I was with my ex from ages 13-17. We met each other through school band, and had both just gotten out of relationships. He was known around the school as a player, and had his nudes circulating around the school despite being a minor. But, being a 13 year old with undiagnosed BPD (borderline personality disorder),PTSD, and a very unstable home life, I was desperate for some sort of connection.

If you look back in my Reddit history, you’ll see some of the posts I’ve made about him, defending him and asking how I could save a relationship that was never going to work in the first place. So, here’s as much as I can fit of the full story in one post.

When we first got together, I was your stereotypical perfectionist kid. I swore off alcohol and drugs, having grown up with an abusive alcoholic father. I never wanted to be like him. I wanted to avoid sex until I found the right person. Not necessarily until marriage, but I wanted my first time to be special.

Without being too graphic, my first time was on my 13th birthday, in the woods in about 40 degree weather, anal with no lubricant. There was blood. I remember I cried from the pain. Despite not enjoying it whatsoever, I decided I enjoyed making him happy, and he often expressed struggling with hypersexuality. He would beg, guilt-trip, and insist until I gave in. When I asked if we could stop doing anal, he told me he “wasn’t ready to take my virginity.”

As the years went on and he finally “took my virginity”, the begging and guilt tripping didn’t stop. I recall once he told me that my “no” wasn’t clear enough. That my body language, insisting I would rather do it later, or I didn’t feel like it, wasn’t a “no”. He would often bring up the fact that he was sexually abused as a reason for why he couldn’t have raped me. He even pressured me into a threesome with his own male cousin. Thankfully, before anything could happen, I had a panic attack and they left.

On top of this, he cheated multiple times. My prediction was at least 4. I fully realize I was stupid to stay, but his explanation was his Dissociative Identity Disorder, which I am still convinced he genuinely had, or was convinced he had, as he was diagnosed with OSDD and psychosis.

He would cry, telling me it wasn’t fair I was going to leave him over something he had no control over. He compared it to my then recently diagnosed BPD, saying he would never leave me over the behaviors I can’t control, making sure to bring up every fight I had ever contributed to and every BPD stereotype I fit. He compared me to my father. He told me he never got to focus on himself for taking care of my “outbursts.” So, feeling thoroughly guilty for being a “hypocrite”, I stayed.

January of 2022, New Years, I saw his texts to another girl. I found his Reddit, in which he would post asking about hookups. He talked to her the same way he spoke to me. When I confronted him, he told me he had to leave for work. I had a breakdown. I followed him out to the car, putting my hand in the car door and begging him to stay. He told me if I didn’t move he would close the door on my hand.

I remember crumpling to the ground of the driveway. His entire family was inside the house. I couldn’t face them. I called his sister, who lived a few blocks down, asking her to please pick me up. She gave me a beer to “take the edge off” and had to leave for work.

I attempted to take my own life by overdose at her house with a bottle of naproxen, propranolol, and Benadryl I had in my overnight bag, washing it down with the beer in hopes I would never wake up. I just got a horrible migraine and felt nauseous and woozy for hours instead. While he was at work, I helped his sister cook for the New Year’s party with his family, all while feeling like I wasn’t in reality.

His explanation for this was the same as it always was. It wasn’t him, it was his alter, he would stop talking to the girl, etc. I was so desperate to pretend like everything was fine. I think from that point forward I decided to dissociate completely. I gave him sex when he wanted it, I avoided going through his phone, I faked being a Christian so his parents would accept me. I wasn’t a person so much as a soulless being, just doing what I was told in an effort to avoid ever feeling that kind of despair again.

It all fell apart when he told me he wanted to go into the military. That was the reality check I needed. The DID was never real. I don’t know how he faked it so consistently for so long, or if I was so deep in cognitive dissonance that I refused to see the signs. I told him I never wanted to be a military wife, I didn’t want to live on base. I didn’t want to move states away from my family. So he left me. He ended our 4 year relationship over a phone call in July of last year. It felt like my world as it had been for my entire teenage life was over. I told my mother I didn’t feel safe with myself, and asked to be admitted into a psychiatric facility.

Ultimately I didn’t end up going, as my PTSD is largely related to hospitals and I knew being in that environment would be a massive trigger. He continued to try to use me for sex, asking if we could be FWB but always refusing to see me in person.

The last time I saw him in person was October, just before my birthday. I took my stuff from him, gave him a hug, and walked away. It took me longer than I care to admit, but I’ve since removed him from all my social media. He’s in basic training now. Won’t be my problem for at least a few months. I hope I can have the strength to block him in that time.

In case you’re wondering, kind stranger, I’ve since moved on. I’m 18 now, proudly bisexual and graysexual and very much not Christian, but I so desperately wish I could have those years back. Years of pretending to be someone I was not. The nightly fights, breakdowns, and smashing down every boundary I had to please someone who never loved me or respected me.

I’m just so glad I’m free now. Free to be exactly who I want to be, and figure it out myself without his hands molding me into the perfect victim.