When I met Ryan I was 20, just about to turn 21. I was enrolled in college then, and having something of a difficult time. The years leading up to that point, my parents and I had a rocky and dysfunctional relationship. I felt isolated and lonely all the time.
Still, between the ups and downs I got by. On the ups, I was resolved and pushed myself to be better, but I was constantly hounded by an insecure shadow behind my fade of confidence. Just before my 21st birthday, I was out in the town taking pictures for my art project when I stopped by a new restaurant in town. I happened to get talking with the owner and eventually got a new job there. On my interview, the owner introduced me to Ryan. I didn't think much of our first meeting; I was still inwardly reserved and shy. As the days passed by, I was stationed at the expeditor's station before going out to become a server (Ryan later revealed to me that he had told the owner that I needed to learn the ropes more, so he could have time to be close to me). I found him exciting and interesting, and very charming. He wasn't like anybody I had meet before.
At this time, I was getting over a previous relationship, if you can call it that. The brief courtship ended in feelings of rejection and desperation. I kept most of my personal affairs to myself though. I don't think Ryan cared, he seemed to know I was the one and our whirl-wind romance just took flight. Within two weeks he had professed he loved me. His love was like an addiction, and it seemed so sincere. But our moments of bliss have always been stained by ugly realities, to the point I have difficulties trying to keep things straight.
The warning signs were there from the start. We broke up, we got back together, we broke up, we got back together. I moved in, I moved out, more times than I remember. The madness in our relationship is something I can't describe. I've been spit on, physically restrained, punched, kicked, kicked out, and screamed at. I probably have my equal share of horrible behavior towards him. I always justified my actions by saying my words would not work on him, so I had to hit. He yelled first so I yelled back. Still, I held on to the hope he loved me. He always said he loved me, of that much he never wavered even as he deprived me of every single shred of self-esteem.
I think the real danger is I always had nobody else to turn to. I couldn't tell my parents, I felt I had no other friends. Everything I had was invested in us. This last time we started anew, by the pain to the past created too much fear and foreboding in me. When he raised his voice at me again, after everything again, I put my foot down. I resolved to leave and say enough is enough. But the honest truth is in my heart I am broken. He asked me to come back, and go to counseling... but I can't put my life in that precarious situation again. I can't trust his word even though I want to and I'm scared. I want to be strong and think I did the right thing, I still long for his love and the dream of our life together. That he be the man I loved, that man who I believed was in there. Every day I wish he will call and find a way to take the hurt and fear away so we can be together.