This is a series of eight writings I composed while in an emotionally abusive relationship that progressed far too quickly—it began with a promise of career training and love-bombing, that initially gave me hope for a future that gave me the will to stay despite all of the nonsense he would spew. I knew at the time I was not ready for a relationship, having gotten out of one not long before that where it was built upon lies and led to a sexual assault where I immediately spiraled back into alcoholism after I had some months of sobriety. I told him how I was not ready for a relationship on our first meeting at a café, yet he still asked me to be his partner a week later—I’m blatantly a fool for enabling my communicated boundaries to be pushed out of a desire to be away from my family’s home with someone I thought might be good for me.
He trained me on how to TIG weld one time and made promises of getting us blacksmithing lessons from a coworker, this being at a non-profit that had classes for various trades and crafts. This man even made promises of helping me get a job there! Once we broke up, he yelled at me on the phone over communicating my desire to scrape up the money to take blacksmithing classes, with him retorting that he would get me banned from there; that is something which did not pan out considering I did nothing wrong, in the end, this solidified in me a desire to withdrawal from accessing those resources.
The last time we met was January 22nd at the café across from where I had just moved into, my bro I had begun to live with suggested that we go there so he could also sit nearby to make sure nothing got out of hand. This man came with a folder, which had one sheet of paper with very few lines of writing that he had infrequently written since we broke up regarding how he missed me or whatever. He was expecting to read it aloud, but I quickly requested to read it and he thought that I was too slow of a reader to read all 200 words which took at the most, 30 seconds. The topic of conversation escapes me, but I do vividly recall requesting that if he would like to stay in touch with me, then he must read all of the writings I had done while we were together that I am presenting here. “You don’t have to do that, Desi,” with the implication that I was somehow leading him on with such a hefty and difficult request. Once my brother stepped out unbeknownst to me (he sat directly behind my view), this man began to fall apart into manipulative nonsense and then cry. I walked out, with him calling my name, but I was able to enter my home faster than he could reach me. This was the first time in a long time I felt the urge to block somebody I knew from real life, as my blocklists hardly have a name on them.
When I saw the barista who was there during the problematic meeting with my ex some days later, she said to me, “I was wondering if you were okay, it seemed kind of messy… I wanted to tell you to run when I heard him say, ‘I know I said that before but now I really mean it’,” it made me feel warm to know that someone was looking out for me. I appreciate my bro suggesting the meeting be at that tiny café, where the entire conversation was directly in front of the register. That I was not crazy and everyone could see how concerning his behavior was, my bro had stepped out due to the ridiculousness of it and it was obvious that his departure made this man feel comfortable enough to proceed with bullshit.
The reason why I am sharing this is as a display of the negative impact this brief relationship had on me in the hopes that it might give others insight. Reading all of this thirteen to fourteen months after it all has taken place has been a gratifying reminder that psychological stress induces a delirious state that holds me back, and the inspiration gathered is not as worthwhile as the inspiration that I gather from productively stressful tasks.