I met him at my work. I think I was 24, maybe? He was 27 years old. He wasn’t my type, but he reminded me of Anthony Mackie but shorter.
I knew I could get it. I wanted him so bad. It was my first adult relationship. When I met him, I thought: “This man can teach me something.” And he certainly did. He taught me a lot about myself and my demons.
It was my last relationship, and I don’t think I will ever recover from it. It’s hard to move past a toxic relationship.
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We were two broken people searching for wholeness. Usually, when people break up, they refer to their ex as “the ex.” Me, no. I call him by his name.
Matt was a recovering alcoholic. She found out after the police arrested him for his fourth DUI. There were signs of his behavior, but I refused to see them.
He’s not the only one at fault in this ordeal. I had an addiction too: I was addicted to filling this empty hole inside of me with damaged, broken men because I was damaged too.
In some ways, I was his assistant. There’s a word for that. It is called codependency.
I thought we could be hurt together and make a recycled heart of shame and disappointment.
We tried to make it work, but we always found ourselves angry with each other, both privately and publicly. I admit, it’s not my finest hour. Our battles became more fierce as time passed.
You may be asking yourself why we didn’t break up sooner. The answer is fairly simple – when you follow the same pattern your whole life, you can’t just stop.
I loved it. I didn’t consider it a toxic relationship.
Matt had a wonderful mind. He graduated from NC State. He couldn’t get a job in his field, so he became a technology expert. He knew about Bitcoin before anyone else.
Depression killed his drive. He would come up with these great ideas and never follow through on them.
Matt always told me how much I liked him. He was shocked that I could be such a high-functioning mental lunatic. Where Matt lacked, she filled. My courage was enough for both of us.
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When I look back, I realize you can’t save a man. Eventually, you’ll resent him, which is what you did.
My unwavering support has turned into blind anger and resentment. I’m tired of his excuses.
His mother stunted his development, and he was tired of me too. No one wants to have sex with their mother. So, we had a sexless relationship for over a year. Yes, like after 10 years of marriage. We were roommates holding on to a tense history.
Even though things looked terrible, we couldn’t let go. Our intimacy has been replaced with sadness and defeat. Pushing and resistance were the basis of our emotional block.
We built a lot of it, trying to protect ourselves from the pain we couldn’t transfer to each other. It was an endless cycle.
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And in one moment, we were happy. Both of us at the same time.
Matt had a serious girlfriend before he met me. You could tell they were in love. They traveled the world together – they were relationship goals. I felt cheated because I met the depressed mat when she had the mat I always wanted.
Matt wanted me to be on social media, the cool, funny me. But instead, I gave him hell. He became the source of my anger and disgust. She projected feelings of self-loathing onto him. I even made his alcoholism worse!
Secretly, I knew he needed me. He needed my car. He needed my support. He needed my wisdom. It gave me a surge of strength that I had never had before.
We both contributed to the toxic relationship. On the one hand, I wanted him to be the mat he used to be, but on the other hand, I wanted him to stick around.
In the end, I knew that if he made it, he would find another woman. I knew that if I found some self-respect, I would be promoted too.
I stayed because it felt good – if only for a moment – to be needed. I didn’t think I deserved love or an equal partner. I stayed because I was toxic, and I didn’t want to detoxify myself.
There is comfort in staying in a toxic relationship: it prevents you from taking responsibility and accountability. You can blame them for everything.
When Matt got his fourth DUI, he had to serve prison time. We argued on the phone all the time. Sometimes I refused to answer. I wasn’t allowed to see him in prison, so I had to make a video call in prison.
Depression soon found him there, he became suspicious of me, and once again, I had to do the heavy lifting. That was when I realized that neither of us would change.
The next time he called, we talked for two minutes, and it ended that way. I chose to leave it there and then. I left him because I knew deep down that if I stayed, we would end up like our parents, empty and incomplete.
After that phone call, I cried for two weeks straight.
I’ve only seen him once since he came out. Now it is just a distant memory. I think this is for the best.
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