I had no idea who I was anymore. I had completely lost myself in the year I spent with him. All I knew how to do was love him, be with him, miss him, have my heart broken by him, and worry about him to the point of my own self-destruction. If it’s possible to suffer some sort of physical ailment due to being worried about another human, I should have been hospitalized by now. I didn’t know how to be me when I wasn’t doing any of those things. That terrified me.

I skated through life never understanding what it meant to be in love with someone; with that also came the added comfort of never having my heart broken. I never understood how people could let their partner use and abuse them over and over and continue to stay. I didn’t feel bad for them either, because how could they be so stupid? It was their own fault. No relationship was ever worth my dignity or pride and I would sooner die than let someone determine my happiness.

So how could I let myself become something that I resent? How could I become the complete opposite of myself and not realize how far gone I was? How could I take so much abuse? How could I let one person control every aspect of my being? When did I become so weak-minded? How could I not realize that not only was I losing myself to our relationship, but I was losing a long-fought battle with depression as well? When did I become that pathetic version of myself?

I gave away every inch of my soul to someone who will never love me or care about me like he says he does. I fought away concerned loved ones with excuses that I had made up for him because I was too blind to see the truth. I was completely broken, and I let him do it to me. I let him take and take from me until there was no “me” left at all. I invested so much faith in our love and I really believed that he could change. I believed that if he wanted me badly enough, he would try anything to change, not just for me, but for us. I thought if maybe he saw how badly he hurt me this time, he would do everything he could to spare me from reliving the same pain again.

As a firm believer in everything happening for a reason, I struggled to find reason in destiny’s plan for me. I convinced myself that life without him didn’t make sense, that we were made for each other, and that I had to sacrifice everything to ensure his permanence in my life. I convinced myself that love was supposed to feel this way; that it was about completely abandoning my sanity to save his. I let him walk in and out of me like an open doorway, each time severing my heart deeper and deeper.

Each time, I was plagued by the same questions. Why did he have to do this to me? Why couldn’t he have loved me like he said he did? Why did he have to lie to me? Why did he have to drag me through the mud time and time again? Why did he have to obliterate any sense of self-worth I once possessed? More importantly, why did I let him?

The fact that our relationship was so emotionally unstable was only half of the battle. Loving a self-destructive person means enlisting in a war; with them, with yourself, with your sanity. Loving someone that has no general concern for whether they wake up in the morning, is constantly putting themselves in danger, and is constantly making the wrong decisions because they feel they have nothing to lose is an indescribable feeling.

It’s like watching a circus performer on a tightrope. Every time they lose their balance, your heart stops, and you remain in a state of anxiety until they arrive safely back on the other side of the rope. He is the circus performer, I am the patron in the audience, and the tightrope is the life he so desperately wishes to escape. I remained in a state of worry for months at a time, and if you are left alone in your head with thoughts of panic for a loved one, you can really test your mental and emotional capacities.

Just when you begin to feel yourself giving up, what does he do? Tells you that he loves you more than anyone. He tells you that you are the one, from now until forever, because no one would ever replace you. You can look into his eyes and see warmth that was not there before. You wake up from a nap and catch him staring at you like he would never need anything more than you.

You walk into his room to find a note on his bed that he left there that reads “Dear Caitlyn, I love you, Love, ---,” and then you look back at him to see that he’s grinning like a little girl because he was so excited for you to find it. He shows you each day that he can love you better than he did the day before… for about a week. Two months later, same deal. But now he loves me again… for about a week. Repeat. We’ve been doomed to relive this relentless cycle incessantly for the past 12 months.

I always heard great things about the first love. It’s supposed to be promising, sweet, and pure. It’s not supposed to destroy everything it was built on; our hearts were the two opposite winds, those that tried to mesh with one another, that combined to form the tornado that destroyed everything in its path, including ourselves. Is the first love supposed to make you terrified of ever loving someone again?

The worst part about it is that after everything, I was uncomfortable without him. I wasn’t good at living a life without our love. I didn’t know how to think, what to look forward to, how to not be his muse; I couldn’t pretend like I didn’t want to run back to my comfort zone. The comfort zone that demanded that I sacrifice no less than my entire heart; it was equally as unnerving, but at least I was good at it. I relied on him too heavily to restore a sense of balance inside me and ease the pain of our yesterdays. In all honesty, I craved him, like a drug.

Even when I witnessed him treating me as though he detested me. Even though his love has tested every ounce of sanity that I once knew. Even though his painful silences are still burning in my thoughts like salt in a fresh wound. Even though I was lied to, put on the back burner, always taken for granted, and placed in competition with his past loves. I know how wrong it all is, but I can’t be honest with myself and say that I would take any of it back. Because, yes, the downs were brutal, but, oh, the ups were beautiful. Loving him was unfathomably frightening, but it was exhilarating and courageous. Loving him was blissful, it kept me high, and if I didn’t get my fix, I crashed… hard.

But he didn’t love me back. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to, and he let his need to be free break the person that loved him more than anyone else did. It was one thing to indulge in his excuses for his cruel behavior, but I really hit rock bottom when I began to make up excuses for him, so he didn’t have to. I really believed them, too. Mostly, I blamed his inability to wholeheartedly love me on his sickness. Doesn’t everyone say you can’t love someone else if you can’t love yourself first?

He is:

• Funny
• Passionate
• Intelligent
• Beautiful on the inside (if you get lucky enough to see that side of him) and on the outside
• Unique (and equally as strange as I am)
• Exciting
• Caring and thoughtful, when he wants to be
• Completely unaware of how amazing he is, which makes him that much better
• Blessed with the ability to lose himself to his laughter… it’s actually one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. It’s impossible to hear his laugh and not feel the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile
• The only person I have ever fallen irrevocably in love with
• The only person I know better than I’ve ever known anyone, or anything

He is also:

• Selfish
• Unkind
• Stubborn
• Cruel
• Unthoughtful
• Manipulative
• Drowning in his own self-pity
• Too close-minded to see anybody’s way but his own, once his mind is made up
• Addicted to a lifestyle that tears him apart from the inside

I didn’t have to accept that he didn’t love me, because subconsciously, I already knew. However, I know he is very much capable of loving me; I’ve seen it and I’ve felt it. I guess that only adds to our tragedy, and yes, that hurt… but the excruciating pain came from coming to terms with the fact that he didn’t want help. I absorbed his disparity, I hurt when he hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to take that all away; at the end of the day, we just want to see the people we love happy. I know if he would have let me, I could have helped him find meaning in his life.

But you can’t help someone that doesn’t want to be helped; I know that now. I think the effort required in changing his mindset overwhelms him. I think it’s easier for him to engage in selfish acts and blame it on the fact that he’s simply not a kind person. I think he secretly needs people to hate him because it makes it easier for him to hate himself. When people are telling you that they love you, and they believe in you, you search within for the reasons why. When people tell you you’re a bad person and they hate you, you can easily join in and be swallowed whole by your own self-hatred, who will travel with you always, like a passenger.

I think a part of the reason I held onto him for so long is because I knew he would punish himself if he lost me forever. I wanted to let him know I still cared for him, so he wouldn’t get down on himself for pushing away everyone that’s ever loved him. Really, I didn’t want him to have to deal with losing me. Although he was poison to my heart, I was the elixir of life to his. I was the epitome of a best friend and positive influence. I always stayed by his side, rooted for him, and tried with all of my might to fight away all of his demons. When you love somebody, it’s nearly impossible to decipher between what’s best for them and what’s best for you… because all you care about is what’s best for them.

After letting loved ones into the pain I was living with, they called him sadistic, they called him cruel, they said he did not love me; in the midst of my pain, I questioned his love for me… I no longer do. I think he loved me as much as his broken heart allowed. Every time he left, I think he knew the way that it would all play out, and he wanted to spare me from the inevitable pain that comes with loving him. I think he knew that no matter what he did I would remain by his side, and he surrendered to that.

He is not a bad person, and the truth is, I think he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. His love lifted me up and inspired me to be better than I was the day before. Having him on my side gave me the courage to stand against any obstacle in my path, even when that obstacle was him. I am not the victim of an abusive relationship. I am a masochist that cared too much about someone that didn’t care about themselves enough.

For the first time in an entire year, I’m thinking about what I need and putting myself first. What I need most is a hiatus from him and the mess that we’ve created. I’m attempting to put the pieces back together without his help. I have begun to trust the timing of my life and I am embarking on a journey to find out who I am apart from him. I want to get to know this new version of myself. Who knows… maybe he made me better than I was before.

Now, it’s time to fall back in love with myself. Now, it’s time to be my own hero.