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I Thought I Had Found Love by heartbrokenopen.


Thank You to heartbrokenopen for this emotive and honest writing. Originally submitted as a comment, we decided to feature it as a story on it’s own. Please be aware that due to the subject matter of MSV all posts may contain strong language.

I thought I had found love, I had found my soul mate, my perfect match. The man I had been waiting for, praying for and preparing for my whole life.

The man of my dreams. I thanked my creator everyday for our union. We were in bliss for so long. He was everything I had waited for and more.

Valiant, present, interested, interesting, fun, funny, handsome, hands on, open and so in tune with me. My prayers had been answered; my 4 year celibacy had not been in vain. I had found the one. He was brought to me by the gods of love through a series of synchronistic events. The meeting was magical. The timing perfect. The union was inseparable and so beautiful. The ocean was aglow with phosphorescence as the two of us literally danced on the shores, the night sky aglow with dozens upon dozens of shooting starts as we kissed beneath their splendour breathless and in love.

Everything as so perfect and dreamy, I fell so in love, like I have never before, the love I’ve always dreamed of.

We looked similar in many ways too, face shape, body type, ringlets, innocent eyes, we just flowed. The sex, oh the sex was so great and I thought it was because of the magical love we had discovered and awakened in each other. It felt spiritual.

We share intuitive binds and have linear backgrounds, our historical events match up even. But then there was the sudden withdraw. The distancing. the mood swings, the accusations started to roll in out of the blue. Then I was so confused and afraid. I reached out, I tried to please. I questioned my words, actions and deeds. What happened? What did I do wrong? Did I say something? Not say something?

I bent over backwards to restore what we were building, to hold on to this great love. The phase passed quickly, I was successful and my lover and I were once again connected. I could breath again, the pain was gone. I misunderstood him and now had a deeper understanding of him and myself. I forged ahead, we forged ahead. A few months later he secured work out of province, a good paying steady job. He loved me but had to go work. We texted and kept daily contact. He missed me. I missed him.

I left my island, my home, to go to him in a flat land province for the greater good of us all, his kid, my kids, us, our relationship. He had a great paying job, was working so hard. I was too, taking care of the family needs, the house, the food, everything a good woman could offer.

One night while climbing into bed he threw a pillow at me, called me a cunt and told me to get the fuck out of HIS house and his life. Astonished and shaken to the soul I pleaded, I wept, I retreated into a dark calamity within myself that never existed before. It had only been two months since the move. What had I done? He stone walled me. Slept on the floor in another room. I desperately went to him in the night laid next to him held him and stroked him only to be met by a stone, a shallow version of who I thought was a good man. I slunk back to my room and cried for hours. I packed up the kids through their bewildered tears and my confusion. Drove through the rockies in the dead of winter back to my island.

He contacted me, regretful, promising, mistaken, why hadn’t I held on a day or two more for the “fight” to blow over, he didn’t mean it, he loved me deeply. It felt better than the pain and rejection. I soaked it in, reach out to meet his pleas. I forgave, I was learning unconditional love, or so I thought.

He worked so hard to make right what he had wronged. He come see me monthly for an entire year, sent me money, romanced me, texted me through out the day at least hourly. He sent me money and promises faithfully. We were back to where we started, in love and bliss.

We were going places. I catered, I helped, I was the secretary, lover, saint, mediator, planner, cook, lover, mother and everything he needed me to be and I was glad to do it, inspired even.

He held me, loved me, complimented me, made sweet love to me. But then the mood switch would happen, I would plummet into desperation, pain and despair. It must be me. I must fix this. I’d plead and please and coax the man I thought he was right back out of him and I’d turn the other cheek, look the other way, forgive and forget because there was love to be had a life to be lived. We forged ahead.

He left his job and province to join me because he loved me so much he couldn’t bare the thought of me being alone any longer. We celebrated, moved to a beautiful, bigger house right on the beach. This was bliss. A dream come true. I made sure everything was perfect, I engaged, preformed, served and gave of my self, my time my energy to make it all so perfect because he had given me a gift, a dream, a promise. Two weeks later he didn’t come home. I fell. I went to another dark space that never before existed within myself. I felt dazed, confused, disoriented and afraid. I had to fix it. Right away. Make it stop. Get the pain to go away and restore the life we had. I did. Again.

Then after New years he dropped the bomb. He needed space. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t ready. He was leaving. I cried and pleaded, I tried to understand. He moved across the street, into a bachelor suite literally 30 seconds from my door. Leaving me in a home I loved that I could not afford alone. I felt stupid for being duped again. Yet I held on. I held my breath. I held my ground. I waited. He came back around sorrowful with explanations, he was not prepared to have anew family, a different life than the one he had before he met me. He was sorry. He was not gone, just needed space and loved me, told me to hold on. I did. I still did his laundry, served him food, loved him, gave of my self and finances. He spent six months nearly unemployed. Only ever working a week or two to make rent. I fed him, bought his smokes and beer. He never went without. I cleaned his house, his laundry and waited for when he was ready to engage so I could feel loved again, whole again.

The year that followed was a yo-yo year. Hot cold, in, out, up, down. Filled with lies and deceit. He trolled craigslist, plenty of fish and online forums for women. I became obsessed with tracking his online movements. I hacked his computer and set up a fake profile to bait him. I caught him. I still loved him and took him back again and again. I knew the pattern very well by then. I saw the eye change, the walk change, felt the distance, had the warning dreams and nightmares about him but still waited with baited breath to be loved.

He used everything about me that he could. My innocence was a mocking tool. My sexuality was a weapon. My love was a bait. The gifts he had given me were weapons to use over me when we were off again. He threatened me. I still held on.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I gave and gave some more hoping the man I thought I knew and loved would emerge again. I told myself he has a mental illness, he can’t help it and he really does love me. This can be fixed. So I held on, I righted his wrongs and gave some more.

Finally in August of this year I let go. I told him I loved him but it was obvious we wanted different things and that I didn’t want to fight but to just separate and go on with life. I did. I felt sad and depressed but empowered. The love notes started flooding in. He’d knock on my window at 3am and plead and apologise. I held my ground. He asked to talk to me. I agreed. He took me to our special beach at sunset and professed his love, opened his heart, told me he wanted to grow old with me and that he could not see his future without me in it. My heat soared. We wept. We loved once again.

My mother came to visit, they met, she was smitten also. He selflessly gave up his suite for her to stay in and stayed with me here for the three weeks. I was so happy. Surrounded by so much love.

It was the first time the whole year we’d gone steady, no blips, no hot and cold, no withdraw. I thought we reached a turning point.

Mom went home, impressed by our love and how alike we were and right we were for each other. She was so happy for us.

As soon as she was gone he withdrew. I reached out, I needed comfort, I needed my man, please baby come hold me. But that was a bad thing and I was met with emotional neglect for nearly two weeks. He gave me crumbs, just enough to keep me holding on and hoping and keep me serving and then one night I had cooked his dinner and was waiting for him to return from work. He never did. See we live in separate homes but he would come in the morning, kiss me and get a home made lunch for work and then return to a home cooked meal. Our lives were completely entwined.

He stopped texting me, wouldn’t return my texts. So I went to his pad, his work clothes were there, he’d been home and left. Where did he go? I went into the laptop I gave him and found out some bits and pieces. He was seeing a woman. He did not communicate with me for three weeks over my birthday and thanksgiving. The boys (his and mine) told me what was going on. He was seeing his friends ex, she contacted him for sympathy because her boyfriend (his friend) was cheating on her and the relationship ended. So he cheated on me to console her. I was so torn, to the soul, I was a zombie! Pain was all I knew. I don’t even know how I functioned at all.

THEN he came back, broken, sorry, more real and raw than I had ever seen him. We grieved together for 6 days. He took all the blame. I didn’t deserve any of it he said, it was all his fault, why do I love a man like him, I deserve so much more than he is giving me.

I took him back and the past month has been bliss. Then Friday night he withdrew. Gave me attitude, treated me dismissively, me not wanting to seem to needy (after all we’d spent a month in recovery together, he just needed a night alone)

I tested here and there to check in because the silence felt deafening. We had just been so intimate and close. I felt used and confused again. Saturday night I went a bought drinks for myself. He texted with a guilt trip about why I didn’t invite him. I said I thought you wanted to be alone at home. That was wrong. So I said, come over baby have a few drinks with me. Nope, I’m staying home. So I reacted! I expressed anger, why would you say that then shoot me down?

Well then came another huge discard. I was a user, a whore, a cunt. I should fuck off forever and die and get out of his life, leave him alone. So okay. I can’t take it anymore. I started selling the furniture. He flipped his lid. How dare I move on! Then he texts me some more nasty things and finally says, “I’m on a date fuck off and die you fat bitch”.

So here I am. Trying to move on. Let go for good. It’s not easy.

I stalked him tonight much to my shame but I did. He hid his vehicle in a parking lot of a local pub and whoever he is with picked him up and I am obsessing about it. What is wrong with me. Anyway I have plan. I hope to god I do it. I need it to stop. I need out. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

This is not what love should be.


We are looking for your stories of abuse to feature. Many small voices make one LOUD voice.

Domestic abuse damages in whatever form and here at Many Small Voices we hope to gather the stories of those who have survived abuse into one resource to help and support those who are still victims. We also hope to support survivors through recovery once the abuse has stopped because the scars are still there and will remain forever. Support after abuse is just as important.

We are not experts, just people who are passionate that domestic abuse, in whatever form it takes, must be stopped.

If you think you or someone you know needs help please take a look in our links page to find a list of organisations that strive to help support victims of abuse.


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