I was in an abusive relationship.

I didn't have to explain random bruises or black eyes. I didn't have to make up a story about how I hurt my wrist because I fell down the stairs. I was never forced to go further than I wanted to in the bedroom. I was never humiliated in front of my friends or talked down to in public. On the surface, our relationship seemed great. He was always holding my hand or had his arm around me. He was not afraid of little public displays of affection. He knew me inside and out, and ironically, that was something to my disadvantage.

Because he knew me so well, he knew what to say to me to make me mad. He knew what to say to make me feel small. He knew what to say to push me into having a complete mental breakdown. He knew how to manipulate me, so I would do what he wanted me to. It wasn't always like this, relationships like this never are. At the start of everything, it was the "perfect" relationships: dates, hanging out and being in love. It continued this way for about the first two years. Despite any bumps in the road, we were able to work past them. We dreamed of a future together. A house. Maybe a few kids. I, being the type-A personality that I am, loved the idea of having stability.

We designed a future that I longed for so badly and would do anything to have, even if it meant putting myself last. He didn't get all the way along with his parents, but then again, what college-aged student does? He would stay over. At first, it was because he no longer had a car and we would hang out late. Then, sometimes he would miss his curfew and the door would be locked. It was an accident, but we made a plan of what time we would leave my apartment for him to get home on time. Then, he started finding ways to stall us from leaving. He would get to my apartment late, blaming the bus, or he'd say that he was tired, hungry, or wanted to lay down for a little bit. I, trying to be the sweet girlfriend, would happily oblige. Before we knew it, it would be too late for me to get him home in time, so he would just stay over. His parents didn't care as long as he texted them, saying that he was staying over with me. He always said that he did, but before long, he stopped texting them to say he was with me. He always told me that he did still, and it wasn't until I got a text from his step-mom saying that she hadn't heard from him in a few days did I learn he was lying to me about it.

He had some friends that his parents weren't too fond of and, claiming that he was being a rebel, he would hang out with them anyway and would ask me to cover for him. Again, I just wanted to make him happy, so I went with it. As he was using me for his own gain, I started to become less and less of a priority in his eyes. He would break plans with me because he would rather party instead. I would be bummed out, but it was my job to make him happy, right?

When I was feeling like I meant absolutely nothing to him, I confronted him about how I was feeling. He said that I was overreacting, but he would make more time for me. Little did I know that "making more time for me" meant attaching himself to me like a parasite, draining me dry. He expected me to pay for any and all dates we went on. He expected me to make dinner for him. He expected me to wash and store the clothes he kept at my apartment, despite the fact that they filled my drawers to the point where I didn't have any room for my own clothes. He expected me to drive him around everywhere and use my precious gas, despite the fact that he had a bus pass. This even meant driving him places late at night. He attached on to me so hard that it felt like I was more of a mother to him than a girlfriend. He occupied so much of my time that I only ever got to see my best friend, who only lives a floor above me, at our weekly sorority chapter meeting.

We fought. Every couple does. I can so clearly recall my parents having spats when I was a kid, and they are happily married. Let me make this clear: spats are okay. Fights that end with you in tears or hysterics are never okay. They would be over the stupidest things too. Like, I would have to leave for class in the morning, so I would suggest that he get up and leave too. This would then escalate to a screaming match with him getting up in my face saying that he was tired or didn't "feel well" and that I didn't give a crap about him. This was the tone of the majority of our fights, and I would often end up in hysterics. He would then tell me to look at myself and say that "no one but me would ever put up with how crazy you're being" While he never hit me, there were times I was afraid that he would, so I would push him away or slap him to gain some distance. This would just escalate the fight further. He would get right back up in my face screaming at me about how he was going to call the cops and have me arrested for assault, even though he was the primary aggressor. He would even fake phone calls to the police to make me concede to him.

He lied. He would sneak out of my apartment when I would be asleep to go get alcohol, even though he claimed that he was trying to get sober. He would say that his stomach was bothering him or that he wanted to take a walk and that he would be right back. I overlooked it, putting naive, blind trust in him. He would say he was with a friend when he was really with someone he shouldn't be around. He lied about money. He said that he would save money for Valentine's Day, but when he woke up that morning complaining about a headache, I told him to go buy some Advil from the drugstore. He said he didn't have any money.

This was the straw that started to break my back. I hadn't been happy with him for a while, but the fact that he didn't think about me enough to so much as get me a card for Valentine's Day was too much. Especially when he was expecting for me to pay for us to go see a movie later. He called me materialistic, and I realize that it may seem that way. But what I was upset about was the fact that he would rather spend his paycheck on cigarettes, fast food, alcohol and other libations than to make me happy on Valentine's Day. Being as entrapped as I was though, I didn't leave that easily. It wasn't until my roommate and a friend intervened that I felt like I needed to walk away.

That wasn't the end of the abuse. We wanted to try to be friends, but he would say and do things that would purposefully hurt me. He got me to blame myself for everything that happened, even though it was not my fault at all. I decided to cut contact, but he still found ways around that barrier until I told him to stop trying to contact me.

I left that three-year long relationship damaged. Being yelled at triggers me into having a mental breakdown. I have major trust issues. I don't feel 100% comfortable in my own apartment, but I can't just move because of my lease. I'm anxious to answer the phone when a random phone number calls me. I jump whenever someone knocks on my door. Anger randomly rises up inside of me. I can't listen to certain songs. I'm overly concerned with how I spend money. Being around alcohol makes me nervous, and I'm nervous to walk around on campus alone at any time of day.

But I have learned so much from this. Someone who loves you will not use you. Someone who loves you will not push you to hysterics. Someone who loves you will not threaten to leave you over stupid things. Someone who loves you will always pay you back immediately. Someone who loves you will not expect anything of you. Someone who loves you will not lie to you about what they are doing or who they're with. Someone who loves you will respect your space. Someone who loves you will respect your relationships with your friends. Someone who loves you will respect you.

I was in an abusive relationship, and it does not define me. It has only made me stronger, and it is not my fault.