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We went on three or four dates in the first week after meeting online. We were officially boyfriend and girlfriend in no time. We said “I love you,” one month in.

He bought me flowers, he cooked me dinner, he planned elaborate vacations and spa days. I thought I had won the lottery. I had never felt so much love. I thought I had found my person.

The first sign of trouble appeared on my birthday. He didn’t like how I planned to celebrate and had another idea. He made it all about him. “I’ve earned your consideration,” he said, “I’ve proven myself to you. Let’s do what I want to do.”

When I called him about how he behaved on my special day, he broke down in tears. He apologized and begged for forgiveness. I’m an empathic person so I felt bad. I had been rude. I had hurt his feelings. I started to feel confused and conflicted. 

 When things were good they were magical. Dr. Jekyll was kind and attentive and thoughtful. Then Mr. Hyde emerged, saying  nasty things to me or losing his cool over a situation that made no sense. We’d fight all night long. He would wear me down, and then the next morning he’d be in a good mood and want to be in love again.

He made excuses for losing his temper. But I made excuses for him, too. He was rude because of work stress. Family brought out his mean side. Combat stress complicates things. (Did I mention he’s a veteran?)

The FOG of abuse is the fear, obligation and guilt you feel. You can’t see very well in the fog, but your friends and family on the outside see things you can’t because they have better visibility. And if you spend too long in the FOG, you lose your sense of direction. 

While we were together, I started house hunting and everything changed. I included him, but he was angry and I didn’t understand. Now I realize it was because I didn’t need his money or ideas. I could do this all on my own and that made him nervous. When I found a fixer upper, he volunteered to do the work required to make it inhabitable. It would take two weeks, he said, so I agreed. But it took two months. My apartment lease expired while he stalled, so I was forced to move in with him.

While we were on vacation, we had a huge fight because I bought him the “wrong” toothpaste and toothbrush. Before I knew what was happening, a glass was flying toward me. It smashed on the wall, inches from head in this beautiful resort I had chosen for a vacation I had spent months planning.

I think I actually packed up a bag to leave three or four times. (I know now that, on average, a woman tries to leave an abusive relationship seven times before she succeeds at doing it for good.) I realized that if I left, it would have to be permanent because once I went public, my friends and family would hate him. Once I told people the truth, he could never go back to being Mr. Wonderful.