I Thought Jealousy Was Love Until He Threatened Suicide

I was eighteen when I met him. I had grown up shy and reserved in the Ardèche, bullied for being overweight, so I was desperate for someone to see me. He seemed like the answer. For the first year, it felt like a fairy tale. But by the time we moved to Lyon in late 2017 to live in a small studio, the fairy tale had turned into a nightmare.

He stopped going to school after two months and spent his days playing video games twenty-four hours a day. But it wasn't just the gaming; it was the way he demanded to know my location at every moment. He isolated me from my classmates and friends during school breaks. He made every decision for us, controlling my entire life. I felt like I had lost my sense of self, unable to be myself without triggering his anger.

I realized I had no agency left in my life. I felt I had to become someone else just to survive the constant fear of his anger and the threat that I would never be…

The violence started subtly, then escalated. He would punch walls and dry partitions repeatedly, destroying them until they crumbled. One night, while I was trying to sleep, he threw a game controller near my head. Another time, he threw it directly at my television. The sounds of his games became a source of terror for me. I felt a constant cramping in my stomach when someone touched me, and I froze with nausea whenever I saw him in public.

He used emotional blackmail to keep me trapped. If I tried to leave, he threatened suicide. He forced me to intervene in his violent arguments with his parents, making me the mediator for his rage. He demanded sexual acts that mimicked pornography, and I engaged in hypersexuality just to feel alive again, to regain a sliver of control over my own body. I was terrified of conflict because of my childhood conditioning, so I stayed silent.

The turning point came when I realized the relationship was unlivable. He had slept with another woman, which gave me a reason to leave, though I am not entirely certain of the details. I confronted him physically, challenging him to strike me, and threw my own phone on the ground to express my anger. I do not know if this confrontation stopped his physical aggression for a moment, but I knew I had to go.

I decided to leave in 2018. It took me a while to gather the courage. I filed a formal police complaint for domestic and sexual violence, sending it to the prosecutor's office in Grenoble. I told my father, who warned my brother to intervene if he ever touched me again. I kept the complaint secret from my grandmother and the public until now. One month after I left, my cat died.

I am unsure if the complaint was dismissed or is simply lost. I don't know if the tribunal in Ardèche would have been different. I don't know if he was conscious of his actions or if he chose to continue the violence. I don't even know if he is still in contact with my brother.

Leaving was not a magical moment of instant healing. It was a long process of lucidity and survival. I experienced traumatic amnesia regarding the positive memories of the relationship; I can't remember the good parts anymore. I am currently in a healthy relationship and working on my body memories with a sophrologist. The therapy has triggered intense trauma, but I am learning to follow my intuition and protect myself.

I believe victims should not be blamed for the abuse. I believe my family did what they could. I believe the hardest part is passed for me. I am young, and I can forgive myself and others, but I will never forget the fear. I learned that I had no agency in my life, and I am now rebuilding it, one day at a time.

I don't know if he has changed. I don't know if he will ever stop. But I know that I am no longer his. I am no longer the girl who thought jealousy was love. I am the woman who survived.