He was the kind of boy who was so nice, that falling in love with him hardly felt like falling into a trap. He would smile and raise an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're mad, again?" And I would shake my head. It would never even occur that maybe there was a reason everything he did ended up hurting me.
He was the kind of boy who would change the subject when I was sad. "I can't deal with your emotions," he would say. Then he would shut my mouth with his, and after that nothing mattered because his hands would do all the talking.
He was the kind of boy who would wrap a hand around my wrist and explain that he was keeping me safe. "You're lucky to have me." And I sure felt lucky. "But you can't keep getting upset like this. I can't handle it. Girls like you are crazy." And I sure felt crazy, too.
And he was the kind of boy I could never see properly until I'd gotten far far away. And what you saw there was an iron cage masquerading as affection.
And what I'd feel would be relief and sadness and anger, that anyone could take my gentleness and twist it and use it against me. And I would see. I would see how he was 'that' kind of boy.
Sometimes he'd say, "talk to me, I want to know what you're thinking" and I'd try to explain. But after a while I realized he just wanted to know what I thought so he could shoot me down. So I stopped talking so much and he started complaining that I was getting too quiet.
Loving him was so fucking awful, yet weirdly relieving. At the same time I wanted to leave him, I wanted to ask if I could, like I needed permission to escape a toxic relationship he had pursued.
I won't forget what Margo had told me earlier that morning, over the phone, when I cried about loving him so much I didn't want to leave:
"You don't sound like you're in love with him, you sound like you're desperately trying to hold onto pieces of affection that are firing splinters into your heart.
"When your eyes are red from a night's crying but you smile when strangers ask if you feel okay, that is not love.
"When he shouts at you and you scream back but your cries are never as loud as his words, saying your dreams are invalid and your thoughts insane, that is not love.
"When he expects you to give up your life to make him happy, to commit yourself to something you never wanted, please stop telling yourself it is love.
"This is not love. Love is not a chore that you need to make excuses for, that you need to say "maybe he controls me, but I know it's out of love" or "perhaps he calls me stupid, but he makes me feel beautiful". Stop making excuses. This is not love."
Weirdly enough, she was right. This wasn't love at all.
It might've been love at the beginning, but I sure as hell knew that this wasn't it now.
I'd been so caught up in him for the last 5 years, that I never stopped and thought about myself. It was always him him him.
The signs were so obvious. Everyone fucking told me to leave while I could, before things got serious. I brushed it off with a "I can take care of myself. Don't worry." But I couldn't.
Everyone told me to leave him, but they never told me how. They never told me how hard it is to escape being in an abusive relationship.
It's not a simple "I'm breaking up with you." It's constant worry of what will happen after. He's been so collected until now. What will happen once the controlled doesn't want to be controlled anymore? What will happen when he realizes he has no power after that day, after having it for so long?
You have to plan every move you make, just to be safe. You have to pack beforehand, in case you need a quick getaway, which is exactly what I did. I put all my belongings into a duffel bag, leaving it on the chair near my door. I slipped my shoes on, too, before walking out and greeting him in the living room.
