He finished the cheese in an hour. The expensive one I had been looking forward to all week, the one I’d picked out myself on our snack run. I saw the empty wrapper in the trash and just stood there, staring at it. This wasn’t new.
My boyfriend, a 6’3, 200-pound man who worked out daily, had a habit of eating my half of any quick-access snack before I could even get to it. We’d argue, he’d apologize, and a week later, we’d repeat the cycle. It was the only real problem in our five-year relationship. He was otherwise respectful, considerate, and loving.
But snacks were where all bets were off. That day, I lost it. I didn’t speak to him for a full day and, in a fit of frustration, ordered a fridge lock box. When our next snack haul arrived, I calmly divided everything in half and locked my portion inside.
You would have thought I was murdering puppies. He called it disrespectful. Controlling. He screamed that I couldn’t keep food *he* paid for from him.
When I pointed out that my money went into those snacks too, he shouted that he didn’t give a damn, and slammed the door so hard a picture frame fell off the wall and shattered. He didn’t come home until the next day, and then only to change for work. He came back late and went straight to the guest room. This silent treatment went on for four days.
When I finally broke down and begged him to just talk to me, his only response was that he had nothing to say until I got rid of the lock box. I was appalled. I genuinely started to wonder if he was on drugs or having some kind of mental break. His only communication was to randomly ask if I’d thrown the lock box away.
I wasn’t going to. Our lease was up for renewal in a week, and I was seriously considering just walking away. When I tried to talk to him again, I told him I didn’t think the box was the real issue. He was a brick wall, insisting that denying him food was abuse.
In a moment of desperation, I pushed, asking if he was on drugs or cheating, saying that his staying out all hours was suspicious. I said I thought he was using the lock box as an excuse to be out of the house. That unleashed an hours-long screaming tantrum that ended with him throwing my MacBook against the wall, shattering it into pieces. I honestly thought he was going to hurt me.
I called my dad, who called the cops. I’m pressing charges for destruction of property. It was a $2,500 laptop. That same day, my dad and godfather moved me out.
I have my clothes and a few kitchen appliances. I took my snacks with me, and I left the lock box behind. Locked. The man I’m now calling my ex-boyfriend started spamming my phone.
I didn’t block him because I wanted the evidence. The first text I sent him was simple: we are done. I took our photos down from social media. His replies were a mess.
He raged about the lock box, demanded gifts he’d given me back, demanded money and rent for his new place, and told me I owed him a car. He said my MacBook was old and worthless and he wouldn’t pay for a new one. I had bought it brand new last year. After about an hour, it dawned on him that we were actually over, that he couldn’t guilt me back.
Then came the wall of apologies. He loved me. He was going to marry me. I could keep the gifts.
He’d buy me a better laptop. He sent screenshots of his Google searches for engagement rings and told me to pick one. He sent voice messages of himself sobbing. Any respect I had for him as a person was completely gone.
I don’t care if it’s a breakdown or drugs. He is not my problem. I screenshot every message and forwarded them all to his mother. She can deal with her son.
That’s the most I will ever do for him again. As for me, I have some savings, so a new place on my own won’t be a problem. I feel like I should be sad, but I lost all my respect for him. I feel nothing but disdain.
My parents have been bringing me my favorite comfort snacks and are gently pushing for therapy. I think it’s probably a good idea. I told him about my new job with a national photography company. I was ecstatic, on cloud nine.
After years of financial struggle and having to put my bachelor’s degree on hold, I had finally landed something that tapped back into my creativity. The position was as a traveling photographer and consultant, on the road four days a week. The money was excellent, and they were willing to work with my school schedule in the fall. I called him to share the good news before I even left the parking lot.
He sounded genuinely excited and happy for me. But on the drive home, I got a text from him. It was intended for his roommate and best friend. He wrote that he felt threatened by my new job.
He regretted pushing me to move back home, because I might not have found this opportunity otherwise. He told his roommate he was frustrated I’d be making more money than him. That my experience would only grow once I graduated. He said it wasn’t fair that I’d be making “easy money with a silly camera” while he had to deal with jerks who drink and make less than I do.
He realized his mistake shortly after sending it and started blowing up my phone, but I screened his calls. I was too hurt. He knows me. I never cared who made more money, as long as we were both secure and building a future together.
I also refused to give up something I loved just to soothe his possible fit. When I finally spoke to him, he promised he didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He admitted to being insecure about where he was in life, that he’d been taking his frustrations out on not just me, but his former roommates. His guilt and insecurity were eating at him.
Six weeks later, he broke down and called off our relationship. Temporarily. He cried, admitting that he was so unhappy with himself that he couldn’t give me what I deserved: communication and effort. He was facing legal troubles from an alcohol incident the year before, and while we both saw therapists, he was resistant to the process.
He said he’d gotten himself into such a deep hole that focusing on himself had to take priority, and it wasn’t fair to me. I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy. I’d spent over two years of my life trying to fix things for him, and I was exhausted.
I agreed, and I decided it wasn’t my responsibility anymore. I was done. I told him I’d always support his growth, but I wouldn’t put my own future on hold. He wants to get back together once he’s better.
I’m not holding my breath. I’m returning to school in September to finish my bachelor’s, and my job will transition me to studio work. I’ll be okay.
I know that now.
