I have no other way to describe our time together but fearful. Fear of being alone. Fear I had made a mistake. Fear that if he left it was because I was unlovable, that there was something wrong with me. 

In retrospect, I had an anxiety that was speaking volumes, louder than my voice ever could. I remember sitting in a park alone, crying, before signing the lease. I knew, deep down, that there was nothing solid about our life together, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Truly, I thought this was as good as it was going to get.

Quickly claustrophobic by our limiting world together, he began to rebel against me and our relationship. Within a matter of months, things started to fall apart.

He became angry, and mean, and a lot of true colors started to show. I didn’t know how to process this sudden shift and blamed myself. My life went from my own, to ours, to trying to salvage what was left in any respect.

I was quiet most of the time. My mom describes me during that time as very “proper,” always quiet and trying not to say the wrong thing. As a woman who has built a life on being an outspoken fearless thinker, I was quickly becoming a far cry from the person I once was.

It was a strange time, and although I don’t remember much of the details, I do remember it being extraordinarily painful.