It was 2011, and I was seventeen. I was just a teenager when we met. Well, the word "met" isn't quite right. It didn't take long for us to move from that app to each other’s phone numbers. I didn't usually do that, but you were different. You were charming. Flattering. We stayed up all night texting, just like in all the movies I watched and all the books I read.

We talked for months. We texted all day, stayed up all night. We even fell asleep next to our phone, still connected to each other.

You asked me to send you a picture. I did. You asked for another and I sent that, too. You asked for daily pictures of me because it was our way of "being with each other." Living 1,000 miles away wasn't easy. I asked you for a picture. You said the camera on your phone didn't work. I asked if we could Skype. You said you didn't have a webcam. But you assured me you would get one. You assured me you would get a new phone with a working camera. You assured me that I would see you. It was okay, I said. I had the pictures on your profile from the app. I saved them in my phone. Those were enough.

Except that wasn't you.

This happened before the show Catfish, so I didn't have a name for how you tricked me. Not that it mattered, I was already in too deep. I told you I loved you (because I really thought I did) and you ignored me. For three days. When you finally responded, you sent me a YouTube link to the song Crazy Girl by Eli Young Band. I didn't even notice the underlying tone of gas-lighting. All I heard were the lyrics "don't you know that I love you?" Then you sent me a picture of you, the real you. And I fell harder.

All my friends told me to let you go. That you lied to me. That you were so far away and it was pointless. But a part of me liked the whole "us against the world" mentally. And after you sent me that first picture, your whole attitude changed. All of a sudden you were Skyping me every night, you were singing me songs on your guitar, you were telling me you loved me, trusted me, needed me. I couldn't let you go.

So I didn't.

We dated for a year, long distance. Slowly, it became worse and worse. Soon, I was required to send you a picture every day before I went to school. If you didn't like what I was wearing, if you thought my shorts, skirts, or dresses were too short, you told me to change. And I did.

I was introduced to Tumblr, and I liked it, so I signed up. I was so excited about it, so I called you. You told me that your ex-girlfriend, the one that cheated on you, used that app to talk to other boys. You told me you didn't like that app, and you didn't like that I was on it. I told you I could delete it and you said no, but I did anyway. To make you happy.

Except, it didn't make you happy.

You didn't like my male friends. It was cute at first, flattering, really. You were jealous because you wanted me all to yourself. I liked that...until I didn't. So I told you I stopped talking to them, I wasn't friends with them anymore (which wasn't true). When you found out I lied, you said I betrayed your trust. You accused me of cheating. For months you made me feel so guilty. It didn't matter how many times I apologized, or how much I meant it. It didn’t matter that you lied to me first, or that you even lied at all.

Eventually, you told me I had to choose between them or you. So you wrote me a script and listened on three-way-calling as I phoned my male friend and told him "I don't want to be friends with you anymore. Don't talk to me in the halls, don't sit next to me in class, don't even look at me when I walk by." You listened as I sobbed when my friend hung up the phone. What you didn't listen to, however, was what people said about me the next day at school. You didn't listen to how much I had hurt the people who were once my closest friends.

When I came to visit you, you asked for the passwords to my phone, my Facebook, and my email. Didn't I remember that I lied to you? Didn't I think you had a right to know if I was lying about anything else? You would look through my phone while I was sleeping, and if I tried to resist your snooping, you accused me of hiding something. I always thought it was funny how I was never allowed to have any of your passwords, that I wasn't even trusted enough to hold your phone in my hand. You were allowed to watch all the texts I sent people, you could even text people from my phone if you really wanted, but I couldn't even lean in your direction when you were tapping away on yours.

Soon, I had lost most of my friends. You had effectively isolated me, and without anyone else to turn to, of course I felt I needed you even more. After all, you were all I had. Despite that, you were still constantly accusing me of being unfaithful. If I didn't text you back after a certain amount of time, you asked me who else I was talking to. If I didn't call you right away, you assumed I was with someone else.

It became a nightly routine for you to ask me, "Did you talk to any boys today? Did any boys talk to you? What exactly did they say? What did you say?" If I said anything you didn't like, you grew eerily silent, and I immediately and repeatedly apologized, even when I didn't know what I was apologizing for.

I was always being accused, always being questioned, always being doubted. I became so anxious when we talked. I was constantly afraid of upsetting you, or of saying the wrong thing.

Soon after that, I went off to Basic Training for the Army. You were worried. You had a history of being cheated on, something you always reminded me of. We were already long distance, but now we would hardly be able to talk for five whole months. I told you not to worry. I told you I loved you. I would never hurt you. I told you I would write to you, and you told me you'd write me, too.

I waited for your letters.

Over those ten weeks, I got three letters from you. Your mom sent me seven. You told me that you wrote me almost every day and that the letters must have gotten lost in the mail. I believed you because I had to.

But then you confessed. While I had worked my ass off for ten weeks, while I had trained to become a soldier, while I had missed you, you cheated on me. After all the interrogations, all the probing, all the suspecting, it was you.

After I fought my family for you, lost my friends for you, proved myself again and again for you, it was you who betrayed me.

And it wasn't until I broke it off that I realized how manipulative, controlling, and emotionally abusive you were. You made me ask permission to make decisions for myself, like when I wanted to cut my hair, or wanted a tattoo. You made me feel like I was always wrong, like I was the one making my own decisions, instead of you guilt-tripping me. You made me feel like I was lucky to have you, like I was the damaged one and you were there to fix me. You were emotionally unavailable when I needed you, and if I reciprocated, you gave me the cold shoulder as a way to get my attention, making me beg and plead for forgiveness.

You controlled my life from 1,000 miles away.

It took a while to learn that our relationship wasn’t healthy or normal. You were always calculating, using mind games and power plays. You were toxic. And I am so glad I never have to see you again.