Ben: The Prince Who Promised, Then Poisoned

When I met Ben, I was ready for a new beginning. At thirty-five, I had just shed 75 kilograms over two years thanks to a gastric bypass. For the first time, I was comfortable in my own skin. Tall, slim, wearing a size 38, I felt a glimmer of confidence growing inside me. I was looking for “Mr. Right,” the man who would finally bring stability and respect into my life — someone even my family would admire. Little did I know, I was stepping into a toxic relationship that would change everything. This toxic relationship would test me in ways I never expected.

Ben seemed like the answer to my prayers. Charming and self-assured, he was a skilled mechanic who took pride in his work at the factory. He didn’t do drugs, earned his own living, and swept into my life with a confidence bordering on arrogance. “Hey, baby,” he said, “I’ll take care of you. Trust me to lead the way. I’ll give you the perfect life.” And I wanted to believe him, unaware that I was entering a toxic relationship that would unravel my newfound freedom and self-worth.

But as is often the case with narcissists, his other side emerged as soon as he felt secure in the relationship. For us, that was the very day he moved into my tiny two-room apartment. I’d known him for only a few weeks, and every fiber of my being screamed that it was too soon. But Ben wasn’t someone you said “no” to. Any attempt to challenge him would be met with punishment — not through violence, but through carefully wielded words and actions that cut much deeper, revealing the toxic relationship I had inadvertently embarked upon and the emotional turmoil it would bring.

The Subtle Destruction of Words

At first, Ben’s jabs were almost imperceptible, hidden beneath a veneer of charm. He would dismiss my ideas with a casual, “That’s not really your thing, is it?” Or he’d smirk and say, “You’re not one of those women who thinks she’s smarter than her man, are you?” These comments seemed small, almost laughable at first. But over time, they accumulated, like drops of water carving a canyon into my sense of self.

He found ways to undermine every bit of joy in my life. If I was excited about a new dress, he’d shrug and say, “It’s okay, but you’ll never look like those models.” If I achieved something at work, he’d mutter, “You probably just got lucky.” He was never overtly cruel, but the constant erosion of my self-worth was relentless. It wasn’t the kind of abuse people could see; it was the kind that left no bruises but hollowed you out from within.

Control Through Silence

When I dared to assert myself, even in the smallest ways, Ben would punish me with silence. Not the silence of someone who needs space to think, but the deliberate, punishing silence of someone who wants you to feel invisible. Days would pass without a single word. Sharing an apartment under these conditions felt like a form of solitary confinement. I’d ask him simple questions — “Should I do the laundry?” or “What do you want for dinner?” — only to be met with a blank stare or no response at all. The message was clear: You don’t matter enough to deserve an answer.

Trapped in a Web of Manipulation

By the time I realized what was happening, I was too entangled in our shared life to leave easily. The financial entanglements, the routines, the shared responsibilities — they were all part of his strategy to keep me dependent. When he sensed that I was regaining some independence, he retaliated in calculated ways. He once emptied our joint bank account and left me with unpaid bills as a form of punishment. Every step I took toward freedom was met with an escalation in his attempts to tighten his grip.

It took a book — The Verbally Abusive Man — to open my eyes. For the first time, I could name what I was experiencing. Gaslighting. Undermining. Emotional withdrawal. It was all there, laid out in black and white. I saw my life in those pages, and it terrified me.

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