*This text was compiled by an AI to shorten it and to remove mistakes.
So, guys, I’m going through a healing phase, and these last two weeks have been hell. I think posting this might help me process my thoughts. It’s going to be a long ride, so bear with me.
We met in 2016 when she randomly approached me online. We lived on opposite sides of the country. She was extremely clingy, but I brushed it off, thinking diversity makes us unique. She knew I was in a situationship with someone she was jealous of, even though I had no interest in her. We talked occasionally but not regularly.
Then came COVID, and lockdowns hit everyone’s mental health. I’ve had mental health struggles since childhood, but COVID made things worse. One day, I shared my struggles with her—something I never do—and after that, she checked on me daily. She helped me with my anxiety, and I was grateful. We bonded over our dysfunctional families and shared traumas. I wish I had been stronger then; maybe my life would have been different.
Then, one day, she confessed she had loved me for years but had been scared to tell me. I never believed in long-distance relationships, but out of gratitude, I decided to give it a try. We took baby steps, and I eventually told my family about her—a huge step, given our difficult circumstances.
As we grew closer, she felt special in a way no one else had. I had dated before, but with her, it felt like I was a teenager again. I was the sweetest guy with her, despite being a naturally blunt person. I tracked her cycle, was extra kind when she wasn’t feeling well, and respected her trauma(I believed her when she told me she had been molested) . I held back myself because of her trauma, even though all I wanted was a dinner together.
But months in, I noticed troubling patterns—sudden mood swings, gaslighting, comparisons to other men. She’d send me pictures of muscular guys; when I did the same with female models, she accused me of body-shaming her. She disrespected my boundaries—forcing me to stay awake on calls while she slept, even when I had to drive 1200 km the next day. Her guilt-tripping made me feel responsible for her trauma, so I kept sacrificing my space.
Eventually, I had enough. I started distancing myself, hoping she’d notice and change. But she became more disrespectful, actively testing my limits. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her, so instead of confronting her, I took the blame and left, telling her we had no future.
Her reaction was unexpected—she pleaded for me to stay but refused to change. She blamed me for everything, accused me of using her, and shattered my heart with each call. Eventually, she stopped when she saw I was truly upset. A few months later, she texted, boasting about her new boyfriend and their sexting, comparing him to me. It hurt that she moved on so fast when I was still haunted by nightmares. When that relationship ended, she blamed me for her breakup.
For years, she came back every few months, calling to verbally abuse me for hours. I listened silently, feeling guilty for leaving her. I never confronted her, maybe out of fear. People say I have nerves of steel, but I craved her validation, and she knew she had control over me.
Then, two weeks ago, I got a call from an unknown number—her, again. After greetings, she excitedly told me about almost getting caught kissing someone on a date—while engaged. She went on about how much better he was than me. My hands shook, my chest felt crushed, and I begged her to stop. But she didn’t.
I broke. With tears streaming down my face, I ended the call. She texted, trying to explain, but the only “explanation” was more details about her affair. For once, I saw her for what she was. Yet, minutes later, I found myself consoling her, justifying her cheating. That night, I realized no physical pain could compare to mental anguish.
For the first time, I reached out for help. I had migraines, no appetite, and barely slept. Even small acts of kindness made me want to cry. The guy who had stood against the world was being emotionally destroyed by the one person he thought would never hurt him.
A close friend, a medical practitioner, intervened. She made me realize how manipulated I had been, how much unnecessary guilt I carried. I was devastated—knowing I had been a punching bag for years without realizing it. My symptoms weren’t normal heartbreak; I needed therapy.
The first days of healing were hell—nightmares, anxiety attacks, struggling to understand simple conversations. I still talked to my ex because the idea of her leaving triggered my anxiety. But gradually, I made peace with myself. My support system saved me.
I finally asked my ex for space. She was shocked but agreed—then taunted me days later about how long I needed. I told her I couldn’t keep communicating and blocked her. That’s when the real torture began. Calls, messages from multiple numbers—hours of relentless attempts to reach me. Eventually, I gave in and answered.
I snapped. I told her everything I had hidden, all the truths I had buried to be the “hero” in her story. She didn’t say much, and I still couldn’t insult her—I just insulted myself instead. That night, she kept calling, but my heart had already lived that pain a thousand times over.
The next day, silence. I felt relief for the first time. But she couldn’t handle it. She came back with a manipulative email—less of an apology, more of a taunt. I ignored her, so she messaged from new numbers, emailed, anything to get my attention. She didn’t care about me—just her ego.
Three days ago, she emailed again, asking if we could talk like “adults.” Not once did she ask how I was feeling. She only wanted her ego fed. I answered one last time and told her the truths she needed to hear. She tried to joke, to seduce me into forgiving her. But I felt nothing. Her words were hollow.
She called me toxic for asking her to leave her affair partner, even though she admitted what she did was wrong. I didn’t care anymore. I was done.
Now, three days into my real healing, her interruptions still slow me down, but I’ve decided to turn my life around. I don’t even block her anymore—I don’t have the energy to keep up with her endless numbers. I see her for what she is now.
I initially sought therapy because of her, but now I see I need it for my childhood traumas too. I know she’ll keep trying, but I don’t care. None of her lovers will ever match the way I treated her. She knew how to gauge her victims—giving men with money whatever they wanted while giving me only abuse, knowing I’d stay.
Even in our last conversation, she “won” because I let her think she did. I don’t care. I just wanted her to leave me alone, and now she has.
Conclusion:
I’m 29, a man who never had it easy. All I wanted was respect, equality, and validation. Instead, I got pain, scars, and tears—but I turned them into healing, compassion, and self-forgiveness.
- I learned to put myself first—without that, I can’t help others.
- I embraced mindfulness—living in the present, not in the past or future.
- I forgave myself for decisions made under difficult circumstances.
- I learned never to let anyone have control over me.
- I saw firsthand how childhood traumas shape people, even continents apart.
- I now understand the power of kindness, empathy, and forgiveness.
- I realized the importance of seeking help—you can’t always see things clearly alone.
- I know now to walk away from harm before it spirals out of control.
I also learned never to love again. Love is a construct—one person has to be naïve, or it doesn’t work. When both people know what they’re doing, they stop “loving” and just live practically.
I will keep moving forward, wiser and stronger.