J.W.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I met a boy in my statistics class. He was sweet, smart, attentive, and creative; he was all I could think about, and I knew I wanted to be with him. When we started dating, he said and did all the right things. His constant love and support gave me hope that maybe he was it—maybe I found my person.

Later, though, our relationship slowly started changing. His loving messages turned into constant questioning about where I was and who I was with. His support turned into diminishing my accomplishments and blaming me for being too busy to respond to his texts right away. The changes were slow, and almost unnoticeable, but their effects were huge. Eventually, he blamed me for his depression, his alcoholism, and for his suicide attempts.

I only wanted to make him happy. I distanced myself from my family because they didn’t understand that if I didn’t answer him, he would kill himself. I stopped showing up to my rehearsals because he didn’t trust the men who I was performing with. He told me that everything he did—the constant surveillance, deciding who I could and couldn’t be friends with, kissing me and touching me in public even when I asked him not to because he had to show people that I was his—it was all because he loved me so much. I finally had the courage to tell him that enough was enough, and that I needed space.

Then, he texted me at midnight. “I took half of a bottle of painkillers. I can’t stand the thought of us being in a fight. Just don’t worry about me.” He decided to end his life because of me. I’m never going to see him again just because I made him upset. He’s right—I’m worthless, I’m nothing without him, and I bring him so much misery when all he ever does is love me. 

I called 911. They found him. They found him unharmed, no pills in sight, relaxing in his bed. He made it up. There was no suicide attempt. I didn’t do anything wrong. He just wanted to have power and control over me, to guilt me for attempting to speak up, and to leave me with absolutely no autonomy. I wasn’t his partner, and he didn’t love me—I was his possession.

After breaking up with him, I began my journey towards healing and self-love. I started researching more about abusive relationships and forgave myself for falling for his emotionally abusive tactics. I realized that none of what he did was my fault, and I learned to let go of the guilt and shame that I had been bottling up. People sometimes ask me why I didn’t just leave the relationship, but they don’t understand that it’s not that simple. The fear of driving someone to kill themselves and the fear of them hurting you if you leave is indescribably paralyzing. Instead of asking survivors of abusive relationships why they didn’t leave, I learned, and want everyone else to learn, that we need to start asking why abusers abuse.

Now, I always remind myself the following: It is not my job to change people. I am worth more than someone’s opinion of me. I am my own person and deserve love and space to grow. No one can control me but me.

During this relationship, I felt like I couldn’t share my experiences on social media because I was afraid that he would retaliate if I did. I also couldn’t let people see how much I was hurting, because I didn’t want people to worry about me or think that I’m weak because I couldn’t handle things on my own. However, when I shared this experience with my mom and with my friends, I realized that asking for help does not make me weak; it empowers me to rely on my support system and grow.

If I shared my story on social media now, I can only imagine getting positive support from my loved ones. However, I want to emphasize that it is always a person’s choice about whether or not they want to share their experiences. Some find it empowering to share, but others find freedom in knowing that they don’t have to tell anyone what they’ve been through. Both options are an absolutely valid way to heal!

For anyone else that is experiencing or has experienced an unhealthy relationship, I encourage y’all to seek out resources and to tell your friends or family about what you’re going through. For UCSB students, folks can reach out to UCSB’s Campus Advocacy, Resources, and Education (CARE) at (805) 893-4613 and/or Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) at (805) 893-4411. It is so important to remember that you are not alone.