The Thoughts That Weren’t Mine

I was in an emotional war for six years. Except at the time, I had no idea what was going on. I was constantly questioning what I was doing wrong. One minute we were laughing and having deep conversations about life, music, and our future. The next, I was apologizing for something I didn’t understand I had done wrong. I felt pulled into his erratic moods that shifted without warning, leaving me constantly walking through a minefield.

He was quiet and mysterious. I felt drawn to him. He would come into the store where I worked just to chat. He never bought anything, but I shined a little whenever he walked in. He found me on Facebook, and we became friends. I looked through his pictures and read his captions. He seemed charming and funny.

The more I got to know him, the more interested I became. We would go on dates and talk about life and music for hours. We both loved photography, graffiti, and underground hip hop. I felt the excitement and butterflies that made me want to see more of him.

As we dated more, he would shower me with little gifts or make dinner for me. I saw how thoughtful he could be.

Then the small red flags started appearing.

I noticed that everywhere we went, there was always a woman who would say hi to him and give him an overly friendly hug. It wasn’t a big deal until, after we walked away, he would tell me he had slept with her.

Why would he tell me this?

Was he trying to make me jealous?

I found myself making up stories about my past relationships just to test his reaction. I was met with even more stories to one-up me. Inside, I was disgusted, angry, jealous, and sad. I felt like I needed to compete with these other women.

On the outside, I smiled and pretended to be cool with everything.

I didn’t want to come off as the crazy jealous girlfriend.

I endured.

Despite my friends pointing out the obvious, I chose to overlook it. I felt like he was choosing me—that I was special—while at the same time feeling like I needed to prove myself to him. I was constantly torn between staying and leaving.

Further into our relationship, he would go through long bouts of silence where he disappeared into his own thoughts. It didn’t matter if we were having a wonderful day or sitting in a room full of people. He had a knack for twisting whatever I had said or done into a personal attack against him. I could sing a lyric to a song, and somehow he thought I was singing in code to insult him.

It felt like he could hurt me…

…and somehow I was always the one apologizing.

Begging for his forgiveness didn’t make him feel better. He needed to punish me with silence, refusing to speak to me for hours and sometimes days. He wouldn’t look at me or acknowledge I existed.

The silent treatment felt like torture until he decided it was over.

One evening, we were driving home from the movies after an argument. He was driving my car. Suddenly he sped up to 90 miles per hour and took sharp turns around corners. I was terrified he was going to crash.

The more frightened I became, the calmer he seemed.

When we finally got home, he walked ahead of me, unlocked the gate, and quickly pulled it shut before I could get inside.

I reached for the gate.

He slammed it on my hand.

I was shocked.

I was in pain.

Why was he acting this way?

Over a disagreement?

I felt like I couldn’t tell him how I felt without him overreacting, yet somehow he had convinced me that I was always the one overreacting.

He laughed and told me that I should “go into the night and get raped.”

That broke me.

I left and stayed with my family. I cried every night and slept for days.

Then he came back.

He apologized.

He brought me a small teddy bear holding a balloon that said, “I love you.”

It was just enough hope to keep me there.

Maybe he could change.

Maybe it was my fault.

I could see his pain.

We had so many good days.

He only got this angry when I acted “that way.”

But what way was I acting?

All of the disgusting things he said and did, I bottled up and carried with me. Somehow everything became my fault, even though deep down I knew much of it wasn’t. I felt like I was going crazy.

Maybe I was the crazy girlfriend.

I constantly asked myself:

Am I really that jealous?

Am I overreacting?

Am I selfish?

I lost sight of who I was because I was always chasing his approval.

Why couldn’t I just let go?

I could no longer tell which thoughts were mine…

…and which ones belonged to him.

I had lost my friends and family. I had turned my back on them because I believed they didn’t understand him the way I did. He convinced me that the people who loved me were against me.

However, when I needed my friends the most, I was completely alone. They had warned me about him, and now I felt ashamed, trapped, and unsure how to ask for help.

I was isolated.

The loneliest part wasn’t being alone.

It was believing I had no one left to call.

Years later, I finally learned there was a name for what I had experienced.

Suddenly…

The silence.

The manipulation.

The self-doubt.

The isolation.

It all made sense.

It wasn’t just a difficult relationship.

It was narcissistic abuse.

For years, I thought leaving that relationship was the hardest part.

It wasn’t.

The hardest part was learning to trust my own thoughts again.

When I eventually met Matt, I finally understood what healthy love felt like.

Healthy love didn’t make me question my reality.

It gave me the space to trust myself again.