Like most modern day dating stories, I met my boyfriend online. We clicked and talked over the phone and via text. Eventually, we decided to meet in person for the first time at a local park, and I was pleasantly surprised that he looked exactly like his photos.
During the following months, our relationship deepened. Then he broke the news: he was moving back to his hometown thousands of miles away to be closer to family and start a new job he just couldn’t turn down. We agreed to FaceTime, text and talk on a daily basis, and make this relationship work long distance.
But, when he returned home something shifted. Though he kept his promise to stay in touch, Mr. Nice Guy turned controlling and abusive.
He demanded we have sex on FaceTime on a daily basis. He became furious if I said no. He accused me of being with other men.
Still, I let him visit me in December right before Christmas. During his two-week stay, he kept tabs on my every move. He did not want me talking to my friends. He badgered me if I went anywhere without him. I lost all personal space. It was unbearable, and I was so relieved when he returned home. I also decided to call things off.
“I just don’t think we’re compatible,” I said cautiously.
“I just wanted to spend all of our time together because I wasn’t there very long,” he coerced. In the end, Mr. Nice Guy convinced me he wasn’t an abusive asshole.
Skip to present day and my life is no longer my own. If I am not near my phone, I return to at least 10 missed calls, 14 missed FaceTime calls and up to 20 texts. He flings accusations and demands to know where I am. If I am on the other line with a girlfriend and tell him so, he texts me back, “Sure you are.” And then I go to the extent of putting the call on three-way so he can hear my friend’s voice.
My friends are convinced I will become a victim of domestic violence and my story will one day air on Lifetime. They are right. So, after a recent fight due to his inability to reach me for an hour – and since my actions didn’t line up with the daily schedule I provided him – I decided to break things off once and for all.
Me: This is over and I am fucking done, I am not your prisoner!
Mr. Nice Guy: I’m sending someone for my belt, my necklace and the $140 I gave you. Click.
It’s late and I find myself imaging the worst possible scenarios. Will masked men break into my home to claim him meaningless items? I am terrified. Suddenly, the phone rings again. It’s him but I stick to my guns, I don’t want to make up. He continues to yell and erupts with hatred and anger.
“You fat fucking cunt. You bitch, you will never leave me.” Click.
Ever since that awful night I’ve blocked him on all social media. I have been forced to deactivate my Facebook. I watch everything I post on Twitter, which was hacked after he repeatedly asked me for my IP address. If I had known that day in the park that I would become the victim of an abusive relationship less than a year later, I would have walked away. I wouldn’t have kissed him and let him into my bed and my life. I would have let him leave thousands of miles away so he could no longer control me, scare me and intimidate me.