I met my ex when I was 18 and he was 32. We started dating when I was 19 and he was 33. We met while I was a student, at a time when I was still unsure whether I wanted to go to med school. My uncle knew him because he was a surgeon at a fairly known hospital. I had been working at that hospital once a week for a little over a year (between the ages of 18 and 19) as a student. He was the main doctor I reported to, and I guess you could say I had a crush on him, although it was probably more admiration than anything else. I idolized him because he basically represented everything I wanted to become.
Long story short, he ended up writing me a letter of recommendation for med school while I was still working at the hospital (I was rejected but got in the following year).
Keep in mind that throughout my entire time there, he had a girlfriend who was his age. They even moved in together and bought a house while I was working there. At some point, he started flirting with me, but I genuinely thought I must have been imagining it. There was no way this man, whom I practically saw as a god, could actually be flirting with a 19 year old, starry-eyed girl.
We ended up dating, and I had to leave my job at the hospital. I started med school the following year, when I was 20 and he was 34. We got married when I was 21 and he was 35.
My entire family was strongly against the relationship in the beginning. I was 19 and obviously still living at home, but I ended up moving out because I wanted so badly to be with him, and I couldn’t stand constantly fighting with my family over it. Once we got married, my family eventually calmed down and more or less accepted the relationship.
I made him my entire world. I told him things I had never told anyone before, including details about the abuse I experienced during my childhood and some genuinely horrible things I had lived through growing up. I had a really rough upbringing and I trusted him with parts of myself I had never shared with anyone else.
Less than a year into our marriage, I lost a family member to suicide, and it affected me really badly. I was also in med school at the time, which made everything even harder.
I started taking Adderall and other substances to help me focus and avoid falling behind and sleeping pills to calm myself down. It often caused really bad anxiety, agitation, and other issues which I regret. This went on for about four months before I finally stopped.
When he found out, because I told him myself, he was furious. He told me I had broken his trust, that he had put me on a pedestal, and that he could get into serious trouble as a prestigious doctor if anyone found out his wife was some kind of “druggie.”
I also want to mention that during those four months, I was severely sexually assaulted during a night out. Someone had slipped something into my drink, and I couldn’t remember everything that happened. I came home bleeding. It was really, really bad. As you can imagine this also made me depressed at times and I wasn’t always the best version of myself.
Anyway, you can probably imagine how much trauma I was dealing with at the time.
For the two years following those events, he repeatedly told me that I had broken something inside him, that I had ruined our relationship, and that he had put me on a pedestal and been prepared to give me everything, but that my actions had permanently changed how he saw me and our relationship.
I also started noticing some really disturbing behaviours. He openly admitted that he didn’t know what it felt like to experience empathy. He once commented that he could watch an animal being tortured and feel absolutely nothing, although he would consider it stupid because it wasn’t a “productive activity.” On another occasion he even made a comment about understanding why some men stab their partners to death.
Eventually he left me. The way I found out was that I came home one day and discovered that the house had been cleared out. It turns out he had been slowly moving his belongings out for the previous ten months. Whenever I noticed something was missing, he would convince me that I was imagining things or that I was insane.
We were together for five years, and I was his longest relationship.
I later found out that he had also been telling people in his professional circle that we were getting divorced during those last ten months, despite the fact that I had absolutely no idea. He had clearly been planning his exit for a long time because he’s genuinely obsessed with his reputation, and I suspect he figured that by slowly spreading the news over several months, the divorce wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone once he actually went through with it.
I know this sounds so fucked up when I say it, but I still wonder whether I somehow did this to myself. He had eight other serious relationships before me and had lived with three other women, but I was the only one he ever married. After hearing stories about his previous relationships, I found out that he had also left some of his exes in similar ways.
He had convinced me that he had never experienced real love before meeting me, that I was the first person he had ever truly loved, and that he had chosen to trust me blindly.
According to him, I had basically shot myself in the foot. He had put me on this pedestal, been ready to give me everything, and I had ruined it all.
Am I a bad person? Did I really ruin everything the way he said I did?
He also spent months telling me that I was lucky he wasn’t a bad guy because my abandonment issues were so severe that an abusive person could easily take advantage of me. He even told me that I was the kind of girl pimps would prey on. And there’s genuinely so much more that happened throughout those five years. I feel like I could spend years writing about everything so this is really just a very brief summary.