Was I Emotionally Manipulated? Or Did He Love Me?

Biiiiitttttcchhhhh!!!!!! If you’re here chances are you’re nosey as hell. That’s ok, so am I. Aside from Facebook (that’s probably where you’re here from… hey) this is my very first post. I wish it were born out of joy, excitement, or some motivational spark, but it aint and I’m fucked all the way up about it. This is coming from a place of deep gut-wrenching pain. Pain for whatever reason I know all too damn well but I know I don’t deserve.

This isn’t easy to write. But if I don’t get it out, it’s going to eat me alive. And I’ll be damned if I look like anything other than what I am, Hurt and Confused. Writing has always been my therapy, and right now, I need it now more than ever. I don’t know what else to do but put my feelings into words, because maybe, while it doesn’t seem to be helping at this very second, perhaps when I’m done it’ll help someone else.

The truth is, MY HEART IS BROKEN. And Not just mine- my wife’s as well. We both let someone into our lives, our home, our hearts, and he left us. The worst part? He didn’t just walk away- he ghosted us. No valid explanation, no closure. Just silence where there was once love, laughter and what felt like connection

I keep asking myself over and over: Was I emotionally manipulated? Or did he really love me?

When he first came into my life, it felt like something I had been waiting for but didn’t think I’d ever find. Go figure, he said the same damn thing.  I’d known of him for years; watched him quietly walk the aisles doing his job. He’d give you a lil “hey” accompanied by nervous wave, of a telzon filled hand.

He barely interacted with anyone, unless they him. Oh sorry, fyi--we all worked at Walmart together. He was familiar, I never thought he’d become this. He slid into my life with charm, with attention, with the kind of intensity that makes you believe it’s real. He made me feel seen. He made me feel chosen. Looking back, it was classic love bombing; but when you’re in it, it feels like home.

For an entire year, my wife and I made him feel like a king. His words, not mine. We poured into him—our love, our time, our hearts. We gave him everything, because he made it seem like he was giving us everything too. But here’s the truth: it was a performance. A charade he could only hold up until I asked for something he wasn’t capable of, reciprocation.

The moment I wanted the same energy I was giving; the shift happened. The warmth cooled. The effort slowed. And then, he ghosted me. Not completely disappearing but doing something almost worse pulling away emotionally while still existing in my world.

I’ve replayed every moment we shared over in my head, a million times. The good times, and the not so good times, the promises, the way he made me feel. And then I think about the contradictions, how he was always at our house, I had to ask to go to his. He “upgraded” his queen size bed to a king that he alleged was “for us” to sleep in, but again that man stayed in our bed. I figured it was because we were closer together.

 I thought to myself get used to it now, because we had plans of building a family and the king size bed is really going to come in handy if you get pregnant. Yes, you read that correct, in my mind we grown, he’s expressed his needs for a family I’m honestly not getting any younger so let's get this started.  And before you get ahead of yourselves, we were all on the same page, no, wasn’t no behind the scenes relationship going on.

But this is how he got me…

This man LOVES to tell stories, his stories, and I loved listening to them. He’s honestly a very interesting man, deeply troubled but the best ones usually are. Anyways, In the beginning he would express to me how he would spend ten or twenty dollars a paycheck in the toy section at wal-mart getting games to fill the game room he built for the kids he wanted. Not only did that tug at my heartstrings but I know your ovaries did that little jump thing because what? That’s probably the sweetest thing ever.

I mean to sum it all up; this man literally has a home he built dedicated to a family I could’ve sworn we were building. Crazzzzyy.

The patio furniture he bought lying next to me in bed with my leg wrapped around his during the winter months. Yea he bought that for “me” because I loved to sit on the porch and read or write. I couldn’t wait to spend a couple hours with my man sipping Tequila Sunrises. The things I was gonna do to him when the sun went down.

THAT. NEVER. HAPPENED.

I told this man for new year's; in 2025 I don’t want to see the inside of my house. I want to be at your place with you enjoying the sun. When I tell you this man took that as a fucking personal project to make sure his house was in order. From the first time this man was able to wrap his arms around me, I promise it felt like he never wanted to stop. He found any and every opportunity to kiss me, hold my hand, or just to be next to me. Bought things to make it more convenient for him to get up in the morning and go to work from our house.

So why the withdrawal?

The next six months I told myself, if there’s no change by his birthday, our anniversary I wasn’t going to continue pouring into a cup that wasn’t filling mine. It didn’t take 2 solid months before everything started to crumble.

For a year what took him two hours tops started to take four hours, then six hours, until one day when he’d normally already be at my house with me while my wife was on a trip, I had to text him to ask if he was coming over at nine o’clock at night when I was getting ready for bed.  I mean this man hadn’t said 2 words to me throughout the day before I messaged him. So again, was everything simply a game I didn’t realize was being played until the silence screamed louder than words ever could?

Because here’s the kicker: my wife still works with him. While I’ve done my best to put that man out of my mind, (I gave him back everything from the unopened Harry Potter Lego Mansion to the toys we bought together.) Yes, that’s right bunch of freaks MOVE ON… Bottom line, she sees him every day. And instead of acting like the man who claimed to love us, he walks around like a wounded puppy. Like he’s the one who was wronged. Like breaking two hearts wasn’t enough-he now gets to play the victim in a story where he wrote every plot twist.

And here I am, left writing this, trying to run my business while fighting back tears at every waking moment. Asking myself, “why was I not good enough?” People don’t talk about this part; heartbreak follows you into your workspace. It lingers when you’re trying to focus, when you’re pouring resin and you recall those nights, you’d stay up talking about everything, or pressing a cup, and you remember the boyish grin when you presented him with his words and thoughts on cup designed specifically for him. When you’re shipping out an order with a smile but inside, you’re breaking because you remember the last time he said I love you. Running a business requires energy, creativity, and passion- but how do you find those things when all you feel is empty.

 Do you know what it feels like to give someone your whole heart, only for them to pretend they never asked for it? To make someone feel like royalty for a year, only to realize the crown was never meant for you. That’s where I’m at. Sitting in the wreckage of a love that wasn’t love at all, but manipulation wrapped in pretty words and empty promises.

But the hardest part? For fucks sake, it wasn’t just me. My wife’s heart is broken too. We let him in together. We trusted him together. We loved him together. And while yes these are my words, my fingers typing, we’re left piecing ourselves back together while he walks the same aisles at Walmart acting like nothing happened. Acting like he didn’t crush us.

So yeah, this is my truth. My airing out. He did us dirty, and not because of anything I lacked or failed to give, but because he couldn’t keep playing the part once the script called for real love. And I can’t keep carrying the silence of it anymore.

I have questions he refuses to answer, emotions he refuses to acknowledge, and that’s not fair.

Was I emotionally manipulated? Or did he really love me? I don’t know. But I do know this: real love doesn’t leave you feeling disposable. Real love doesn’t vanish when you ask for it to show up. Real love doesn’t ghost you and then parade around like the victim.

And that’s why I’m writing this. Because if he won’t tell the truth—then I will.