First Anniversary

19 Feb

My days were spent trying not to make the time bomb go off. I spent inordinate amounts of time trying to figure my boyfriend out so he wouldn’t do to me what he did. He would throw things against the wall. He once broke a remote, which was his own remote.

By our first anniversary I’d tried to break up with him three times. He’d blackmailed me every single time. Once he tried to break up with me and I was upset with him, got ready to pack and then he asked for forgiveness. He later told me he got back with me out of “pity” using the same line from the convention. It stung me just in the right places to keep me with him.

I didn’t leave at this point because I was wearing down quickly. I’m pretty strong minded, but being told that if I left I was a failure from everyone I knew and not being able to get friends because of his restrictions, I was left in a lurch. I could leave an accept that label of a failure and be harassed by my parents (in my own psychology), or I could work it out and stay.

Our first anniversary, itself, was sweet, but for me, it was in the list of humiliations. At the time I loved him. I honestly felt that way, but no matter what I did he would say I had to wait for him to love me back. He’d blame this on previous girlfriends whom he talked about a lot. I would let him at first because I thought it was amusing, and then because I had no choice. If I said anything at all in the middle of his story he’d say, “I listen to you…” But I never talked about my previous crushes or boyfriend.

I told him I loved him after one year. He told me that he didn’t. I took out my frustrations by packing my things and asking people if this was normal. By this point my subconscious had enough. It was fed up with him and started trying to send dreams about how much it hated him. Dreams like not being able to climb the hill. Sending dreams like how real relationships should go. But since my dreams are most of the time cognitive dreams, I would cut them off before they started, leading to interrupted sleep.

But this escalated to its full peak at the Moth incident. I don’t think I’m proud of my behavior since I let myself be used and my motivations for it were not stellar.

My boyfriend had a big thing about bugs. He would freak out if he saw one hole in his t-shirt collar. Sometimes he’d go on long rampages. My clothes never got holes. Only his did. When my clothes got holes the size of a pin, I did what most people do… I didn’t care and if I did care I’d go and sew it up again.

Well, he got fed up with this to high heaven. He went to Target. Of course I had to go with him. He bought something like 3 of the moth hanging things to put in his laundry box, two in the closet, He tried to get me to buy some for myself, but I refused. I told him straight out when I read the packaging, which is my habit for absolutely everything, that he shouldn’t do this. He, in his anger (which somehow caused moments of memory loss), said it didn’t matter. He bought the three, used the three. I used none.

Those moth hanging things turn the crystals in them into gas. The gas goes into the clothes and leaves crystals. Just like the packaging said, which I read out loud to him, he got an allergic reaction to them. He got a high fever, a rash, and almost went into anaphalactic shock.

I told him what it was after I deduced it was the moth stuff since this happened a week after. I, basically, by telling him this, saved his life.

Well, after this, it caused great stress for him and he refused to stay in the house, which admittedly had little ventilation at all. He would get rashes just touching nothing he thought was infected with the gas. Even after we cleaned all of the clothes, including mine about 6 or 7 times, aired them out for three days, he still wasn’t satisfied and we had to throw them out. I objected the best I could, but he had that threat in his eyes that he wouldn’t come within three feet of me unless I threw them out.

I’d proudly saved over 1,000 dollars in tips. It was money I earned with my own hands, my own body and my own misery. He insisted in dipping into it as much as possible. All of that money I saved in that week of his allergic reaction disappeared. We had to stay in *good* hotels without any noise. We could not cook food. When the money ran out he paid one night to my 4 nights of hotel stays and then used my aunt and Uncle for the remainder of the week. When I felt guilty about mooching off of my Aunt and Uncle and I told him it wasn’t right to do so, we slept in the car outside of the apartment. I liked the passenger side of the car. It was more comfortable. He managed to take it over the second night by insisting we switch.

We threw away the bed. I was the one that had to buy a new one because he refused to. H wouldn’t pay for half of it either. I paid for the whole thing. In total, that week I lost over 1,000 dollars trying to stay touchable for him and then another 500 dollars for the bed he ended up choosing even though I was paying for it.

It is not my finest moment because he yelled at me for spending that money on *him* and his hotel bills. Despite all of this, he still found it compelling to especially spend more on toys that week. I did do a lot of it out of pure kindness, but in some way I was wishing he would love me. And in a twisted way, once I exhibited I could spend money on him, that’s when he thought I was selfless and worthy of his love.

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