A Lesson That Took Me Over A Year To Learn

In order to share the lesson that I've learned in 2024, I need to flash back to May 2023. I was doing what I've loved most, and that was performing onstage. While I love it more than anything today, I didn't love it as much as I loved my boyfriend, Ben (not his real name). We had a lot of things in common, and these included performing, watching horror movies, and the fact that we're both autistic. Although we weren't one hundred percent the same, we had enough in common for me to believe that we were soulmates. If we ever had an argument over anything, we were able to gloss things over and act like nothing ever happened. Pretty easy thing to do when you're an actor. Unfortunately, we could only keep up the act for so long, and things began to crumble after two and a half years together.

I was in a production of Much Ado About Nothing. Instead of the play's usual setting, this version of the show reminded audiences of those teen beach movies from the 1960s. I got to dress up like a cute sailor and sing "Stupid Cupid". The week before we opened, Ben had directed a production of the same play with a 1920s setting and casted himself in it. I had gotten to see that show, and I was excited for him to see mine. I remember seeing him in the audience on Opening Night, only to see an awful scowl across his face. I was then swarmed by audience members right after curtain call, and by the time I was able to cut a conversation with a friend short, Ben was nowhere to be found. I gave him a call, only for him to be very short with me. I apologized and hung up, and then the friend who gave him a ride home texted me to explain everything. Turns out that Ben was upset that the show didn't go the way he wanted, and he couldn't stop being a director for five minutes. He didn't want to stay to say hello because he didn't think that he could hide his true feelings for the show from the rest of the cast and crew. I couldn't hide my tears, and I told a few people what had happened. I knew things were going to go downhill from there.

As soon as I had the chance the next morning, I texted Ben to ask him what happened. Instead of just simply telling me, he sent a screenshot of the message that he had sent to the group chat of his show. It was basically a rant post about how this comedic show was too funny and how he despised these two women who played men in the show (and this all came from a man who claimed to be a feminist). Instead of apologizing for leaving without saying goodbye, he told me to not tell anyone that he didn't like the show. Without hesitation or thought, I sent his screenshot to one of my friends from the show who saw me cry. Ben was furious, claiming that I ruined his reputation and that I didn't allow him to be autistic. After a few days of angry and distressing messages, we decided to stop talking for a week. Once that was done, I paid him a visit and suggested that we take a break for the rest of the month. After days of feeling like the world was coming to an end, we pulled the plug on May 31st. I felt like a weight was lifted off of my chest, which was a sign that the breakup was long overdue.

In the year following the breakup, I took the time to look back on my relationship with Ben. I had spent the month of May rereading Ben's texts and thinking that I was too toxic for him, and I just had to make sure that I wasn't. It took some time, but I'd spoken about my experience to several people. This included people who knew Ben, people who didn't know him, autistic people, non-autistic people, people who have gone through breakups, etc. I needed my story to be heard from different POVs to make sure that I hadn't gone too far as Ben claimed I had. Every time I finished my story, I was given the same answer; "Cat, he was toxic."

Despite the clarification that I was better off without Ben, I felt like I couldn't cut ties with him. Less than a year later, I decided to see him star in yet another show he directed. If we were ever going to see each other again, I preferred that it be on our own terms instead of out of the blue. I was nice enough to bring him back his stuff from my house, but I was also petty enough to dress up in a red velvet dress. Other than that, I was on my best behavior around him and his family and friends, and I was nice enough to hug him after the show. I would later see him at other events, and he would continue to compliment me and tell me how proud he was of me. These things would've made my heart flutter over a year and a half ago, but now they made my skin crawl. He was just being nice, so why on Earth was my body acting this way? Surely, I should be over everything that had happened, but even a notification that he heart-reacted to a picture of me on Facebook made me uncomfortable. I thought I would be fine by then.

The biggest lesson that I had learned in 2024 was finally taught to me in September. I was out with my friends when Ben was brought up. One of my friends asked me why I was still friends with him, and I didn't have a valid answer. She then told me to delete his number and unfollow him on social media. At first, I was a little hesitant because I was afraid of how Ben would react, but it felt amazing once I had hit those buttons. A month later, he replied to one of my TikTok videos. I had unfollowed him and removed him as a follower, and I was hardly on the For You Page anymore. This means that he must've looked me up, and that made me feel like my skin was melting off. Once I had hit the block buttons on all of my accounts, another weight was lifted off of my chest.

The saddest part of me looking back on my two and a half years with Ben was the realization that I either didn't recognize the red flags or I noticed them and just did nothing about them. I can't possibly pick the reddest flag of his. There was that one time we watched a recording of me singing a song about someone looking back on their life as they suffer a near-death experience, and his response was, "Hey, I f**ked that girl." No complements on my performance or comments on how proud he was of me. Just a reminder that he had taken my v card. There was another time where he told me that he didn't like how he felt like he "had to mask his autism and couldn't be himself” whenever I had a meltdown. I felt guilty and tried all I could to mask my autism so that he could unmask and be happy while I masked my autism and stayed miserable. It was disappointing to learn that I couldn't even be my autistic self around my own autistic boyfriend. And anytime I tried to call him out for his behavior, he would say to me, "I shouldn't have to remind you that you're not the only autistic person in this relationship." I would've never said that to him, and I never tried to use my autism as an excuse for anything. I used to think that we were so similar, but then I realized that he only did things that I liked if he also liked them. I had to give his interests a try, but he always had something to say if I casually brought up a pop star that I liked. I couldn’t disagree with him, but he could disagree with me. And if I brought it up, he would remind me that I wasn’t the only autistic person in the relationship. He was basically the uncool guy from Lisa Frankenstein who gets called out by Lisa before losing a precious body part (if you’ve seen the movie, you know what I mean).

One of the biggest eye openers for me was back when I reread my texts from Ben earlier this year. After he had ditched me after my show, Ben had compared himself leaving my show because it didn't go his way to that one time I had him turn off one of his favorite movies because it reminded me of a traumatizing experience I went through. The fact that he compared something so minor to something so traumatizing made me realized that I had dodged a bazooka. Honestly, I wanted to break up with him right then and there when he said that, but I was too nice, and I thought we could fix everything like we had before. I don't think he realized how hurtful his comparison was because he kept trying to make his point and he had to be right. Even if he were to read this, he’d be more likely to slam me for “ruining his reputation” than apologize.

A year and a half had to pass in order for me to learn that I didn't have to be friends with someone who refuses to apologize for hurting me. I've apologized for any pain I had caused him, and no one made me do it. I've always been known as the nice one who was willing to do anything for everyone, but as I heard more from Ben and saw more of him this year, I didn't feel the same way I had felt when we first started as friends. He never once apologized, and he expected me to just move on like nothing happened. It didn't truly feel over until I hit those block buttons. It can take a great deal of time to fully move on from a breakup. Even if you've supposedly ended things on good terms, there will be a great deal of healing to endure. Take your time.