I don’t want to be here but here I am, because the last few months I’ve been lurking and I truly don’t have anywhere else to turn for this.
For the record of this forum, hi, I’m a heartbeat. For context purposes, I’m a 34 year old nonbinary person who looks like Tinkerbell and I accept she/her pronouns but honestly am more of a they/them. I like to joke that I am not a woman but I have woman-shaped problems. I include this with an open heart and a lot of fear of rejection, but I’m trying to be candid as I unpack my unfortunate journey through all this.
I’m bisexual, and the partner I was with was my heart and soul for eleven years. Never married (he had commitment issues and… well… ughhhh) and neither of us ever wanted kids. Adopted two cats during the pandemic. I got together with him when I was 23. He is 14 years older than me. Within months of meeting and LDR kind of dating, I moved to his home country (South Africa). There was some challenge there, but he sponsored my visa as a partner. It was a beautiful time. We both loved travel, good veg cooking, and creative pursuits. I’ve been a freelance illustrator and graphic designer since then, as I studied it in college. He always had somewhat more stable jobs in tech. Combined with his older age, he was always more of the breadwinner, but for a long time it didn’t matter. He had a house when I met him, an inherited property from family. I liked living abroad and hadn’t wanted to live in my home country for quite some time anyway.
We had our ups and downs through the relationship. I was fairly upfront about my queerness, and my feelings toward it. He discovered some about his own identity both with gender and sexuality, and our relationship was a safe place for it. There’s more depth to that subject, but I’m not sure I want to put it out there. It’s important to me to note that I grew a lot in that time, and in turn I did what I could to create that love and safety around me. This was especially important because honestly, South Africa is a somewhat conservative place and has the troubles of a post-conflict nation.
I’ve never had the most stable career, but in 2019 I was making real moves. I had been going to trade shows and trying to network. I really felt like I was close to a breakthrough in spite of my anxiety around turning 30. The economy of South Africa is and was bad, but I had a lot of hope that I could still reach international clients and just find enough. I had side hustles galore, but I really was trying. Then, in early 2020, I learned my grandfather was dying. I needed to go visit the US to say goodbye. There were warnings brewing around Covid, but I had no idea what was about to happen. I boarded a flight in March expecting to be a little more cautious around travel, but I only had one chance. Two days after I landed, firetruck me running, the borders shut. I cannot express the level of stress I felt. I was not only dealing with a familial death, but literally the whole world shut down, and I would not be able to get home. I’m condensing a lot here, but this trauma is important for me to mention. Because of the restrictions around the borders, it took me eight months to return home to my partner. I lost all my income. I barely had time to process the family loss because the whole world slid from underneath me. And dealing with the bureaucracy of South Africa, which was tenuous even outside a crisis, made me realize how unstable I would always be there as a non-citizen.
When I did return, I hoped things would improve. They did, sort of, but my partner and I were both struggling. I developed some intense PTSD symptoms. The crime in the area that we were living in had risen amid the crisis, and with no vaccines in sight yet, I became extremely hypervigilant. My eyelids no longer open all the way and I suspect it’s because of how little I could sleep or function. He was in a toxic job that paid extremely well. He held on to it because he felt it would be good for his retirement, and I had little I could say. At that point we lived in his house together. He didn’t mind being the primary earner, he always had been, but I was struggling because all my means of income and side hustles along with my PTSD were making it hard to work. Neither of us wanted to stay, so we began looking at options for moving abroad. The conversation was not new- being that we came from different countries, it was a frequent conversation over years of our relationship. We chose the Netherlands for the reason that we’d both have visa options. At the tail end of 2022, we moved together.
Now, I realize this is a lot of run up, but it does feel important to contextualize what I think was the decline. Cut to 2023. He worked for the same company that he hated and had been running into the ground. I’ve not had significant income for years, and I desperately was trying to rebuild. I got rejected from every single job I applied for that year. My fear and frustration were off the charts. In tandem, he was showing symptoms of burnout. I blamed myself. I worried for him. His income was enough, but he was unable to detatch from his work. He would mention work every time he was in a room with me. He would crash at the end of the day and want to do nothing but watch TV. Once, he took a phone call from his job while we were in bed together. When I asked him questions about anything in the future, he’d get irritable. I was hard on myself because I feared I wasn’t doing enough. For a few months, I convinced him to go on burnout leave, so he was able to stop working and still pulled a salary. It wasn’t enough. I decided to try to build a new freelance business and get a visa that way, because I wanted to help him switch jobs.
I found out during 2023 that the grandparent who died had left some inheritance. Not a lot, but it was something to get me started again. I was open and transparent with him about my plans, but money was always a stressful subject for me. I was worried of failing, I was worried of things going wrong. Our apartment was too expensive and we both spoke of moving. At some point, I reminded him that I’d be happy to even move to a different country if he was too unhappy with this one. I was facing my own burnout from hypervigilance and PTSD, but I ultimately wanted him to be happier and not crashing all the time. When he did this, he’d cite his job, and I believed him. At one point he said he fantasized about traveling around the world for a year. There were things he wanted to do before 50. I was a bit alarmed and confused because he had also said he wanted to retire early. He said he wanted a European passport, which was a time investment of around 5 years, and he had also already invested almost a year. I said I’d be fine with him doing some solo travel, but a year did feel like a lot, and I wanted to know more. He brushed it off and said it was just a fantasy. Stupid me for trusting, because I trusted that the man who didn’t lie for the many years of our relationship was still there and was telling the truth.
In November of 2023, a few months before our lease was up, I finally was able to access the inheritance. I asked him to look over the email and my sheets for a business plan so I could withdraw some and get things started. I was extremely anxious at this time but trying to see the bright side. Finally, I could significantly contribute and maybe turn things around. Finally, I could help him. The minute I sent the email, the bomb dropped, to use the phrasing of this board.
I didn’t know what to think, because he began saying things that barely made sense. He told me he wanted a relationship, but he no longer wanted a nesting relationship. Smiles. Hugs. I was confused. He said he wanted to go travel and take a solo trip home. We had spoken about that in the year and I thought it was a good idea, but I was confused by the framing until he said he didn’t think he was going to come back to the Netherlands. He said he didn’t want to move. He said he had to be free to find himself. firetruck, so this was a breakup then? I asked and he said… no. I asked if there was someone else. He said no. I asked him if I could visit him at some point in these travels. Again, the answer was no. I asked if I could contact him even and he said he wanted to go no-contact for a while. I grew extremely upset, because none of it was making sense, and I asked what that left of the relationship and he said it was a ‘strong emotional bond.’ I asked him ‘oh, so just vibes?’
Of course the confusion got laced with other things too. He said I was a backpack. When I told him this was calling me a burden, he denied it. Then he followed up by saying that he felt like he had been bailing out a sinking ship and had to swim for shore. He said I simply had to choose my best option and ‘save myself.’ He compared our relationship to carrying a wounded hiker down a mountain. He said he was like a bird who wanted to fly away and I was holding him down to the nest. It made no sense, and it hurt. He said he still loved me. He said he still wanted a future with me. But then when I said that his leaving in this way put a lot on me, he’d get upset, and then deny he was angry at all.
His abandonment left me in an extremely bad place. Because I wasn’t the breadwinner, finding new housing was near impossible. There is a housing crisis of note in the Netherlands. I can barely prove income because I’m trying to get up again. Here I finally had the chance, and it was coming apart. I noted this and he smugly said ‘you can do it.’ He mocked me in tone. I couldn’t keep the place we were in, it was far too expensive, and I wasn’t eligible to be the lease holder. I suddenly was on the hook for thousands in expenses around a visa change at the exact same time. My lifeline was shrinking rapidly, and I had to re-write an entire business plan, because I had just lost the overhead. When I laid all this out, he acted guilty (not remorseful, guilty). He offered some financial help, which I took. He said he felt like he was actually doing a lot to help. It was a mess.
I ended up finding a place through a freak stroke of luck with a friend of a friend in a house not far from the city we had been based in. It took weeks of wading through all this. All the while, he would say he loved me, but then flip-flop. I love you, I want a future. I have to go, I have to fix myself. I can’t fix myself in the context of our current relationship. To our queer friends, he’d say that we were rearranging our relationship dynamic. To our straight ones, he’d say we were separating. To me, he’d say he wanted something in the future but if I felt like he couldn’t be what I needed, I should just make the best decision for myself. Essentially I believe he was trying to force me to call off the relationship while making me do the work of the breakup. I howled and cried and he said he couldn’t handle my big emotions. I suggested counseling and he went back and forth on it. He said he just couldn’t commit to anything.
I asked about dating other people or having sex and what he expected. Of course, at first he said no. And then, the truth slithered out. He wanted the freedom to go have sex with people. In his words, while laughing in my face, he said he needed to ‘have some fun.’ While my life was falling apart he tried to make this sound innocent. The deepest irony to me is that our relationship has always included being somewhat open. Sex wasn’t the problem or the dealbreaker, it was clearly about the relationship, but he got SO angry when I noted this. And then he would say he didn’t feel anger, while balling his fists up and squirming his face and shutting down in front of me. Then we’d make up. He’d say how much he loved me. We slept in the same bed and I’d cry at night.
There are books of detail I’m skimming over, there’s so many hurtful things. But it was hell to be in limbo. I refused to call things off because if I did, then it would be ‘my’ responsibility. And truthfully, I didn’t want it. After 11 years he was still the only person I wanted to be with, but he disappeared in front of me.
This carried on until February. Weeks before I had to get out of the apartment, his dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. His big plans of traveling were suddenly very changed. Two days before he left, he finally said he wanted to break up because it was the only way to ‘rebuild.’ There’s so much detail in this story I can’t even recount. I said it wasn’t fair and he acted childish. This entire time had felt like a breakup for me, one that I carried all the weight for, and he had refused to cop to it until the very last moment.
I moved, and I have spent weeks just stabilizing. My new place isn’t what I need in life but it’s fine. I’m sitting here typing this because I am out of energy. I’ve still barely been able to work. Most of the last month and a half has been admin and cleanup. I am living with the owner of the house. The shower has an electrified handle that the owner isn’t fixing, and I can’t legally get someone involved without having to also live with her for the remainder of this year, so I have had to go to the gym to shower. My cats can live here, for which I’m grateful, but it’s expensive, and I’m currently living off the inheritance while trying to get freelance work. I haven’t made much money at all since this happened and I will never stop feeling bad about it.
He went no contact for March. At the end, he emailed me and… no remorse. No nothing. After all his plans of traveling the world, he’s looking for a place in South Africa because he says he needs stability. I get that his dad’s cancer is part of this and not his fault, but the irony hurts. He left behind all the photos and physical mementos of the relationship because he said he’d be living out of a backpack, but then he took his cookware. The hurt is so tender. He emailed again a couple weeks ago to update about his dad and said he understood if I couldn’t respond. The trouble is, I’m in so much pain and I barely know how to process it. How can I let this person back in? If I tell him I’m doing well, he gets to excuse himself for all the pain he’s caused and minimize it, as he did while leaving. If I’m honest about my struggle, he will shut down and turn it back on me, as he did while leaving. I dream of him coming back. I worry no one will ever love me again. And yet I can’t respond.
I have about a million more details. I’m mainly just tired. I wish I could shower at home. I worry no one will ever love me again. I’m worried I’ll run out of money and get kicked out of the country. Nobody is safe to be around. The acknowledgement of my gender and sexuality doesn’t exist with a straight roommate who is kind, but can only offer advice on straight relationships and women empowering themselves. It’s an incredibly isolating experience and I wish I could find my crowd. I don’t have a lot of friends here because I’ve only just cleared a year, and honestly, I can barely get up some days.
I’ve tried to confide to friends who don’t live close and I have a lot who are helpful, some who are not. A lot are saying ‘you just gotta pick yourself back up and take responsibility!’ It’s infuriating because I… have. I moved myself and my cats, I go to the gym, I have re-started my business even if it hasn’t made money. I went through the grueling process of a move and I’m still working through a visa change. I’ve done my tax stuff and I have begun to find little events to go to again in an attempt to balance off my extremely limited budget with my mental health. I’ve stayed on my antidepressants and I go to the gym (now a necessity because I can’t even shower at home). I genuinely wish I could just make enough money and move out. But firetruck… I’m so angry. I’m so sad. The betrayal of his resentment building and no attempt to fix things, and then dangling preposterous ideas in front of me while saying he tried his best is too much to bear.
I have to go shower, which means, I have to get up. I have to go the the gym. I have to go to a public shower after getting a workout in. My bones are tired and all I’ve done today is cry.
I’m not sure why I’m posting, honestly, but I have to try something. No one in my immediate life seems to understand this experience at all. It’s so eerie to read stories on here sometimes because of how similar it is, so I have to try to find anyone who can understand.
This is a mess, sorry. I really do have to go leave my house so I can shower and I just hope I can do it without sobbing and feeling dysphoric in the women’s room hoping that no one notices.