My reflections

When Love Became Control – and How I Found My Way Out

The new man I met when I was already broken. My body still remembered the fear, and my mind was trying to forget it.
He came with words that sounded like safety — promises, gentleness, care.
He said he loved me before he really knew me. He said he would protect me.
At that time, I needed to believe that someone could.

But it wasn’t love. Not the kind that builds.
He moved back and forth between me and his past. One week I was the love of his life, the next I was nothing.
He made me feel guilty for things I had never done — for people I hadn’t met, for his children not wanting to see him, for my own fear.
He accused me of things that lived only in his mind.
He drove past my house, watched who came and went, and called it love.

At first, I argued. Later, I went silent.
Because silence kept me safe — or at least that’s what I thought.
He told me I was too sensitive, too anxious, too emotional.
He said I was beautiful one day and disgusting the next.
Every time I tried to leave, he pulled me back with apologies and tears.
I was drowning in a cycle of confusion — fear, hope, guilt, and love twisted together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

I had panic attacks almost every day during that time, and for months after I finally left.
He never helped me through it. He said I caused it.
I learned to survive on my own — shaking, but still standing.
And that’s when I began to understand: what I had lived through was not love. It was dependence, created by manipulation and fear.

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