One would think seeing red flags in a relationship would make a logical, intelligent person walk away. But in the mirage, sweet temporary moments and beautiful, empty promises keep a sensitive, people-pleasing, empathetic soul hanging on.  One begins to romanticize the situation, seeing the red flags as something to be fixed with patience and extra love.  Feeling the “right” thing to do is prove unwavering love, loyalty and strength to ultimately win the prize of earning reciprocation.

These were the thoughts running through Annemarie’s mind as she sat on her bed, blue journal beside her.

But how does one go from living a peaceful, simple, carefree life to suddenly finding themselves feeling responsible for another person’s emotional well-being or stability? How does one take on the job of trying to fix or save another person, without even realizing they had stepped into the quicksand of that impossible role?  After all, the original intent was to find a compatible dating partner, companionship, romance... and maybe, if the stars aligned and the chemistry worked, a possibility of love.

Annemarie cherished the idea of romantic love. In her opinion, it was truly one of the greatest, most precious gifts of the human experience.  She longed for it, every bit of it, from the sweet gesture of holding hands, to the treasured moment of a first embrace and the spark ignited by a first kiss. Moments such as this held a beautiful and precious simplicity, dear and close to her heart.

Intimacy was sacred.  In a world where many people seem to engage in the act like an entertaining past-time with no real meaning, Annemarie believed intimacy transcended the physical realm.  Much more than two bodies passionately joining, she felt it was equally and deeply spiritual, with ecstasy shared and energies exchanged.

Unconsciously, she ran her fingers over to the side of the bed where he once lay, tracing them over the soft comforter, remembering his presence. Memories flooded back in a rush...

Their first kiss:  summer night – bright moon shining above – his eyes, oh his beautiful eyes, staring down into hers – his voice –  “I don’t want to wait to do this, I want to kiss you now” –  his lips, warm, perfect – starting slow then intensifying – left dizzy, breathless – nothing will ever be the same – the taste of him forever ingrained in her being – without knowing it, her heart was placed in his hands that night.

She put her hands to her face, as if doing so could turn off the thoughts.  Oh God, the memories, they hit like a tidal wave at times, washing over and drowning her in rumination. She tried to steady her breath, but the thoughts continued, and she was there again in his arms, the way he would wrap them around her as if he needed to keep her close to his heart, safe and all to himself. “My Annemarie” he would say, looking down to stare deeply into her eyes.  A shy person by nature, Annemarie was never good at making eye contact with anyone, but with him, it was different.  She could meet his gaze and willingly submit, allowing him to look right into her very soul as she was entranced by those magical blue eyes.

Grabbing the pillow, she began to rock herself gently in a feeble effort to self-console. She felt the tears coming as she tried to calm herself but today was one of those days where her heartache seemed renewed.  The healing journey, she found, was very complex; 2 steps forward, 1 step back. Triggered by something as simple as a song, a scent, a food, a word, a name, a day on the calendar, or in the case of today, sitting on a bed that was once shared with him, in a bedroom once shared with him, in a house once shared with him.

Today, her brain would have no mercy on her heart as the remembrance continued.  The first time they made love:  hotel suite – black lace – his hands – his scent – his beard – his lips everywhere – the taste of his sweat – over and over and over again – “my Annemarie” – “my angel” – “my love” – “my Wife.”

“He called me his wife so many times...” she whispered out loud to herself, still clutching the pillow wet with tears.  She wanted so desperately to block the thoughts that followed, but she knew healing was like riding a wave, and she’d have to let the memory play out to face and release it.  He had called her wife many times during their years-long relationship, but he never made her a wife. He never made her a fiancée.  In fact, there were many baffling times when he neglected to claim her as even a girlfriend, although they lived together in every way as man and wife. In hindsight, it made sense now that he’d prefer to appear single on social media as much as possible, for as long as possible.  To make like they were simple roommates in the conversations she later found between him and other women.

She recalled one screenshot from a woman he’d been communicating with for several months.  “I was out helping my buddy,” he had texted.  The woman wanted to know why he’d ignored her texts for 48 hours.  In truth, he had been busy with Annemarie.

 “MY BUDDY”

Those words had haunted her ever since she found out about the situation.  She could still recall the feeling of being physically ill as she read the screenshots on an early Monday morning.  The woman had grown suspicious and reached out to see if Annemarie knew him.  She’d never forget how it blindsided her as she stood wrapped in a towel, freshly showered and pondering which outfit to wear.

“Good morning beautiful...”

“Hey stranger, what’s up?  Hope you had a good day today... How are you?”

“I’m looking for all the same things you are.  Been hurt before, but trying to find that special someone worth the trouble...”

It was like reading a script...  Over and over, Annemarie saw the same exact lines he had used with her.  Same conversations, same stories, same emojis, gifs, memes...  Months of reaching out, taking the time to check in on another, flirting and manipulating to earn trust and build a bond while so often ignoring the faithful woman beside him.

She had to call out of work that day, too sick with shock, humiliation and disbelief to endure 8 hours in an office.

She faced him with the proof, 24 screenshots in total, sent by the jilted love interest determined to prove he was a jerk and a liar once she’d discovered Annemarie had considered herself in a serious and exclusive love relationship with him. But he expertly twisted things and somehow became the victim.  “She was crazy!” he said.  “I felt sorry for her, was just trying to be friendly. She was the one hitting on me!”  His initial smirking amusement turned to frustration, then anger, over being obviously wronged with questions and accusations.

How dare any of this happen to him?  He was just a good guy, trying to be friendly!  After all, there’s no rule that says you can’t have friendly conversation with other people!  It was her fault, the woman had been flirting with him, inviting him over for beers and conversation!  He was just trying to be nice!  If he wanted to leave, he would have!  After all, he was here with Annemarie now, what further proof did she want that this crazy, jealous woman meant nothing!

Annemarie remembered it all vividly.  How her stomach hurt, her heart ached, and her mind spun with confusion...  Standing before him, she remembered clearly how he had flipped it all around to make her feel foolish, guilty even, for confronting him and making him feel as if he’d done something wrong when clearly, it was all the woman’s fault, not his.  The story he crafted soon made her second guess her own logic, sanity and common sense.

Maybe she was all wrong?  There were 24 SCREENSHOTS that said otherwise, but his reaction and argument were so overwhelming, she found herself feeling weak, stupid, unsure, exhausted and in need of everything to be okay.  The powerful lure of seeking peace and comfort in his arms began to overtake her.  He was fully aware of this, and with a charming smile, granted her his full forgiveness as he drew her close in a warm embrace.

He advised her to block the woman from being able to contact her ever again, for in his words “Anyone who would try to come between us and ruin what we have needs to be blocked... We don’t need that negativity in our lives, Annemarie.”

They would forget about this and move forward, never to speak of it again.  He forgave her for coming against him, her confusion clearly caused by insecurities from her own past.  This is what he told her, and it was easiest to agree, apologize and take refuge in sweet relief to be loved by him again.

Somewhere along the line, his love had become a drug and Annemarie was dangerously addicted.

For every red flag, twisted word or betrayal, there was also a moment of extreme charm, loving sweetness and passionate reassurance.  Kind, beautiful words and promises of loyalty, commitment and a joyful future. An emotional tug of war with a constant back and forth of good times and bad, pain and relief, confusion and clarity, chaos and stability, hope and desperation.

This is what makes the mirage so dangerous, for logic and intelligence are no match for the magnetic seduction used to trick and pull one deeply into uncharted waters of a toxic relationship and trauma bond.