I remember he shared a story about an ex-girlfriend he dated years ago, who cheated on him while he was away in the UK. When this girl confessed to cheating on him, he became withdrawn and fell into depression, and later he had thoughts of suicide. He credited his father for helping him to find his way back from that dark place.
He was left broken after infidelity, yet he later went on to emotionally abuse others, while having little concern for the emotional well-being of anyone in his life. Two days before he cruelly broke up with me, he told me he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. 3 weeks later, after asking if he still loved me on Facebook and him responding with “I don’t”, I sat on the top stair, in my home, questioning if my life was worth living anymore. I felt like I was inside a black hole and I couldn’t find my way out. I didn’t want to be alive.
Like a light switch, he had turned his feelings off, instantly. Everything he said about loving and caring for me vanished. He didn’t remember how I spent over a thousand dollars trying to give him a special Valentine’s day, simply because he said no one had ever done anything for him. He didn’t remember the wine and rum I spontaneously had delivered to him, so we could have a special date night. He had forgotten all the nights I listened to him tell me of his painful childhood, how I comforted him, supported him, tried to protect him, and how I tried to heal him. I was now only a nuisance to him. My friend (we’ll call him “Mike”) warned me for months about him. He blatantly told me that I was in an abusive relationship, he penned my future with him, which later would become the writings on this wall. He told me what I’d become, how I’d lose myself, if I stayed with him. He was scared for me.
I refused to admit that I was being abused. I come from an abusive background. My brothers were physically abusive to their girlfriends, and to me. On paper, I’m someone who likely would have found themselves in an abusive situation at some point in their life, but I thought, not me, not with him. I’m stronger than that, I can handle it. I would never be anyone’s “victim”.
But I told “Mike” over and over that he simply didn’t know Radu, that he was wrong. That Radu loved me, cared for me, that he simply didn’t “understand” our love. Of course, Radu always claimed Mike was just “jealous” because he was dating his crush, he said “Mike” was in love with me. And I was even willing to end my friendship with Mike, even though Mike was someone who would have done anything to make me happy, but I was willing to never speak to him again, because I didn’t want to admit what was being done to me and how I was fading away. I sat on those stairs crying for an hour, replaying in my mind, Radu telling me that he didn’t love me 20 days after discarding me and Mike on the phone with me, crying because he thought he was about to lose his best friend. When you love someone, you protect them, even when you have to make tough choices, their well-being always comes first.
Like a true “victim” after being abused, I’d always seek out his comfort. Narcissistic abusers tear you down, and then they have you believing that you need them to help put yourself back together. And that was our relationship. I’d breakdown, have panic attacks, crippling anxiety after he said and did things to hurt me, and then I’d go back and beg him to heal me. This cycle would repeat for months.
For the last two months, I’ve written about all the pain I was dealing with, here on this blog. I never shared the blog with anyone, except him. This was never about exposing Radu/IAMLEJND/Alucard, otherwise, I would have told everyone 2 months ago. I didn’t even tell “Mike”. I wanted Radu to see what he had done to me. I thought he’d remember all the things I’d done for him. I wanted him to feel, and to see everything that was wrong with him and how he hurts others. I thought since he had been telling me for months how much he loved me, wanted to marry me, and have children with me, that he’d care. I believed some part of him would care that I was hurting.
He never cared and still doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the ability to understand the emotional pain he inflicts onto others. He and Epix/Adam would visit the blog, and he’d invite others to view my emotional scars. I even started blocking his friends, but they would just use VPNs to get around the ban. I still wanted to protect him, I didn’t want anyone to really know the truth. I didn’t want them to know what he had done to me.
He came here and read every word, reading almost daily. We didn’t speak for one month, and one week ago I finally felt strong enough to reach out to my abuser (because we always go back, right?) to ask that he send me the things he promised to give me back a month earlier. I arranged for the collection of the parcel and paid $100 for shipping. I emailed him the prepaid label. But after I contacted him, he replied by trying to gaslight me, claiming he never said I could have anything back, he said that it was my warped reality, and he told me to “fuck off”, “go fuck myself”, and “get fucked” even though I had Facebook screencaps of him telling me that I could have everything back.
He told me he wasn’t giving me shit back. He then said my blog had been a source of entertainment for him and his friends. He said, who would have thought that my only redeeming quality after 8 months would be to entertain him. This is the person I shipped two boxes of quit smoking tea to, because I was scared that he’d end up with cancer from smoking. I was once again being devalued and discarded, and so openly, with no remorse, and it happened because I wasn’t strong enough to stay away from my abuser. To this day, he never once gave me a sincere apology for abusing me.
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