The expensive cheese had barely been in the house for an hour before it was gone. I was looking forward to that cheese all week, and my boyfriend had already eaten every last bite without a second thought. I didn’t speak to him for a full day after that, and then I ordered a fridge lock box. To understand, you need to know that this was the only real problem in our relationship.
We’d been together for five years, living together for three. He is 6’3″, 200 pounds, works out daily, and eats a huge amount of food to support that. I understood that. I never minded cooking for him or buying ingredients.
But snacks were a different story. We’d buy snacks together, and he would eat my half before I ever got to any of them. We’d argue, he’d apologize, and then he’d do it again. This was the one thing he did that I couldn’t stand.
After the cheese incident, I divided every snack we bought on our next grocery run into two equal halves. I put my half inside the lock box and closed it. You would have thought I had kicked a puppy. He looked at the box, then at me, and said I was being disrespectful and controlling.
He asked how I dared to keep food that he paid for away from him. I reminded him that my money paid for that food too. He screamed that he didn’t give a damn, and he slammed the door so hard on his way out that a picture fell off the wall and shattered. He didn’t come home that night.
The next day he came back only to change for work before leaving again. He came home late and went straight to the guest room. For four days, he ignored me completely. The only time he spoke to me was to randomly ask if I had gotten rid of the lock box yet.
I wasn’t getting rid of it. On the fourth night, I broke down and asked him to please just talk to me about what was going on. “I have nothing to say to you until you get rid of that lock box,” he said. I was completely appalled.
This was the most irrational thing I had ever seen a grown man do. We were supposed to renew our lease the next week, and I was starting to consider leaving entirely. I tried to talk to him about it again, telling him that I didn’t think the lock box was the real issue. He was a brick wall.
He insisted that it was abusive and controlling to deny him food. I pushed harder. I asked if he was on drugs or cheating on me. I told him that flipping out over something so small and staying out at all hours was suspicious as hell.
I said he was using the lock box as an excuse to leave the house and do something wrong. That unleashed a screaming tantrum that lasted for hours. He threw my MacBook against the wall, shattering it completely. For a moment, I genuinely thought he was going to hurt me.
I called my dad. He called the cops. I pressed charges for destruction of property. The laptop was worth $2,500.
Dad and my godfather moved me out the next day. I didn’t have much, just clothes and some kitchen appliances. I left the lock box behind, but I took my snacks with me. I also left it locked, because he didn’t deserve to eat anything inside it.
My ex-boyfriend started spamming me with messages. I didn’t block him because I felt like I needed the evidence in case his behavior escalated. I texted him the first night that we were done. I took our photos down from social media.
I did everything to end it. He started ranting at me. He raged that I still hadn’t gotten rid of the lock box. He demanded that I return the gifts he had given me.
He told me I owed him money for rent and for a car I had never even driven. He said my MacBook was old and worthless. But I had bought it brand new last year. After about an hour, he finally seemed to realize that we had actually broken up and that he couldn’t talk me down.
That’s when the messages changed. They became paragraphs about how he was going to marry me. He said he loved me and wanted to do better for me. He said I could keep the gifts, and that he would buy me a better MacBook.
He freaked out when he saw I had taken our pictures down. He sent me screenshots of his Google searches for engagement rings and told me to pick one out. He sent voice messages of himself just sobbing. Any respect I had left for him was gone.
I wanted nothing to do with this man. I didn’t care if he was having a breakdown or if he was on something. He was no longer my problem. I screenshotted all of his messages and forwarded them to his mother.
She could deal with her son. That was the most I would ever do for him again. As for me, I was going to be fine. I had savings, so taking on the full rent for a new place wasn’t going to break me.
My parents were supporting me, buying me my favorite comfort snacks and gently suggesting therapy. I think it was probably a good idea, so I planned to start looking for a therapist once I was settled. It had been a weird week. I felt like I should have been sad, angry, something.
But all I felt was complete disdain for him. I lost all respect for him because he couldn’t control himself over a few snacks, then threw a violent fit when I pushed back. The second story started in a much calmer place. My boyfriend and I had been dating for over two years.
We lived together with roommates while I was in university, but due to financial pressures on both ends, I moved back home about an hour away to try to catch up on money. It was mainly his idea. I was a little upset, but I understood his reasoning. Because of the move, I had to take some time off from finishing my bachelor’s degree.
It was disappointing because I was a senior, but I tried to be positive and use the time to build up a financial buffer. My boyfriend worked as a bartender. I had also been in the restaurant industry since I was seventeen, bartending, managing, serving. It worked well with my college schedule and gave me experience in guest relations.
Yesterday, I interviewed with a national photography company. It wasn’t directly related to my degree, but I did freelance photography on the side. Today I found out I got the position as a traveling photographer and consultant. I would be on the road four days a week, meeting with clients and doing event photography before driving home.
The money was excellent. The company was even willing to work with my school schedule when I returned in the fall by transitioning me to studio and local work. I called him today to share the good news. He sounded super excited and happy for me.
I was over the moon because I could finally tap back into the creativity I felt I had lost over the years and pull myself out of a financial rut. On the way home, I received a text from him. It was meant for his roommate and best friend. He said he felt threatened by me accepting this job.
He said he regretted pushing me to move back home because I might not have found this opportunity otherwise. He wrote that he was frustrated I would be making more money than him and that my experience would only grow once I graduated. He didn’t feel it was fair that I would be making easy money with a silly camera while he had to deal with annoying drunks and make less than I did. He realized his mistake shortly after.
He wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone. I screened his calls because I was still upset and hurt that he would say those things. He knew me. As long as we could set ourselves up for a future and be secure personally and financially, the job didn’t bother me.
I was doing what I loved and I didn’t want to give it up over him throwing a fit. Six weeks later, I had an update. After working for the company for a while, I absolutely loved it. It was exhausting, sometimes sixty to seventy hours a week, but I loved what I did so much that I couldn’t bear to part from my camera for more than a few days.
It was ironic, really, because he was the one who bought it for me for my birthday. I spoke to him about the accidental text. He promised he didn’t mean it the way it came out. He admitted to being insecure about where he was in his life and said he had been taking out his frustrations on me and his former roommates.
The guilt and insecurity were eating at him. Eventually, he broke down and decided to call off our relationship. Temporarily. He cried when he did it.
He admitted that he was so unhappy with himself that he couldn’t provide me with what I needed and deserved. He meant communication and effort. All I ever wanted was to feel loved and supported. Even after everything he did, even after he suggested I move back home.
He was facing legal troubles from alcohol since last year. We both saw our own therapists, though he was a bit resistant to the idea of therapy overall. He had put himself in such a deep hole and didn’t think it was fair to ask me to support him when he was trying to focus on himself. He knew I would always support his growth and whatever he needed.
Long story short, I didn’t argue. I just agreed. I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. I had done everything I could to make sure he was okay for over two years.
I decided it wasn’t my responsibility anymore. No matter what, I wouldn’t stop moving forward. He definitely wanted to get back into a relationship in the near future, once everything settled and he improved himself. But I wasn’t holding my breath.
I was returning to school to finish my bachelor’s in international security and humanitarian rights. I’m a fluent Russian speaker. My family is Russian. In September, I would transition to studio work when I finished with the traveling part of my job.
I still felt at a bit of a loss with everything. But I knew that no matter what, I wouldn’t put my future on hold for him again.
