I never imagined that opening my heart could make me a target. My story begins like many relationships: moments of kindness, shared experiences, and the thrill of connecting with someone new. But what I thought was love slowly became complicated, blurred by manipulation, miscommunication, and the intrusion of others into my life.
I write this not just for survivors, but for friends, families, and anyone trying to understand emotional abuse—especially when the survivor is painted as the villain.
Falling in Love and Trust:
I met Cody at Walmart while shopping for a holiday party. He was kind-hearted, offering to drop me off, but I declined because my place was out of the way. Later, we went rock climbing with a friend and ran errands together. When it started raining, he lent me his jacket. These small gestures felt meaningful and thoughtful.
From the start, Cody shared his past experiences with abuse and encouraged open conversations about boundaries. I shared my own struggles: depression, being autistic, past self-harm, and past experiences of being accused of abuse for expressing vulnerability. Cody reassured me that asking for help wasn’t wrong and promised he would communicate with me, especially regarding my fear of abandonment.
He remembered little details—favorite snacks, drinks, even Monster energy flavors—and would surprise me. At first, it didn’t feel controlling. It felt like care and love.
Blurred Boundaries and Family Dynamics:
Subtle imbalances appeared early. Cody once said he’d skip spending time with his dad to make me happy, framing himself as “always wrong” and me as “always right.”
His family added tension. When he invited me to his ice rink, his parents assumed I pressured him to let me come, even though he had asked me. I wanted to respect boundaries but also show support. Other situations blurred boundaries further: he invited me behind the counter at Starbucks, which felt like bonding, but a co-worker reported it, forcing Cody to leave the job.
Later, he considered becoming a flight attendant. I shared concerns about logistics and safety, and he assured me it was his decision. Months later, he accused me of giving him an ultimatum—rewriting history entirely.
Loss, Grief, and Hypocrisy:
In June, my father passed away. I witnessed the medical examiner removing his body and collected his belongings from his apartment. Cody’s father entered without asking—violating boundaries during one of the most painful moments of my life.
Yet when Cody’s cat passed away, I was excluded from the grieving process, framed as “not family.” It felt hypocritical: my grief was dismissed while theirs was protected. I constantly questioned Cody’s intentions. Was he acting on his own desires, or letting family dictate our boundaries? I never fully knew.
Manipulation, Ghosting, and Accusations:
Throughout our relationship, I repeatedly asked Cody if I needed to change, if he was happy, or if he wanted to break up. He always reassured me.
Then, after ghosting me, he told friends I was “mentally unstable, emotionally abusive, and manipulative.” He shared my struggles with a 14-year-old, forcing me into uncomfortable conversations, and later told friends he had been emotionally “checked out” months before—while initiating intimacy and calling me his wife.
I was blindsided. I had no way to reconcile his words with the closeness we shared.
The Birthday Hotel and Emotional Betrayal
I treated Cody to a hotel stay for my birthday on July 31st and bought gift cards for his September birthday. We were intimate and shared laughs—but then I learned, through a mutual friend, that Cody had emotionally checked out 2–3 months prior.
That meant all the gestures, intimacy, and affection might not have been real—or worse, that I had been taken advantage of emotionally and physically. This revelation left me questioning everything: the moments I cherished, the vulnerability I showed, the love I thought was mutual.
Reactive Abuse: Survivors in Survival Mode
After being blocked and cut off, I vented in a group chat of mutual friends and messaged some co-workers. I said things I regret, questioning his fairness and whether he had projected accusations onto others.
These reactions were messy—but they were human. When someone manipulates, gaslights, and isolates you, lashing out is natural. This is “reactive abuse”: when survivors react to manipulation. Survivors may look like villains, but that doesn’t erase the abuse that caused it.
The Aftermath:
Discovering Cody’s emotional detachment during our intimate months left me questioning the authenticity of our connection. Combined with ghosting, false accusations, and blurred boundaries, I felt powerless and unfairly vilified.
Manipulation thrives on confusion. Survivors may act out, vent, or lash out—but those moments do not erase the abuse they endured. Friends and families must understand that imperfect reactions do not equal guilt. They are often signs of trauma and survival.
I share this story not for sympathy, but for awareness. Being a survivor is complicated, especially when the world sees you as the villain. I hope that by sharing my experience, others will recognize manipulation, understand reactive abuse, and support survivors in compassionate, nonjudgmental ways.
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