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When I first met him, I was falling in love with the idea of us. He was charming, attentive, and made me feel like the most important person in the world. We met through mutual friends, and everything felt easy and natural.
At first, the texts, the calls, the constant check-ins were flattering. I thought it was love—that feeling everyone talks about. But soon, what was once affection started to feel like control. He wanted to know where I was, who I was with, what I was doing—every single moment.
I told myself it was normal, that he cared too much. But it wasn’t.
By the time three months had passed, I was exhausted. I had stopped seeing my friends as often because he didn’t like it when I hung out with certain people. I began to second-guess my choices—from what I wore to what I said. I was walking on eggshells in my own life.
The first time he raised his voice in anger, I froze. I didn’t know how to respond. I had been raised to respect men, to avoid conflict, and so I kept quiet.
That night, I cried myself to sleep, feeling utterly alone.
But still, I stayed.
Why? Because I believed in change. Because I hoped it was just a rough patch. Because love was supposed to be hard sometimes, right?
The weeks turned into months. The control tightened like a noose.
Every criticism chipped away at my self-esteem.
“You’re too sensitive.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“No one else would put up with you like I do.”I believed him. I believed I was the problem.
Soon, I stopped recognizing myself. The woman who once had dreams, ambitions, and confidence became a shadow. I isolated myself from family and friends. My laughter disappeared. I stopped eating properly. I stopped caring.
The depression hit like a tsunami. There were days I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt numb, hollow, and trapped in a relationship that was eating me alive.
Every argument left me shaking, crying, and begging for peace. But peace never came.
I remember one night vividly. After a particularly ugly fight, I sat in the dark, tears streaming down my face, wondering if life would ever be different. I was drowning, and no one could see it.
One night, after a heated argument, I felt something inside break. I couldn’t keep pretending this was love.
I stared at myself in the mirror and asked: “Is this what I want? Is this what love should feel like?”
The answer was a painful, resounding No.
That night, I made a decision.
I wouldn’t let this relationship destroy me.
The next day, I reached out to a friend I trusted deeply. I told her everything—every fear, every tear, every moment I had hidden away. Speaking out was scary but freeing.
Cutting ties wasn’t easy.
I deleted his number, unfollowed him on social media, and blocked him everywhere. Every notification I silenced was a battle won.
The first weeks were the hardest. I craved his voice, the familiarity, even the toxicity.
But each day without him was a victory.
I rebuilt my life piece by piece. I reconnected with old friends and rediscovered hobbies I had abandoned. Morning walks, journaling, reading—all small steps towards healing.
Most importantly, I learned to choose myself every day.
Today, I’m not just surviving. I’m thriving.
I laugh again. I love myself fiercely. I chase my dreams without hesitation.
That toxic relationship tried to define me, but it failed.
If you’re reading this and struggling, know this: You are not alone. Your pain is real. But so is your strength.
You deserve love that lifts you, not breaks you.
And just like me, you can win.
