In the dance of shadows, love once bloomed
A radiant flare in night’s deep gloom
But as the cycle spun, the light withdrew
Leaving behind a chill, a frosty dew
Guarded heart, now a fortress stands
Against love’s deceitful, shifting sands
The siren’s call, once sweet, now alarms
As affection’s guise reveals its harms
A toxic waltz, steps known too well
In this dance, my spirit fell
But strength arose, a phoenix flight
From ashes’ grip to reclaim the night
Listening to the wisdom within
A silent whisper ‘gainst the din
The body speaks, the soul does yearn
For the peace that only self-love can earn
From love’s bombardment to cruel retreat
A pattern known, a bitter repeat
Yet in the space where shadows play
A lesson learned, to light the way
No more the prey, no more the fear
For in my heart, the path is clear
A journey long, through storm and strife
To the calm shores that heals a life
The behaviors and "norms" ingrained in us by our surroundings persist throughout our lives. We are instructed in the principles of morality, discerning between acceptable and unacceptable actions. This education extends to understanding how we should expect to be treated by those around us. This encompasses the guidance we receive from educators, medical professionals, law enforcement officers, peers, relatives, intimate partners, and the community at large.
Reflecting on my journey, I realize there’s still much for me to learn. Not long ago, within the last year, I became attached to a friend whose influence was decidedly negative and harmful. In hindsight, the red flags were clear. I was seeking the affection, attention, validation, and companionship that I yearned for from my mother, but I sought it in others, I sought it in her. This friend showered me with affection initially, a phenomenon known as love bombing, which is not exclusive to romantic relationships. She lavished me with gifts at the start of our friendship, always greeted me with a warm smile, a friendly voice, told me she loved me and that I was her best friend within just 2 weeks, and seemed genuinely excited to see me every day. However, this warmth faded faster than I was accustomed to. She began to distance herself, ignoring my messages, (but expecting me to respond promptly) mocking my interests – not with constructive criticism, but with ridicule. The more she withdrew the more I desired her approval. I resorted to posting relatable quotes on Facebook, hoping she’d see them and realize she was causing me pain, as I knew direct confrontation would only anger her. She would intentionally spend time with other friends, decline my invitations to hang out, yet engage in those same activities with others, flaunting it on social media for me to see. She frequently gaslighted me with assurances like, “You know I’m here for you,” and “You know I love you,” and “I didn’t say that” or “I don’t remember saying that.” In fact, she flat out stole my idea once, and passed it on as her own to our supervisor. When I called her out on it, she said, “That was your idea? Hmmm.” Yet, she would become furious if I denied her requests, treating me poorly as a result. After my college graduation, I suggested we go out for drinks to celebrate – a proposal I made despite my aversion to drinking, as it was her preferred activity. That declaration never materialized.
Skipping ahead, she secured a job but lacked transportation, so I found myself waking up early to drive her to work and back home five days a week, despite my car’s deteriorating condition. Fearful of expressing my exhaustion and illnesses, (particularly my sun allergy) I continued this routine until I could no longer manage. When I finally confessed my inability to assist her, she reacted with anger and frustration, accusing me of breaking a promise and being a "shitty" friend. Feeling guilty, which I suspect was her intention, I allowed her to borrow my car twice. On the second occasion, which happened to be my birthday, she conveniently forgot the significance of the day. She messaged me at 9pm that night, and was upset that I didn't thank her for wishing me a happy birthday through TikTok, even though I saw her twice that day. Subsequently, I decided to change the passwords to my Netflix account, which she had been using, along with Hulu and Peacock. Planning to inform her after watching a show, I was met with a barrage of angry messages, less than five minutes after changing the password, accusing me of locking her out on purpose. My initial response was to defend my actions and clarify that only the Netflix password had been changed. Rather than verifying this, she launched into a trade of name-calling and belittlement, attempting to make me feel guilty, but all I was feeling was fear. By this point, I had been consulting with my therapist for a few months, strategizing an exit from this toxic friendship with minimal harm to myself. She was supposed to walk my dog – a favor that required much pleading on my part, despite my own history of caring for her dog, often for extended periods. When I requested the return of my apartment key, she challenged me to retrieve it myself. That’s when I decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. I told her to keep it or discard it, and I would change my locks instead. I told her I was done with her mistreating me, and that I didn’t want to see her again, despite living in the same apartment complex, and even on the same floor of the three-story building.
Several hours later, there was a forceful knock at my door, so loud I mistook it for the police. It was her. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened the door, hoping to reason with her. Instead, she stormed in and flung my keys across the room, proceeding to break a glass vase. She unleashed a barrage of insults, her voice raised in anger within my own home. I tried to reason with her, pointing out that her outrage was based on the false belief that I had locked her out of my Netflix account. (Yes, I can’t even make this stuff up) I attempted to explain, to plead my case, remind her that she never acknowledges her mistakes or offers apologies. Her response was dismissive, “I’ve done nothing wrong to you, ever.” The one time I had addressed an issue calmly, her reaction was so defensively charged that I would vow to never confront her again out of fear.
She resorted to calling me the most hurtful names she could think of, ones she knew would wound me deeply. “Fat, white, racist bitch.” I asked her to leave, my voice steady despite her trade. I asked her that way about ten times as she’s calling me names and screaming at me. I stood, directing her towards the exit, my words becoming firmer. Eventually, I’m now yelling, “Get the fuck out of my house.” As I reached to open the door, she taunted me further, daring me to react, saying, “Hit me. Hit me you fucking pussy ass little racist white bitch.” (I’m not a racist by any means.) But I didn’t. I ushered her out, closed the door forcefully, and though I couldn’t resist one last resort when I opened the door back up and screamed, “bitch,” I felt a profound sense of relief that it was over. Unfortunately, that was not the end of this story. (Reactive Abuse)
A week prior to my scheduled bariatric surgery, the incident occurred. She possessed the keys to my apartment for the purpose of caring for and walking my dog. Despite the active surveillance of my in-home camera, I refrained from notifying the authorities. My decision was influenced by the knowledge that her daughter and four grandchildren resided with her unlawfully, and I wished to avoid causing her undue attention, because I didn’t want her family to be homeless. I also thought that deep down she was sorry and knew what she had done. I believed the matter was concluded. Uncomfortable, but concluded, yet I was mistaken.
The surgery was successful, and I managed to meet the stringent criteria for same-day discharge as an outpatient. A different friend agreed to assist me during my recovery, including walking my dog. One evening, we stepped outside for her cigarette break, which doubled as a gentle postoperative exercise for me. However, our tranquility was disrupted when the neighbor friend approached and began berating me, divulging personal information and hurling insults. Her proximity was invasive, to the point of her breasts smooshing with mine.
Seeking refuge, we retreated to the lobby, where I was reliant on the elevator due to post-surgery restrictions on stair use, and a 5-pound weight limit. This toxic neighbor, aware of my limitations, obstructed the elevator doors, confronting me for an extended period. In desperation, I pressed the emergency button, but help did not arrive, it never showed up. Her taunts escalated, daring me to take the stairs, despite my protests and explanations of my recent surgery. She kept replying with things like, “I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck, that’s too bad,” taunting me, begging me to attempt to take the stairs. I was afraid she would follow me and push me down the stairs.
After enduring this for half an hour without any sign of the authorities, (my other friend and I did not have our phones on us) I mustered the courage to bypass her. The situation escalated when she physically assaulted me. At one point, she grabbed me by the hair and threw me on the elevator ground, on my stomach. She proceeded to lift her leg to kick me in the stomach and that’s when my other friend said, “NO,” and tried to push her away. The neighbor friend proceeded to grab my other friend by the hair and throw her on the ground as well. I managed to fend her off by tearing her shirt in half, enough to escape via the elevator. I believe she was surprised that I was able to do that, less than twenty-four hours after surgery and in a completely vulnerable state. She backed off, and the elevator door closed. Once safe in my apartment, I contacted the police. (The police that I fear won’t protect me., and never call...) They questioned why I hadn’t reported previous incidents, and I explained my reluctance due to her family’s precarious living situation. (Of course, I left out that I have PTSD from my small-town police department and feared they wouldn’t protect me, which they didn’t anyway, and instead contemplated a battery charge.)
This specific incident was partially captured on camera, but the footage was inconclusive and blurry, leading to warning that I might face charges because it shows me pushing her first, but didn’t show her holding us hostage for close to forty-five total minutes. The neighbor later presented herself to the police with injuries that were not present during our altercation, but fortunately, the landlord was there that night, and corroborated my account of neither myself, nor my other friend scratching her neck. I truly believe this is the only thing that prevented me from receiving a battery charge for doing nothing other than protecting myself.
In the aftermath, her family was told to leave, and she was given a lease violation, and I became ostracized within the building. Nevertheless, I secured a Personal Protection Order (PPO), which facilitated my release from the lease and relocation to a safer, more pleasant neighborhood and in an apartment I absolutely love. Despite the ordeal and the recent surgery, I single-handedly packed and moved to a new apartment on the third floor, all within three weeks of the procedure. Two days after the incident, I found myself in the emergency room due to severe bruising and bleeding. The medical report concluded with a diagnosis of, “Contusion unrelated to surgical procedure.”
Indeed, I’ve encountered similar predicaments countless times throughout my life. I was often labeled a drama queen and a beacon for calamity. In truth, it stemmed from the unhealthy relationships I engaged in. I’ve repeatedly found myself drawn to individuals who are emotionally distant, those harboring malevolent motives, mirroring the traits of my mother and father, and those who use my people-pleasing personality for their benefit.
Following that ordeal, I’ve become attuned to the signals my body sends, realizing they often precede the mind’s awareness. There was another brief, less significant encounter with someone else, which I’ll detail later. It’s crucial to head your body’s warnings and trust your instincts; they hold the wisdom you seek. Currently, I’m delving into therapy to address these patterns – understanding the reasons, the mechanisms, and learning to spot warning signs earlier. My social circle is limited as I’m honing my ability to discern between healthy and unhealthy individuals. I’m focusing on my inner growth, essentially re-parenting myself, and instilling life lessons proactively, rather than being schooled by life’s harsher methods.
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