WITHOLDING WHAT WE NEED

I remember the fear I used to feel when I would voice a concern about him. Anytime I brought up something that I was worried about, concerning something he was doing, he would become deadly-calm, cold.

I would tell him what I felt I was sensing, what I was noticing, what I was thinking. Each time, he would insinuate, smirk, divert, shift the blame, mock. Not once did he reassure me or offer comfort. Not once did he say he loved me and only me, that he was with me and only me.

Anytime I brought to him my worry over his detachments from me, his disappearances, the odd behaviors on phone and laptop, the constant rescuing of other women in distress, he would say and do things to deepen my fears.

I didn't know it at the time, but it had been set up for me to feel this level of fear from the very beginning, from the first time we met. As the relationship progressed, the threat progressed:

• He would tell me that he hadn't been able to open up and be himself with any woman, and he didn't know if he would ever be able to. 
• He'd say he'd been hurt by so many women, so he sometimes pulled away, or put up a wall, if he thought a woman was going to hurt him. 
• He'd say that he needed sex from the woman he was with - no matter what transpired between them - because it was how he felt most loved. 
• If I didn't give him sex, there were plenty of women who were letting him know that they were more than willing to. 
• He would say that if he did decide to start cheating on me, he could do it without me ever knowing. That he could be cheating on me at this very moment, and I would never know, so I should just stop worrying about it.
• He would tell me that if I was so unhappy with the way he was and what he was doing, I could leave, he'd hold the door open for me, and he'd be just fine without me. 

Comments like this, repeated again and again, in jest, and during arguments, over time, tore down confidence, sowed seeds of doubt and insecurity, and nurtured fear and instability.

Anything that seemed out of place, anything that looked like a sign, I would hear him in my mind, making one of his insinuations, or threatening to be with other women, and fear would take over. Fear that he was actually doing those things, fear of trying to talk with him about it to get the truth, fear of his reaction to my bringing it up.

The cruelty of what he was purposely doing still shocks me. I remember crying as he would obstinately refuse to offer one word of reassurance, and would instead become callous, evasive, dismissive. I'd tell him that I didn't understand how or why he could be that way to me. That I'd never say or do anything like this to him, ever, because I loved him, and didn't want to hurt him. His response was, always, coldly: "Well I'm not you."

No matter what I said, he didn't seem to get - or didn't want to get- that he didn't have to "be me" to be respectful, to offer support or comfort, to be faithful. Aren't those just human things to do?

Why didn't I wake up, then?