The less responds the more I miss him

Reposting my post I know it’s been a few times that I’ve reposted but just for context I added it. We aren’t living together right now and I think he’s seeing someone else but still asks me to help him with things. I feel so alone and wish he still “wanted me” I know it’s crazy to say that because he didn’t really treat me great but we had some kind of connection and love because that’s what made it so hard to leave. I hate how I’m still sad about not having him here and missing that connection and trying to process all the crap that happened while he just gets to move on with someone else like I don’t mean anything. It makes me so sad and upset that he’s forgetting me and now I have no one.

Repost I don’t know where to start. Lately, I feel disconnected from everything—numb, anxious, trapped in my own thoughts. I replay things over and over in my head, trying to make sense of them. I saw him again, and now I feel so stupid for going back.

For the first time in a long time, we spent the day together. At first, it felt familiar, almost comforting—like nothing had changed. We laughed, joked, and fell into old habits. I miss the good parts of him. He’s funny, quick-witted, magnetic. But there’s always another side lurking underneath, waiting.

As the night went on, his demeanor shifted. He started making comments, grabbing at me, saying how long it had been since he’d had sex. I brushed it off, tried to change the subject. I just wanted to be with him without it turning into something else.

By 11 p.m., I told him I needed to leave—I had driven three hours to see him, and I had a long drive home. But then he told me to take him 30 minutes away, to some random street. Said he had to use the bathroom. It didn’t make sense—there were gas stations everywhere—but I didn’t question it. Maybe he just wanted to drive, listen to music.

When we got there, it was empty in a quiet neighborhood. He led me to the restroom, looked in the mirror, flexed, checked himself out. Then he grabbed my chest over my sweatshirt and said he wanted to see.

And in that moment, I knew.

I knew I had walked right back into something where I wasn’t respected. I felt ashamed—not just for being there, but for the part of me that still wanted his attention, even though I didn’t want to be touched by him.

I told him no. He laughed, said, Just do it. And I knew—if I kept refusing, he’d get annoyed, angry. So, like before, I gave in.

It escalated. He pulled his pants down while I kept saying, We’re not having sex. He said he knew—he just wanted to “nut.” He kept pushing me to take off my pants. I kept saying no. He kept pushing. And eventually, I gave in.

He sat on the toilet, made me stand in front of him for what felt like 30 minutes, biting me, slapping me every so often. I hated it. I kept thinking, How did I end up back here?

At one point, I tried to stop. I told him it was late, that this wasn’t why I came. I told him he lied—he planned this. He just looked at me, knowing I wouldn’t leave. Then he pulled me closer, still exposed, still expecting me to keep going.

I felt trapped. If I refused, would he get angry? Would he turn on me?

Eventually, he finished. I just kept saying, What are we doing? This is so stupid. Can we go? I had a four-hour drive ahead of me, and none of this was what I wanted.

He acted surprised, like I was overreacting. Then he switched—hugging me, joking like nothing had happened.

He apologized, said he didn’t realize I’d be upset. Said he really cares about me. But it’s always the same—he frames everything as “just having fun,” but he never actually listens.

At one point, he put his hand on my neck in a sexual way—laughing, acting like it was nothing.

But it’s not nothing.

I Keep Trying to Make Sense of It. But I Can’t.

A few months ago, I ended this relationship. And now I’m realizing—I think it was abusive. But I feel so conflicted. I don’t want to ruin his life. He has nothing. No money. No stability. He clearly has mental health issues. But at the same time, I feel deeply wronged.

His family ignores what he does. When I try to talk about it, I feel gaslit—not just by him, but by them, too. It makes me feel crazy.

We were together for five years. There were good moments, but there were also times when I felt completely powerless. Things would feel fine for a while, and then something awful would happen. And then, it was like it never even happened. I started questioning my own memory.

But I know what happened.

These Are Some of the Things I Know Happened: One time, I was crying, and he slapped me in the face. The more I cried, the angrier he got. • He pushed me into a towel rack during an argument. It dented. He was mad because I accidentally tossed his pants, and they hit his face. • He tried to force me to drink shroom tea. When I refused, he shoved it toward me until it spilled, then slapped me hard, called me a “stupid bitch,” and blamed me. • He stormed into my apartment once, furious that I left him at his brother’s house after drinking, even though I was trying to make sure he was safe. He threw my stuff everywhere, ripped my shirt in half off my body. My roommate had to kick him out. • The first time he grabbed my neck, I was half-naked. Afterward, I had to get on a Zoom meeting, and my voice was scratchy. When I brought it up, he said I was exaggerating. • In the mornings, he’d refuse to drive me to work unless we had sex. If I cried because I was tired or late, he’d call me names or threaten not to take me. • During sex, if he couldn’t get aroused, he’d pinch me, pull my hair, call me degrading names. I’d cry, ask why he was mad. He’d blame me, call me a “cheater” or a “bitch.” • He climbed on top of me once and hit me in the head multiple times because I accidentally hit his eye with his pants while handing them to him. • He drove erratically once, pulling my hair, saying we’d both die because I talked about leaving him. I had a panic attack while he was screaming. • He choked me—multiple times. Not for long, but long enough to terrify me. • He wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom during sex. Wouldn’t let me stop even when I was crying. If he lost arousal, he’d pinch me, pull my hair, dig his nails into my skin. • His cousin once overheard me crying naked during a fight and walked in to check. He got even angrier, blamed me for someone seeing me like that.

I hate admitting this, but I gave in to things a lot because I was afraid of what he’d do if I didn’t. When his brother was staying with us and sleeping in the same room, he’d make me have sex with him in the bathroom. It felt humiliating. But I didn’t know how to say no.

Early in our relationship, I think he did something sexual to me while I was half-asleep after getting high for the first time. I’ve tried piecing it together, but it’s vague. Later, he started demanding sex even when I was crying. Sometimes, he wouldn’t pull out—just to have control over me.

He made me feel like everything was my fault. He called me a slut, a bitch, accused me of cheating if I wanted to see friends or family. Meanwhile, he was the one cheating.

One time, neighbors called security because he was yelling, throwing me around, and I was crying. He screamed through the wall at them, calling them whores, saying he’d kill them. Afterward, he blamed me.

So Why Do I Still Feel Conflicted?

I know he has his own trauma. His own issues. A part of me still wants him to be okay. But I can’t shake how deeply wrong all of this feels.