I am reeling from this. I tried so hard to see his pain and be there for him and give him space. I was willing to go to counseling, I was willing to change my behavior and told him that. I was not abusive or mean. I struggled with myself and needed a lot of validation yes, but I improved a lot over the course of the relationship. We used to Skype call every night and sleep together, but once he expressed how hard that was I stopped. I needed less and less validation as time went on and I tried so so hard to get him to tell me what his needs were and how I could help get those needs met.


For full disclosure I must mention that when he ended it I had a mental breakdown because he wouldn't talk to me or answer my questions about the breakup and I harrased him via messages. But I did stop and won't be contacting him again. This was the only time I have ever done anything like that.

If what he says is authentic, then I am a true monster that does not realize the destruction they cause until it is too late. If I made someone feel this way when I was trying my absolute best to improve and be a more balanced person, then what kind of person must I be?

"Blanket

One day I came across a warm, fuzzy blanket. The longer I've worn it, the more it's become a part of me. It's something I've worn for so long that I forgot it wasn't even my own in the first place. It was everything I could ever hope for in a blanket: warm, enveloping, and comforting when I needed it. Something I could slough off when I got too hot, and that I could wrap myself in when things were too cold. Every time I took it off, I felt a little colder, so I put it on for longer and longer periods of time. Eventually, I couldn't do anything without wearing it. It felt good for a while. It somehow just felt...right. I got used to it. Eventually, I forgot it was even there. It moved with me, or maybe I was moving with it. The lines between the blanket and my body became ever more blurred.

It tightened its grip.

As I moved through my life I started feeling inexplicably weaker, and found even the most basic things so difficult I could hardly stand it. I couldn't understand why this was happening. I tried therapists. I tried medication. Nothing seemed to give me the strength to carry on. Every so often, I would hear my inner monologue reminding me that at some point in the past, I put on a heavy blanket and haven't taken it off. I didn't know what I was talking to myself about. I dismissed it. Everybody has a certain amount of weight they carry with them; why should I be so different?

It tightened its grip.

By the time I remembered its existence, it was no longer the warm blanket I remembered it as. Over the years, stitch by stitch, it had begun weaving itself into my own body until I could no longer see it without the most careful, surgical self-examination. I had to do something to make it loosen itself just enough for me to get a grip on it. I peered as far back into the past as I could. I noticed that one day, I started acting much differently than normal, and I kept acting that way from then on.

It loosened its grip.

I built up the courage as best as I could, knowing it would hurt more than I could ever imagine. Finding whatever loose texture I could, I gripped tightly and ripped the blanket from my body, its carefully woven fibers torn strand by strand from my pores. Screams echoed until there was nothing but a bloody pile of fabric and a raw, naked, reddened human standing next to it. I was cold. Exposed. I could swear that the blanket was slowly inching its way back towards me, wriggling and writhing in just as much, or even more pain as I was in at that moment; just as cold and afraid and alone. There I stood, raw and shivering, feeling sorry for this poor thing doing the only thing it knew how to do.

If I moved back towards it, I knew it might do something that would make sure I could never take it off again. I knew it was as desperate for warmth as me. I swallowed my pride and my instinct to help alleviate any suffering I came across. I left only bloody footprints in the opposite direction."