[TW: graphic depictions of manipulation, verbal, physical and psychological abuse]
It has taken me many years to tell this story out of both fear and embarrassment. I share this today as more than simply therapy for myself, but as a warning to all people: be careful who you meet on social media.
This is a true story, though names have been changed.
In 2018, my ex husband and I were at the end of a very tumultuous marriage. He and I had been polyamorous for about 3 years before I met this guy. For the sake of this story, I’ll call him Jerry.
I met Jerry on OkCupid. I was 28 and he was 42. We hit it off very quickly. After a few weeks of talking, I agreed to meet up with him at a restaurant close to my house. We sat and talked for a few hours before I invited him over to meet my husband. Things went very well and they seemed to get along so Jerry and I started dating.
This guy completely swept me off my feet. Jerry was sweet and caring. He enthusiastically listened to every little thing on my mind, engaged, and validated me. Over and over again he absolutely revered me for my strength and wisdom- he practically worshiped me for all that I was and all I was becoming. He showered me with gifts, flowers, and random good deeds just to make me feel safe, wanted, and cared for. I had never been in a relationship that felt quite like that. It was wonderful. It was as though we had been looking for each other for years.
After the first few weeks, he had a meltdown over my polyamorous nature. He “pulled the plug” because he said he was already falling for me and couldn’t handle sharing me. I stood my ground and accepted this boundary and the fact that I would have to let him go. I left that night sad but confident that I had done the right thing for the both of us.
That next week he sent me flowers and a card to my workplace, begging for another chance and reassuring me that he would rather try than not and end up regretting it; even though it was scary, he wanted to take this journey with me. We continued dating and it was just as wonderful. Long nights we spent awake talking, sharing, laughing, love making, and planning. We went places and did things that I had always wanted to do. Then in the deepest, most intimate moments, when we would just sit in silence, he would grip my hand to his face in solidarity and astonishment asking “where I’ve been” all this time. Our time together was effortless. We fit together like puzzle pieces.
By August of 2018, my marriage had ended, by no fault of Jerry’s, and by October, my husband had moved out. I was on a lease at the time and knew I couldn’t afford the place on my own, so finding a roommate was essential. I had no support system to fall back on nor did anyone else I know need a place at the time, so Jerry offered to move in. Even then I was hesitant, we had only been together about 4 months and I knew everything always changes when you move in with a partner. Despite my hesitation, I agreed, he was wonderful to me. How bad could it be? I was not prepared for the change that was to come.
It was literally like night and day. Jerry suddenly became a different person. He was extremely controlling, jealous, and lazy: nothing like the person I thought I had met. And the way he treated me progressively got worse and worse. Hanging out with friends became a burden, if not impossible because he would blow up my phone, guilting me about leaving him alone or not involving him in some way, yet when I tried to, it was also treated as a burden and inconvenience as he would huff and puff his way through even the concept of leaving space for anyone but ourselves.
In December of 2018, we attended my work Christmas party. I had given him the option whether he wanted to go or not. It was really neither here nor there for me, especially because I had already learned that he really didn’t do well if he felt pressured into social situations. I opened the invitation to him because he had expressed to me over and over that it was important for him that he was involved in my social life. For the full month he knew about it, he insisted that he wasn’t going. I took it as him being introverted and didn’t push the issue. I let him know that I would make sure he felt welcome if he decided to go, but not to feel obligated. I was surprised when he changed his mind at the last minute and insisted on going. And even more stunned when we went and he actively acted as though he did not want to be there.
Everyone there was incredibly welcoming and included him in the festivities and conversation. However, he still practically grumbled the entire night about the whole thing, mumbling insults and critiquing every little part of the party under his breath, as though being there was absolutely awful to have to endure. No one really seemed to notice the low whispering insults and gripes. At one point, after a couple of glasses of wine, my direct manager leaned in to Jerry and started praising him. She and I were very close, therefore she was intimately familiar with what I had gone through with my ex husband.
“I am so so happy she has you.” she bleated through wine-happy “You have been absolutely transformative for her. It’s so nice to see her finally happy and appreciated.”
Without missing a beat, Jerry grimaced at the comment and quickly snapped back “You don’t fucking know me.”
I honestly didn’t believe my ears. It was one of those moments where time stops and you just know you couldn’t have heard that correctly. I sat brewing on it for a minute before another lighthearted interaction with Jerry prompted him to suddenly snap at me through grit teeth. “Stop it.” This triggered me and I lost it.
I pulled him outside and asked him what his problem was. I called out his behavior and told him if he was going to act that way then he could just leave. That if he didn’t want to be there, he should have stayed home. He ended up giving a sort of half assed apology and we went back inside and finished the party.
I remember the drive home that night, staring out the dark window at nothing in particular, in worried silence. I might have messed up. Was my only thought through the entire drive.
This all started out slow, of course. Like, waving me away or invalidating my experiences and ideas due to my age: that I was just dramatizing my experiences because I was young, etc. The man who, not six months prior, had validated me, my trauma, and experiences to the ends of the earth. Now every time I started a story or tried to share anything, even trying to plan out meals for the week, he would openly show annoyance as though I was violating his time and attention.
Before I knew it, he was snapping at me over every little thing. If I asked how his day was or talked about my day, he would aggressively shut it down:
“Why do you always ask me that? I don’t want to talk shop at home.”
“I really don’t care about your work. It’s work.”
Before I knew it, I couldn’t even bring him a plate of breakfast without being snapped at.
It was as though he was testing me. When Jerry and I first started dating, he flat out refused to talk about most all of his exes. He refused to name them or discuss any of the issues or lessons learned. They “didn’t matter” he would claim; they weren’t in his life “for a reason”. It was the same reasoning he also used in reference to my more recent exes- talking about them, including my now ex husband may as well have become off limits. Any time I brought up either of our exes, he would become incredibly agitated, belittling, and just overall very aggressive. I took this as both an age gap issue, as I have a tendency to dwell, as well as insecurity and a threat to the life he was trying to build.
However, after he moved in and this “hot button topic” had been established, several times, he would bring up his exes and how they looked, telling me on more than one occasion he “would have never dated me back in the day.” And that I was “lucky he lowered his standards.” I didn’t even really know what to say to this. I would laugh it off and shove it in my back pocket. Noted.
He then started bringing up my looks and accusing me of “Catfishing” him. I had stopped taking care of myself due to the isolation and had also put on some weight, so most of my clothes that I had once felt great in, no longer fit. And since Jerry had also been dishonest with me about his financial position, he was always needing extra money here and there, leaving me broke almost all of the time.
A horrible tragedy happened that following summer, while Jerry and I were together. I received notice that a good friend I went to art school with shot himself in the head while tripping on LSD. Our whole class was devastated. He was, without contest, the best photographer of our class and one of the most kind hearted individuals I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Also as someone who is very familiar with LSD, I was rocked.
Jerry, however, was far from supportive. He pretty much immediately shrugged it off. “That’s life. I guess that’s what he gets for fucking around with LSD.” I was baffled at such an unsympathetic response and even more later when Jerry started to interrogate me about my relationship with this guy, asking when the last time it was that I had even talked to this friend. “You don’t even know this guy anymore. Who cares?”
I broke up with him the first time after he called me at work raging. I was busy, so I wasn’t able to answer right away, but once I was finally able to answer, I was met with intense anger. It was storming and one of my dogs was having an anxiety attack due to storm and separation anxiety. This wasn’t the first time and he was well aware of what she needed in those moments. “Why the fuck arent you answering my calls? You answer when I call you, I don’t care where you are.” He went on for a few minutes, calling me a shitty girlfriend and laying into me over my sudden distance and lack of communication while I was at work.
At this point, I was done and I lost it. I tore into him over everything, especially causing problems for me at work. That being in my life is a privilege and if he’s going to wake up every day acting like he hates me, then I don’t know what on earth he’s even doing with me. I told him that I expected him to get his things and leave (he was always threatening to go back to his old roommates where there was still a room). I didn’t want him there when I got home and we could coordinate times for him to come and get the rest. He flat refused, suddenly victimizing himself, claiming he had nowhere to go. “How dare you make me fall in love with you. How dare you take me to meet your father and then dump me.”
My manager and her husband ended up following me home that evening because she was concerned for my safety and had offered to let me stay with her for a few days. I will never forget the scene I walked into. Like Theon Greyjoy begging for his life. My boss stood next to me, watching as this 42 year old man crawled on his knees before me, begging for mercy and communication. At one point, wrapping his arms around my legs, crying into them: “I can’t believe this is happening. She’s the love of my life, you know that?” he cried to my boss. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. This was the antithesis of the heartless person I had been spending my days with. I shook him off and went to the back of the house, gathering enough of my things to get me through the next few days, as well as any and all valuables I could think of.
It took a few days, but after about a week, Jerry started blowing up my phone: Apology after apology. Suddenly, he was the man I met again: full of humility and self awareness. He acknowledged the awful way he had treated me and sent me walls and walls of well thought out messages, psychoanalyzing his own behavior, where it comes from, and the ways he knows it needs to change. I took him back. Like a dumb, desperate girl, I took him back.
It wasn’t long into this second round that he started to guilt me over the break up. My panic had damaged his relationship with the people in my life and he made sure that I knew it was my responsibility to fix it.
It wasn’t long after this that my car ended up breaking down at a gas station close to home. There was a very nice couple in the vehicle next to me that came to my rescue and checked things out under my hood. The gentleman turned out to be a mechanic for a living, so he had a pretty good theory about what could potentially be going on. By this time I had already attempted to contact Jerry to let him know what was going on and where I was. It wasn’t long til he got off work, so he told me to sit tight and he would be there shortly. Meanwhile, this sweet couple stayed put and kept me company while I waited.
Jerry barrelled in about 15 minutes later, completely ignoring the couple that had helped me. Touching base, the gentleman handed me a slip of paper with a name and phone number on it, reviewing what he thought was going on with my car… Before Jerry butted in, cutting him off “I said she’s FINE.” he snapped.
I could see the woman out of the corner of my eye, slink away at this comment and get into the passenger seat of their car. I could feel the sudden tension, like maybe she’s been here before. The gentleman didn’t move and shifted his attention to me as Jerry walked into the store. I could see he was clearly concerned. “Are you okay..” he asked in a low, almost whisper “You don’t have to answer that but if you need anything..” he looked down at the number in my hand and nodded to it “seriously.” With that, he got into the driver’s seat of his car and drove away.
I’ve thought about that couple countless times since that night.
Everything went right back to the way it was before. As though the initial break up never even happened.
The same eggshells, the same belittling. If anything it was worse, because I had permanently damaged our relationship. If I had just not been so dramatic. If I didn’t “run away from everything” then maybe he wouldn’t have to work so hard for respect in my life.
One night we got into an argument. I don’t even remember what it was about, but I had to be up early for work the next morning, so I paused the argument in order to get some sleep.
When I went to lay down, I heard the TV turn on. I have a soundbar, so the volume can get pretty loud. Jerry proceeded to turn the volume up and up…and up. Far past any volume I ever pushed those same speakers to even for parties. The very walls were reverberating with the sound of the TV at astronomical volumes. Jerry then started laughing hysterically. It was a laughter manic with anger as though something MIGHT be funny on TV but he MIGHT also jump through a window right now. I remember laying in bed absolutely horrified at what was happening. I knew things had gotten bad, but now I was scared. I got out of bed and asked him to turn it down, to which he responded, scoffing:
“I’ll watch TV if I f***ing want to.” And turned it up even louder. I felt like I was in a horror movie.
I started crying at this point, begging him to please, please just let me sleep. He started mocking me and calling me names for crying.
“Oh waaah. Poor baby is crying again. That’s your card isn’t it? Crying?”
This caused the fight to start again and he started screaming at me, followed me to my bedroom, where he suddenly punched a door not 2 inches from my head. His eyes were black and he looked me in the eye, sending the clear, unsympathetic and hostile message that that was a warning and next time he wouldn’t miss. My whole system had shut down at this point and I sunk to the floor in a panic attack. My exhusband had issues with violence. Jerry knew that. All our rentals prior to that one had holes in walls and doors peppered throughout our unit due to my ex husband’s inability to handle his emotions. But he never hit me, or even came close to it.
I crumpled to the ground feeling powerless, trapped, and afraid. As my thoughts continued to race, he continued to berate and mock my panicked state. Most of our argument from that night was a blur, but ended abruptly once he threatened to put my social security number on the dark web. At this point, all that was left in me was to fight. I blacked out and went ballistic, screaming at him to get out. I felt rabid and dangerous as I screamed like a banshee for him to leave my home. It was over and I was ending it that second.
I contacted my landlord and explained what had been going on. Jerry would also end up contacting her, weaving his own tale that I was moving out and tried to have the lease transferred into his name. Luckily, since I was several steps ahead of him, my landlord didn’t fall for it and contacted me immediately. She personally came and changed my locks for me, gave me the personal contact of a police officer close by in case he showed up again, and took half off my rent for the next month. I am forever grateful to her for these simple acts of kindness that were above and beyond anything I would ever expect from a landlord.
It took weeks for him to stop messaging me. The only reason I didn’t block him was out of fear that he would show up at my house. Though I had contacts for protection, I knew I would rather get a daily apology video than have to deal with him on my doorstep. So they persisted. For a while. The same act from before: the love bombing, the promises, grasping at straws trying to find the weak spot where I would let him back in. But I ignored it. It continued for weeks before he finally gave up. He bowed out gracefully, stating boldly that he will always love me. I left him on read. The illusion was destroyed.
It took me several years to pick up the pieces. If my divorce wasn’t enough, this definitely made me lose trust in myself. I still don’t understand what the endgame was. He has since disappeared entirely from any and all social media.
In one of our last discussions, I asked him desperately “what happened to the guy I fell in love with?”
Jerry looked me dead in the eye, smirked, and said
“That guy doesn’t exist. I told you what I had to tell you in order to get you away from that fucking asshole husband of yours. You’re just stupid and fell for it.”