Trigger warning: Mental illness, verbal abuse.
Hello, my pretties! How are you all doing? Well, I hope!
I know I haven’t been around much, but I’m trying not to completely abandon the blog, I promise. I won’t be posting as often as I once did, I guess, but I’ll still drop by here whenever I feel like I have something to say.
Today I come to talk a bit more about mental health, which is a theme that’s near and dear to my heart, mostly because I suffer with poor mental health myself.
I was thinking about someone who is not in my life anymore, Mike (name changed for privacy).
Mike was my boyfriend for a few years. He was a friend of a friend (like 99% of my significant others), and, when we met, he seemed nice enough. I fell for him really quickly, as you do. I’m a bit better about it, but I used to be very quick to fall for anyone who could strike my fancy. At first, he wanted to be just friends. It hurt, but I accepted it, and we carried on as friends until, at some point, he decided he wanted more than that. We started dating, and, at some point down the line, he was spending a lot of time in my apartment, more than at home. I didn’t mind, at first.
Now, Mike suffered from depression and anxiety, and I knew that before he started mostly living with me. What I did not know was that I was signing up for a living hell. At first, life was okay. But then he started acting very paranoid and weird. Losing his ever-loving mind every time I went out without him, which happened at least once a week, as I liked going to the store after work, and that happened before he came home from work. Sometimes, I’d meet a relative at the mall attached to the store and let him know we’d stop for a cup of coffee. At first, he was fine with it, but as time went by, he started demanding pictures to prove I was with the person I said I was with.
And then, when I got home, all hell broke loose. Coming home 10 minutes later because I had gotten stuck in traffic turned into me cheating on him and my relative covering up for me. Me not wanting him to read my emails also turned into me talking to other men. Me forgetting to get something he wanted but hadn’t put on the list from the store turned into me doing it to spite him. And it all turned into screaming matches, tears and rants about how I was just as bad as his ex, blah blah blah. It was nerve-wracking, but I swallowed my tears and words. Until I learned that he was stopping his meds cold turkey every now and then for some reason (a part of me thinks he did it to punish me, for… something, but I don’t think I’ll ever know).
I have to admit I was pissed. Knowing he was making this decision to make my life a living hell really got to me. I have no idea how I refrained myself enough to simply pack his stuff when he was at work, put everything at the entrance hall and change my locks. Because I have to admit what I wanted to do was much less calm than that.
After he calmed down, he tried to contact me several times, going on about how he missed me. How he knew he was being abusive, but he was in therapy and much better now. When that gave him nothing, he started using mutual friends to relay messages, and they started becoming aggressive again. Sadly, I had to cut contact with some friends as well, because I couldn’t trust them not to keep telling me about his life and vice-versa.
Moral of this story? I’m not saying you have to take meds, that’s between you and your care provider. But whatever treatment you’re involved in, please, for your sake and for the sake of those you love, don’t just interrupt it, especially to ‘show them’, or what have you.
Well, that is it for today. I really hope this post hasn’t upset, offended or triggered anyone. Please take good care of yourselves! See you all on the next post!