Loving someone who has PTSD who denies they have PTSD… and instead tells you they have PTSD from you, well, is twisted. Welcome to my first story.
I loved him at his worst. I never understood for the longest time what the real situation was. We were best friends, lovers, shared everything with each other, connected deeply.
Except, there was another woman.
I didn’t understand. I was told she was an ex-girlfriend. I witnessed her bullying him constantly. I witnessed her calling and texting every 5 minutes from the time he woke up until he went to sleep, and even then she wouldn’t stop. She demanded she be involved in every aspect of his life. She even bought him a cabin in a place that has everything he loves, just to lure him in. It isolated him from the world. Then one day he told me she was his girlfriend, and I was like a mistress. When I told him I felt used and just like a whore, he tried to tell me I wasn’t. Then tried to tell me she wasn’t his girlfriend. He told me he didn’t love her, he told he hadn’t had sex with her since he met me. But she got all the things that couples do that I wish we would do. I felt like I was getting Jedi mind fucked. Why didn’t I leave? I know the answer, to post next.
7 years of never understanding why my best friend ran off with her several times a year but always claiming he could never take off work to be with me. Only she got the vacations. He only chose her to hide away from the world. And soon I learned only she got the invites to family events and dinners. Only she got the dates in town. Only she was allowed to stop by his work. But he tried to tell me only I got the sex and intimacy, further solidifying that I was just a serogate vagina and emotional crutch. He got angry at me for not believing him. I hear you, the reader, asking… Why the fuck didn’t I get out.
A relationship is more than sex and intimacy. And he complained that we needed to have great communication. Of course we did, but her never allowed us to grow closer. Our intimacy was his way of communicating with me how he felt about me. And I communicated how much I hated how he wouldn’t let her go.
He tried to convince me that I was the problem, stuck on labels. I was stuck on having a safe, healthy relationship. I was convinced…correction, convinced myself he loved me more than her. I was convinced we could have a future together, I was convinced we were soulmates. But she always won. Correction. The fear of fear always won.
Turns out – he has a genuine fear of his past, of a fear he faced (and overcame). But the fear is attached…to her. Once upon a time, she did leave him. Moved on with her life, and found someone new. And he couldn’t handle it. He had lost so much already in life. He had an affair with her and lost everything, all for her pussy. And then pussy left. And he wanted to kill himself. Because he felt complete loss. And so, he played the pretend boyfriend. He numbed himself. He held onto her like an alcoholic holds the bottle of whiskey. Always giving in to her demands for fear if he stopped being her boyfriend, he might feel the darkness.
He was afraid that if he stopped having her in his life, he would feel that loss again and want to kill himself again. He clung to her for fear he would face the darkness and not make it out.
Just like someone who witnesses something tragic, and drinks to numb themselves. The alcohol is the crutch to get through life. And they don’t stop drinking out of for fear if they do, they will relive all those feelings again. He wouldn’t let go. He wasted her life, always kind of being there but never really being present.
And he wanted me to accept she and fear came first, the fear came before me. He wouldn’t put us first. I was expected to give in and give up any hope of a future so that he avoided dealing with his fears. His needs to always call her. His need to never be honest with her, his need to bamboozle her. He never allowed me to meet her. He never allowed me to take care of his feelings.
The funny thing is, he never gave himself credit for not killing himself. And he never saw in himself he was in a better place: he would tell me if I left him it would crush him, but he would understand and celebrate the good times we had. I never understood why he couldn’t celebrate what he had with her, see it has his past, and move the fuck on.
We argued, we fought, we went round and round. I was in so much pain for loving him at his worst and he still chose fear and her. He didn’t see it. He never saw that what he was doing was hurting me. Just like the alcoholic who thinks they have their drinking under control. But they don’t. He didn’t have his fear under control and believed she was the solution to his problems.
His PTSD broke my heart in a thousand pieces. And the huge chunk of my heart I gave him, is gone. I sit here hurting. He may never know that what he has done is simply a result of PTSD. He blames me and my anger for tearing us apart. I own that I never believed that he didn’t love her and it was just fear of fear and the darkness. I lost him to my own fears.
Feeling All the Feelings 