About a month after we moved in together, I started getting sick, very sick, every day. I was in and out of urgent care and doctor’s offices trying to figure out what was wrong. Vomiting and constant headaches. Finally, a doctor looks at me and says, “You think it might be your mind, son?” and recommends I see a therapist. I go and this therapist diagnoses me with (her words) one of the worst cases of major depressive disorder she had ever seen before, along with high anxiety and some PTSD. I get to put on meds.
My fiancee hated that I went to a therapist. Her little idea of a perfect world was shattered because to her “she wasn’t enough to keep me happy”. And then I started seeing all the little signs around me. She constantly not wanting me to talk to my family. Her always keeping tabs on me. Driving me away from my hobbies. Pulling me away from my friends. She wanted to control me. It was always about what I could do for her, not about what we did for each other. It ate away at my heart and my soul until I was a shell of a person. And I blamed myself for a very very long time.