the face. I told him to get out of my room and never speak to me again. Joe did the thing he’d always do when he got upset. He’d clench his fists, start shaking, make this weird face and then break down in tears.
He wouldn’t leave. He was scaring me and I was stuck in my tiny dorm room with him. He punched my wall, then threw my phone against it. I tried to get him off my lofted bed, but that would have ended badly for both of us. He eventually left, but only because I said “we’d talk about it tomorrow.” I wasn’t planning on following through.
About an hour later, I was still crying. I then heard a bang on my door. I looked through the peep hole, but a finger was blocking it. I knew it was him. I didn’t answer at first, I was absolutely petrified. I had a broken phone, and had no one to contact. I sat in my room trembling, as he continued to bang on the door.
He then said, “I left my backpack in your room, please babe. I’ll leave right after, I promise. I’d never hurt you.” So, naturally, I believed this and let him in. What I didn’t know is that I was letting in my worst nightmare. I gave him his backpack and instructed him to leave. He kept asking if we were together, and I said I didn’t know. He got worked up again and punched a wall, then threw his phone against it. I tried to leave, he wouldn’t let me.
He held my wrists down to my bed.
I was hyperventilating, begging him to let go of me. I said I’d do anything if he’d just let me go. He wouldn’t. Not until I got back together with him. Through my tears, I somehow managed to say “okay.” His hands released me from their grasp and a bright smile appeared on his face. Everything was okay again. While I slept, he packed everything for me for spring break, and cleaned my entire room. He posted sticky notes around the room with little compliments on them. It was quite nice to wake up to. Everything was okay.
That week I set up an interview to meet with someone at Joe’s company to talk to about the job I had been offered. The president (we’ll call him “Adam”) and I had been exchanging emails. Joe came to the interview with me. As soon as I got in the car, Joe mentioned that Adam’s mom had passed away and he wouldn’t be able to make it. Apparently Adam had told Joe to show me around anyway. Although I had woken up early, missed out on a party the night before and gotten dressed up for it, everything was okay.
Things were surprisingly going pretty well with Joe. I mean, I wouldn’t say I was happy, but we weren’t arguing. I got back to school after break and set up another interview with Adam. It was on a Saturday, so I spent $40 on a Peter Pan ticket to get to Boston for this interview. Joe came with me again. I went into the interview thinking that Adam was just going to tell me my schedule and when I would start. I was mistaken. It wasn’t even Adam that I talked to. He had no idea who I was or that I had been in contact with Adam. Strange. The interview ended as most do, “We’ll call you if we’d like to hire you.”
The phone call never came, but I had the job, right? It was a week before summer break began, so I decided to call them. The man who had interviewed me said, “We’re sorry, we’ve chosen another candidate for this position, but we’ll keep your application on file. And by the way, I’m not sure who you talked to, but I spoke to Adam and he said he never spoke to a Beth. Must have been a miscommunication.”
My heart sank. Not only was I unemployed for the summer, but I had fallen for one of Joe’s masterfully crafted lies. I had always questioned it, but it seemed plausible. Later, I found out Joe was using a prank email website, pretending to be Adam. It was just another one of his sick, twisted, tactics to get me in a room alone. He would tell me that I was nothing without him, and I could never do better, so I had to stay with him.
I broke down crying in the library. Was I crying because I didn’t have a job? No. I was crying because I was ashamed of myself. I was ashamed that I had let myself get so deep into a relationship that I was so unhappy in. I was crying because even though both my head and my heart were telling me no, I kept it going. I was crying because I let this stupid kid make me feel worthless and question who I wanted to become.
I was in one of the private study rooms in the library, and Joe was on his way to bring me lunch like he did every Tuesday/Thursday. He saw my tears and immediately knew. He knew he was caught red-handed. He did the “Joe thing” again. Shaking, quivering lips, pacing, clenched fists.
I told him I was done and to never speak to me again, and this time I knew I meant it. But then, he wouldn’t let me leave. He blocked the doorway to exit the study room and had a look in his eye that brought me back to my birthday night. I dreaded that look. I broke down crying, but tried to keep it quiet because we were in public. I escaped and went to the bathroom to wash my face. He followed me, and although he didn’t come into the women’s room, I could still feel his presence. It terrified me.
I called my mom and told her what happened and that I was scared. I waited in the bathroom for 15 minutes. I figured Joe had left. I was wrong. He followed me all the way back to my dorm. I was still on the phone with my mom, making sure she knew every detail. My mom was just as scared as I was. She told me to go into the safest building, and, since it was a Saturday, nothing was open.
The walk back from the library was under 10 minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. Joe was harassing me; he kept asking to talk to my mom. As I was about to go into my building, he came up behind me, grabbed my arm and ripped my phone out of my hand, hanging up on my mom.
I knew I needed to get away.
Somebody was watching out for me that day. Just as he was threatening to kill me, and himself, I saw two of my friends. He said, “Don’t you dare go to your friends.” Obviously I didn’t listen to him. I ran to them, snagging my phone out of his hands on the way. Joe continued to harass and follow me until I went inside. I immediately went to the Resident Director’s office, and shut the door behind me.
There was legal things involved, he got charged with various violations of the Code of Conduct, but I won’t get into that.
If you made it all the way to this point, congrats, that was a long one. But again, this post is not to slander Joe. I’ve mentioned this before, but writing is my escape. I write to be happy, I write to cope, and I write to move on. Writing about this is something I always wanted to do, but I never had the courage to.
His presence still scares me. We see each other on campus occasionally, and I get this uneasy feeling (though we have not been in contact in about two years).
I know he has a different girlfriend now, they started dating less than a month after we broke up. I truly hope he treats her with the respect that she deserves. Joe did do a lot for me, he’d do a lot of things to make me happy, but there was always a hidden agenda.
After reading this, you probably see me as weak. Many of my closest friends don’t even understand why I stayed with someone like him. But you don’t get it until it happens to you. It’s a trap with no escape. Getting told every single day that “I could never do better,” “I wasn’t good enough,” and, “No one will ever love me as much,” sticks with you. It gets injected into your mind in some twisted and f’d up way.
One moment they’re making you so happy and the next moment they have you thinking that you are the worst human being on this planet. It’s an abusive relationship. They give you false hopes for a better tomorrow, a false hope that they’ll change because “they love you that much.”
This extends beyond Joe. This extends to anyone who has ever let someone make them feel like they’re not good enough. I’ll tell you one thing, you ARE good enough. If you are happy with yourself, then that’s all that matters. Don’t let some loser tell you otherwise. NEVER ever, ever, ever settle for less than you deserve, in any aspect of your life.
I’d actually like to thank Joe. Thank him for making me realize what I most certainly don’t deserve. I’m not the skinniest girl on earth, I have plenty of flaws that I’d like to fix, but I’m happy. I’m happy with the choices I make and the people I choose to associate with. The fact that I let someone tell me otherwise makes me sick. Never do that. Never let a guy change the person you are, because you rock just the way are.
I met one of the most amazing guys in the world, and we’ve been happy together for over 7 months. I appreciate him more because I know what the bottom of the barrel feels like. I don’t have to fake a smile or an “I love you,” with him. He’s awesome. I’m genuinely happy and I love it. So, YES Joe, I did do better than you (although that’s not too difficult), and I did find someone who does things to put a smile on my face just because he enjoys to. He likes me with brown or blonde hair, doesn’t think its gross when I sweat at the gym and thinks I’m the hottest girl around. I love him for many reasons, but I mainly love him because he makes me a better version of myself, something you, Joe, never did.
So, moral of the story: when a guy tells you he loves you after knowing you for a week, don’t walk or run, SPRINT THE F*$@ OUT OF THERE. Kidding, kind of. But, in all seriousness, please take what I said and try to apply it to your life. If you are talking to a guy that makes you feel like less than amazing, say sayonara to him. You’ll find the guy that makes you feel like a princess, I promise. Don’t rush into anything because you feel forced to. Be honest with yourself and your heart.
What I learned:
- Love is amazing, so love the people who love you for you.
- Always put your friends first because they will always be there…and they’re usually right.
- Rushing into a relationship is one of the worst things you can do, so take your time. If the guy matters, he’ll wait for you.
- Any guy that expects you to pick up after him is a loser.
- Don’t say “I love you” unless you mean it.
So Joe, when you glare at me at the gym (yes I still workout…shocker!) I could not care less.
And no, Joe, “gay” does not run in the family. You’re an idiot.
If you find yourself in a relationship like this, TELL SOMEONE. Don’t let it go ignored. The best thing I did was talk to someone, and get law enforcement involved. My university was extremely helpful and understanding, which allowed me some peace of mind. Silence is a virtue, but it can be your worst enemy too.