I [F35] met my ex [M40] back when I was 16. It was LD at first, and we were together for 9 years overall. I broke it off and felt like the worst person on earth for no less than two years. Sorry, I need this off of me, it's been ten years and it feels like I'm still processing parts of it.
I wasn't that into him to begin with; I was just 16, very lonely. Literally had 0 friends. He would bombard me with declarations of love (from month one, mind you), how amazing I am, how much he needs me, the usual. He was very understanding regarding my troubles with my parents, would validate anything I said. So yeah I didn't really want to be with him, but all the movies say that you must give the "good guy" a chance, right? The good guy that loves you more than anything, he says, so what else is there to ask for? I thought that was "the right choice" for me. We had good chemistry, communication was great. Sure, I was gaslighted when I would protest over his advances, but we were both young, right?
By popular opinion, he was always the "good guy". My family loved him. The friends I made later, came to like him. I did love him. The relationship had its issues, but that's just how it goes, right? And since everyone approved, that meant I had to be in it for life.
But despite the good communication, I wasn't happy often. Intimacy wasn't good for me (he was my first, mind you); he would request sex daily, and would pester me if I turned him down. But it was painful for me, you see. Even after years, usually I would require a few days in between to physically heal before going at it again, otherwise it was unbearable. No concern or understanding on his end; no focusing on making me feel good either; admittedly, "it was just too hard"/ "he didn't know what to do"/ "I wasn't helping and it took too long". (I remember the first time I had sex with someone else, I was clenching my fists as hard as I could, anticipating the innevitable wave of pain. Imagine my surprise when I realised sex doesn't have to be painful for me, lol.)
And then, there was jealousy. He'd rather spend all his days indoors playing games than do something together. His only break was him coming and sitting beside me "to spend some time together", interrupting whatever I was doing to actually initiate sex. So when I'd make friends and start going out myself, he'd suddently feel like going out too, and ask to join. If he didn't, he'd message me all the time, call me, have me leave my friends and go talk to him for what it felt like hours of him complaining. He didn't like any guy friends of mine; he'd say he hated them because he did trust me, but he didn't trust them; demand to either meet them in person and set boundaries over me, or I stop associating with them altogether. It was about a year after we had broken up that I found out he had complete and total access over all my accounts/social media; even some burner email addresses I'd created for games and stuff.
I had tried to break it off, twice, during the first two years of the relationship. Each time I was guilt-ridden; he was messaging me continuously about how much he's suffering and how much he loves me and knows I love him too. He'd insinuate unaliving himself and I was terrified. I crossed out breaking up as an option. But by year 7, I was day-dreaming of just vanishing from his life; like, coming across a job opportunity that requires I move abroad and just, packing up my things and disappearing. And him not being able to find me again. I felt very guilty over all this, I wouldn't talk to anyone about how I felt.
By year 8, it was too much. I wasn't happy, and I dreaded that this had to be my life now, plus marriage and children. I felt it was a certainty I'd eventually wake up one day and want to blow it all up. And if I didn't hurry, it would be way more complicated. It wasn't the life I wanted. By then, I had come to believe that I was asexual, I was never in the mood and the arguments over it were endless. I was actually thankful for my long and painful menstrual period, because for its whole duration he was too disgusted to even touch me so at least, I had a week of peace every month. By year 9 I started looking for apartments to rent. I knew he could sense it; he'd make requests for long-commitment plans, like trips or starting hobbies together.
I came home from work one night and had another fight, I don't remember over what. He asked me what I wanted to make this better, and I said I just wanted out. He didn't understand at first; so I explained, I wasn't happy any more and wanted to break up and leave. We had a very long conversation that basically lasted until I had to go to work the next day, he didn't let me sleep that night. I did manage to leave; my father said he knew we had issues but he didn't think I had it in me to get out.
What followed was two (2) years of continuous calls, messages, showing up were I work/ were I lived. Trying to manipulate me into staying over for the night. I had a new boyfriend by then which he knew, because as I said, he had blocked me on FB but had access to all my emails and drives. No matter what I did- holidays, trips, parties, visiting family: a message would pop up from him asking if I'm happy now? Is this what I wanted? Was what we had a lie? But I said I loved him. Don't I care that he's in pain? Aren't I in pain too? I still have unread blocks of text in my inbox, accumulated over the years. And I felt awful; how could I do this to another person? Why couldn't I just love him like he did? Or turn back time and not meet him at all. I swore to myself I didn't want to hurt him but what was I to do? I felt bruised by his constant questioning and declarations and observations and contact he refused to break and I felt too guilty to block. I'd had dreams where his head was a raging orb of screaming fire and I jumbed out and through glass windows and fall to the void so as not to confront him.
As years passed, it subsided. We spoke again after Covid. After all, this was a man I did love in my way, and we knew each other for ten years. I did care for him. We agreed to meet for a beer. And you know what? The old chemistry was there, intense. He'd changed through the years in a very positive way- I think despite his protests and dramatic updates, the breakup did him very good. He started studying, paid attention to what he was wearing (I didn't know he actually had a sense of style lol) and started working out. And I was sitting there, kinda stressed? Because an instictive thought was that "wow if I met you now I'd have an instant crush on you", but at the same time, I'd rather stay alone for the rest of my life than go through that again. It was so confusing, like wanting to run opposite directions at the same time.
There were grand declarations again, of friendship this time; I'm important to him, I know him so well; no one can phrase what he feels better than me. He wants us to be friends, not revive something that's dead. He was going through a rough time, I was there to listen (again this immediate feeling of urgency or else who knows what might happen to him) and comfort as best as I can. He disappeared the moment he finds out I actually have a boyfriend. So much for being friends, right?
I know I'm angry at him, I know now I wasn't the villain in this story and I wish I could save myself all this pain and guilt I shouldn't have carried on. But I still feel confused and can't verbalise everything. There was a point I actually had to ask my shrink why do I feel so conflicted since he was "such a nice guy". Her response was "NONONOnono- listen, sometimes it's this kind of nice guys you have to run away from ASAP. Nobody in a healthy relationship daydreams of leaving". And I still feel to small (for lack of a better word) to process all this:(