It's freshman year of high school. I see a guy. He's a junior-- and boom-- instant infatuation. Fast-forward to late November of Sophomore year, and we officially become, well, official! Sounds perfect! Or, it should, right?

Yeah, nope. It was the start of an experience that took more out of me than I could have ever imagined.

Let me start this off by stating that, at first, the relationship was great. Oh man, it seriously was amazing. No lie. I was feeling a true and raw love for the very first time. What ruined me was time. The further we went on, the more comfortable he became, which means the more he let his stripes show. (Another disclaimer: we both struggle with mental illness. I have somewhat theorized that Bipolar Disorder runs on the paternal side of his family, so this might be a contributor to his behavior.) It started with the typical small fights about incredibly insignificant things. I figured it was normal until he started calling me horribly nasty names and insulting me as a person. Then there was the constant pointing out of my flaws and mistakes. If he screwed something up, he would play the victim and then turn it on me. Everything was my fault and I was horrible in his mind. It honestly felt like each week we had a new full-blown meltdown and, emotionally, it felt like a breakup each time just because of how dramatic and cruel he was. People would ask me, "How's ______?" and I'd of course I'd lie. I couldn't just say I was drained. I couldn't just say we were always on the rocks. If I did, they would ask questions, I would try to explain, he would find out, and he would snap at me. Everything pretty much worked that way. My whole personality shifted.

I got used to being sad, and that apparently was okay because he loved me.

Once he started college, everything went even more downhill. I was still in high school, so we had to get used to not seeing each other daily. He instantly made friends with the two girls across the hall from his dorm, and spent pretty much all of his time with them. I'm not crazy-jealous by any means, but it wasn't really what I enjoyed looking at every time I opened Facebook, Instagram, or Snapchat. Any time I would ask about their friendship, he'd freak out. He'd accuse me of not trusting him, throw a tantrum (maybe storm out of my house,) and ignore me for quite some time. Again, I would just tell myself that it was just part of who he was.

I knew it was unhealthy. I knew it was messing with my head. I really knew that I was so incredibly, deeply sad. I was so, so, so scared of him.

Plot twist: things got better-- ish. Surprisingly, we worked out some major kinks. I gained confidence and I decided I couldn't be afraid anymore. I loved him so much, and I let him go. I knew I'd be ruining myself even more if I didn't. I was in love with him while leaving him. I was in love with him 3 months after leaving him. It is now a year since I left, and maybe a part of me still loves him, but most of me hates him for making me live and love in fear and for stripping away my personality.

I can't listen to Green Day or Weezer anymore, I can't look at Converse sneakers the same way, and I can't see curly hair without seeing his face,

but there are so many more incredible things that I can do without him.