What it truly feels like to be in a toxic relationship

As I get older, I hear the term “toxic” used more and more. Today, the word is not used to describe a food or a poison. It is used to describe people.

There was a time when I did not know what a toxic person was. I was not even aware I had been in a relationship with a toxic person for longer than I should have ever allowed. It was not until I sat down and sorted through every action and every word that had come from this person I realized the joy in my life had been sucked out of me by one human being.

Manipulation, lies, worthlessness, it was all part of the “thrill” of being with someone toxic. I liked to tell myself even though the lows were so low, the highs were far higher and made every low worth it. I liked to believe despite the disgusting actions looking me right in the face, this person still cared about me. He just needed taking care of. I liked to think I was the only one capable of taking care of him in the right way, that no one else could ever possibly do my job.

I almost feel like the word toxic is not brutal enough to describe the type of person he was. He was an addiction. I could barely go a day without the guy. I knew who he was, what he did, and how bad he was for me, but every moment that I spent with him made the bad parts go away.

I did not have to force myself to forget the bad things he did. Instead, I had to remind myself to remember those awful things. I thought I was valued. I trusted that I was cared for and that I was special even after I had seen everything this person was capable of.

Then I heard a story in class about a man who loved his wife like a possession, just like he loved his boat. He would clean the boat, care for the boat and never let anyone touch the boat. But he did not love that boat. That boat was a prize. A prize for the world to see and for no one to touch. It took me longer than it should have to understand that I was the boat in this guy’s life. I was merely a possession that he could tend to when he pleased. I was his boat and he was my drug. Clearly, people care more about their drugs than their boats.

In a way, I am grateful it took me so long to realize the truth: One person cannot change another person, a person you compare to a drug has no benefit to you, and having to force yourself to remember the bad parts of your relationship means you need to get out of it. I am grateful for my experiences because today I will never mistake a toxic person for a good one. I know what fake love is and what genuine care looks like. I learned my self-worth comes before anything else.

I do not hate the guy who almost broke my heart. I do not hate him for being the cause of my relapse, time and time again. I pity him. I pity that he will never feel complete. I pity that he will always need taking care of.

But I finally feel… clean. My hands are washed of the drug that I held onto so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My heart no longer aches in the way that it used to. This man could stand in front of me and no part of me would want to try that drug again.

The rollercoaster is not worth it. The thrill never ends well.