Winter, 2019. We shouldn’t have lasted past this. Alex was sharing feelings and thoughts with me that he hadn’t with another human. I dragged those words out of him by showing him, overemphatically, that I cared just so he would feel comfortable enough to share. I encouraged him repeatedly to tell me things that he feared might be of no significance to anyone else (but he loved to tell me that getting me to share was like pulling teeth). I became his cheerleader for absolutely everything.
Alex was realigning himself with religion and I was there right beside him, supporting him through it. I pried him open in order for him to share his experiences with me after visiting different churches, trying to find the right fit. I wanted to help Alex become clearer on his ideals, principles, and what he wanted to do in the future, at least after graduating, because I had already figured these things out for myself. And then, right before my eyes, this guy I was dating that was areligious at the beginning of our relationship transformed into a zealous Catholic.
Alex started going to church regularly, and changed things like his phone wallpaper and e-mail signature to loudly proclaim his (new) faith. It was odd to see him change so quickly, but I welcomed it, encouraging him to not only find, but to be, his truest self because I thought I was helping him grow. Alex started saying he wanted a big tattoo of a cross and I told him to wait a little, as you should with all tattoo ideas. He became defensively angry because I had implied that his faith could waver.
Alex made new short term goals all the time, like progressing in weight lifting then swimming then gymnastics (again) then biking then running, and he excelled at all of them, but it never stopped. I thought it was admirable that he could do anything. But I, and many others, later speculated that he did this to avoid picking long-term goals. I was used to him running his life in phases like this, according to what he was into at the time. I thought Catholicism might have been just another hobby that Alex picked up.
In December, Alex had surgery. There I was, trying to study for my final exams, seated in a hospital waiting room chair (not the most ideal situation). But, when the nurse appeared to tell me Alex woke up and was asking for me, it was all worth it. I walk into the recovery room and there he is, crying. Doped up on something similar to morphine, he’s incredibly happy to see me. He says he never thought he’d see me again. I try to feed him crackers and some water, per the nurse’s suggestion, but he continues sobbing and, in between gasps of air, tells me how much he loves me. All of my insecurities about our relationship dissolved; I never doubted whether he loved me again. I had never felt this way about anyone before, which is probably why we lasted for as long as we did.
But there I was, readily available to nurse Alex back to health. Except this took way longer than either of us anticipated. I missed a lot of classes, and taking care of your recovering-from-surgery boyfriend was not a valid excuse to be absent at my university. My grades really suffered (but not as much as the next semester). At random times, I would need to help Alex, instead of study for my upcoming exams. We even had to go to the ER one time and I was there with him all night, despite having an exam the next day, because I was terribly worried about him and where else would someone who loved him be? I thought, as a girlfriend, nothing less would be expected.
Three months into our relationship we had already stopped going on dates, unless I planned them. Even then, I had to go through Hell and back to convince him to go. There was no effort from him unless I was visibly upset about it. And even then, sometimes he wouldn’t pick up on it.
Alex told me he didn’t like to go to concerts, which was so hard for me because I loved them. And because he didn’t want to go with me, I would skip the concerts I had bought tickets for just to spend time with him. There were multiple times this happened, but he never discouraged me. He was happy I had chosen to stay, most likely at home, with him. (Then, for his birthday, he said he wanted to go to a concert. I held in my anger at the fact that he spent our entire relationship hating concerts until there was one he wanted to go to and, despite that fact, I was still willing to buy us both tickets because of course I would go with him.)
I’ve been called a thoughtful gift giver because I notice what people like and what makes them happy and try to incorporate that into their gifts. It was Christmas and as a part of my gift to Alex, I stuffed a jar with notes of different memories or things about him that I loved. Alex didn’t get me a Christmas present because I don’t celebrate Christmas. Well, I do. I told him traditionally my siblings did, like all Americans do. (You can’t deny that it’s become an increasingly commercialized holiday.) I grew up exchanging Christmas gifts with all of my friends, regardless of religion. But, Alex said he would get me an Eid present, since that’s the Muslim’s Christmas equivalent. Initially, I thought that was sweet and sensible, but, at the same time, I felt like he didn’t think I was deserving of celebrating Christmas. (He never got me an Eid present either.)
On New Years, my PTSD was triggered and I had a full on dissociative episode. After recollecting myself, Alex and I talked about it. On the ride home, Alex seemed proud that my mental health issues were so visible, because other people he knew pretended they had issues, but not me, my problems were real and worthy of pity. Right then and there, I felt like he had tried to validate my condition in such a backwards way, invalidating someone else completely, without anyone asking him to. I dissociated for the rest of the drive.
I truly believed that Alex was there for me when no one else was (I didn’t actually let anyone else be there for me). I was moving because the hour long commute from my sister’s house to school was wearing on my soul. Alex told me we’d still be together even if I moved to Timbuktu. We both believed our relationship was strong enough to withstand long(er) distance. Our future was uncertain, but I latched onto the hope I had from the beginning, back when things were “good”.
Alex helped me move into my new apartment in the freezing January cold. One of my back tires blew out halfway through our drive. While I was holding my crying cat Violet, who gets anxious on car rides, Alex went outside and changed the flat in the dark. In the freezing cold. I offered to come outside but he knew I didn’t want to. He suffered silently for the both of us. I was happy. I felt like I had someone who could not only take care of me, but keep me feeling safe and secure.
Then, that same night, bedbugs appeared and forced us out of the apartment. What a way to start the semester. I was missing classes because my complex randomly did different kinds of toxic/chemical pest control treatments, forcing me and my cats from the apartment unexpectedly for hours at a time. These treatments were unsuccessful for months and I had subsequent allergic reactions to the bites I had. (I even had to go to the emergency room once for antibiotics because a bite became infected and completely inflated my hand, burning and itching incessantly.) It was absolutely disgusting and none of my professors were understanding.
A long-distance relationship can be wearing on the soul. We alternated weekends and it was hectic. I never really felt quite settled, especially with juggling classes and pest infestations. I was really depressed. I remained quiet about all of our problems, doing anything to avoid confrontation, but that didn’t stop Alex from telling me what he didn’t like about me.
When someone you love criticizes you, and you’re conflict-avoidant as a symptom of past trauma, you do whatever it takes to mirror the image of who they want you to be. You start doing things your partner likes to do because you think that’s what love is. You start becoming a reflection of your partner, slowly molding pieces of them into you. More than willing to take it all on because, together, you can conquer anything.
Alex left me to sit on his bed for hours while he was at his desk on his computer, either playing games or in the depths of Youtube. We were always in his room and I felt claustrophobic, but I was a stranger in his house, of course I would feel uncomfortable. I just had to get used to it. I was there as an observer, while he did whatever he wanted to do.
I didn’t need us to make extravagant or expensive plans, but I did just want us to speak at the very least. We only had such limited time together. Sometimes we were study partners more than we were a couple. I was sacrificing weekends to drive back and forth and all I genuinely wanted was to spend this time together. But then, on FaceTime calls during the week when I was an hour away, he would tell me how much he missed me and wished we were together. What part did he look forward to?
We had a really big fight towards the end of February. We should not have lasted past this point, but he gave me another chance. I was the one who messed up, really badly. But I was completely apologetic. My journal entry from that night goes like:
I have a tendency to drink and then break up with him or sort of self implode and sabotage our entire relationship. Why does alcohol make all the bad come out? Where has it been hiding? I told him I wouldn’t ever see him again and he could even destroy my things if he was feeling resentful enough because I don’t care anymore.
We both found out the hard way that the medication I was on did not end up being a good mixer for glass(es) of Malbec. It was wine, not liquor; I sincerely thought I was taking it easy. As long as I stayed away from liquor, I would be fine. (I was not fine.)
Alex said that I need to stop drinking or he’ll have to end things. Now I feel like he’s holding it over my head. I’m walking on thin ice and I can feel its fractures beneath my feet. Coming to terms with the fact that it’s my fault and not his is hard for me, and I don’t know why.
My therapist, Anne, told me it was my fight or flight instinct kicking in. I get into survival mode and want to flee a confrontational situation immediately. I have huge gaps of time missing when this happens, sometimes blacking out for the entire “episode”. Anne said I should thank these defense mechanisms because they are “amazing” in the fact that they helped me survive, but they need to be addressed now. In controlled situations, where I have a licensed professional to help me through it, rather than it erupting out of me after drinking two glasses of wine.
I know I shouldn’t have walked out but I wouldn’t have done that without drinking. Alex admitted his resistance to trusting me again and the importance in knowing when he was talking to the real Rijaa versus the Rijaa that tried to break up with him all night. Who was the real Rijaa? I had felt like a depressed ghost of my former self since the year started. I hadn’t been the “real” Rijaa for a while, but Alex hadn’t noticed that.
Desperate for holding on, I promised him I would stop drinking. I thought I had to choose between alcohol or Alex. (If you’ve watched a certain 90 Day Fiancé spinoff, you’ll know no one should impose this much control over you). But you think to yourself, “this is as good as it gets” and so, giving up yet another thing for them is effortless.
Alex said he wouldn’t break up with me. I felt relieved even though he went back and forth over the next couple of weeks about the uneasiness surrounding our relationship weighing on him heavily. But, who could blame him? I was the one who was fragile and flawed. So, naturally, all the bad in our relationship was coming from me, either directly or indirectly. At the end of the day, I was always at fault and I accepted it.
I felt rushed to tell Alex about my trauma and past experiences that led to my PTSD diagnosis. (How many licks does it take to get to the center of an abusive past? Let’s find out.) I needed him to understand the cause(s) behind it so he could at least begin to understand my reactions and behavior while I was still healing. I needed Alex to know that I am more than aware I have all of these issues, but I am working on them. I had to push myself in therapy a little harder to match Alex’s timeline for recovery and improvement, but it was worth it to me.
I strongly believed that if Alex and I didn’t work out, I never wanted to be serious with someone ever again. Either him and I work out, or no one does. That’s it for me. So I accepted a submissive role in the relationship. I just wanted to be enough for him and I most definitely did not want to be alone. Not after experiencing a love like this. I don’t know how I would ever be able to return to that state. Losing him scared me. I decided to stay, no matter what. I would make any and all changes I needed to to hold onto this person forever. And we were going to make it work no matter what because we loved each other. And that should be enough, right?
Things were beginning to look up. Alex and I were back to (our) normal. The bedbugs finally disappear and spring break is just around the corner. I’ll finally have the time to take a breath and recharge. It’s the middle of March and the weather’s finally getting warmer. There are excited whispers throughout my last class of the day. Turns out spring break is starting earlier than expected. Why? Because we’re suddenly in the middle of a fucking pandemic.
