My stomach dropped.
My heart racing out of my chest. A gold Magnum condom wrapper, opened. Empty. Laid underneath my bed. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there with this “Deer in headlights” look on my face. My boyfriend staring at me, rage and disbelief in his eyes.
Now, let’s backtrack.
When I met my boyfriend, I was a second semester Freshman in college. I met him on the second day of Spring Break vacation. I lived in the dorms. Of course, living in the dorms there were parties, beer pong battles, twerk offs, you name it! I lived in what was known as the “party hall”. I myself wasn’t necessarily the “party girl” but, my roommate was! She loved to go out and meet new people every day, loved to go out and party every night… so much so that she ended up having to drop out of college second semester!
My roommate is how I made about 98% of my friends in college.
She is how I had met the person from which the night of “fun” produced the condom wrapper that we laughed about. We were laughing at how we couldn’t find it. We had looked all around and yet it was as if it disappeared. We didn’t think much of it as we put our clothes back on and I walked him to the door.
Okay, now back to finding the condom.
*Fast Forward to 7 months later (and several college parties, experiences, and much more)*
The second semester of college was coming to an end. After being in a relationship with my (abusive) boyfriend for about two months now, it was time to move out of the dorms. Summer was approaching. He insisted that I move in with him.
“You won’t have to pay rent.”
“You won’t have to be three hours away living with your parents.”
“We won’t have to be separated.”
“You can be together with me at all times!”
His controlling abusive behavior had already started yet I was too naïve to notice the red flags right away, like him wanting me to move in with him already after two months of being together.
My boyfriend begins to grab the totes that are under my bed when it happened.
Underneath my bed, opened, empty, was a gold wrapper. A Magnum condom wrapper.
My boyfriend immediately closes the door that was being held open by my trash can, so nobody can hear what was about to happen next.
“What the f—k is this?”
“Who did you cheat on me with?”
“I knew you cheated on me! Just tell the truth! Who did you cheat on me with?!”
“I knew you would be cheating on me instead of going to school!”
“You are such a f—ing hoe!”
He was screaming at me, telling me how he knew I was a cheater. How he should have never trusted me, how he regrets even meeting me.
He’s throwing all the things we just spent an hour and a half boxing, out of the box, throwing plastic totes yelling at me telling me how he can’t believe I cheated on him and finally leaves into the hallway.
I, of course, chase after him.
He was my first boyfriend, I didn’t want to “lose him” especially since I knew I never cheated on him and that this was all
a huge misunderstanding
I repeatedly kept telling him over and over that I didn’t cheat…that the condom wasn’t from when we were together!
Being nervous I even began to lie, “I don’t know where it came from”.
Even though I did know where it came from, even though it was from me.
From a time WAY before I even knew he existed.
I felt that no matter what I said he was angry and not going to believe me.
Long story short, he went crazy, smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in the dorm parking lot as I continued to plead my case over and over again.
Then the strangest thing happened, he came back inside.
It was so strange that although he just had went wild on me minutes earlier (for the first time), he returned back to “normal” and continued to help me pack up my stuff and moved me into his house that day.
He went about his business as if none of it had happened, as if he didn’t go on a rampage, as if the condom incident had never occurred.
For some odd reason I started to blame myself for what happened and thank him for even “letting me stay with him” after all of this.
As if I was the one who did “something wrong”. That whole day I felt as if I were walking on egg shells, avoiding saying anything that might make him think about the dorm room incident again.
Throughout our entire toxic “relationship” this situation is the number one thing that whenever he would hit me, choke me, break my things, rip up my clothes, slap me, he would always come back to, to use as his number one excuse, to “justify” his actions.
“But you cheated me! I saw the condom!”
“I looked through your text messages while you were sleeping because you cheated on me! We both saw the condom!”
“You deserve me slapping you because you slept with another dude! Don’t make me tell everyone (referring to his family who also lived with us) about the condom!”
I can be 100% honest with you all.... I never cheated on him, although now looking back, I wish I had. I wish I had secretly found someone else to rescue me away from the long dangerous journey that was in store for me, to steer me clear from a monster.
Yet, sadly I never did.
From this condom incident, I realized something very important, that can relate to all kinds of relationships.
What you do before a relationship is before a relationship.
If your partner or someone you are dating is interrogating you with questions of your past and acts as if they are perfect (and never have made even a teeny tiny mistake in their life)… this is definitely a huge red flag.
Now if they are asking you questions about your past, such as what was your favorite movie as a kid, that’s one thing.
But if they are asking you how many partners you’ve had, how many people you’ve slept with, when was the last time you had sex, etc.
Then run! My ex would try to make me feel ashamed for anything and everything I did (especially the condom under the bed).
“You kissed a guy at 13? You are such a hoe! You are so stupid! You know they were just using you right? You’re such a dumb slut!”
“You kissed a guy that wasn’t your boyfriend in the eighth grade! I’m so disgusted with you, you should be ashamed of yourself!”
These are just some of the many things he would tell me.
- He would always interrogate me about my past yet wouldn’t share not even one detail about his own.
- He would ridicule me and tell me how “a woman should” “X Y and Z” yet would never see a flaw in his own actions.
It took me a long time to realize that everything I’ve done and experienced in my past is normal, is okay.
He would do anything to make me try to hate myself, to break my self-esteem, to make me feel as low as possible, to make me feel ashamed of myself as well as of my past.
It took me a long time to realize and accept myself as well as my past. I had to realize that:
Your past is your past… and everyone has one.
(Here’s a link to a previous post I made about some potential red flags questions to look out for!)