Running Up That Hill
On boundaries, rules, and those Jonah Hill screenshots
Content warning: This story contains descriptions of emotional abuse.
I have this weird trigger. It’s one phrase, three words in a particular order, that sends my heart rate skyrocketing. The phrase is “of fucking course.” (Emphasis on the course, not the fucking.) It’s what my ex-boyfriend, J, used to say when I disappointed him. Maybe “disappointed” is the wrong word.
I disappointed J when I broke the rules he’d set for our relationship — which ran for about two years, from the end of high school into my sophomore year of college. Those rules included not wearing makeup, not wearing any “revealing” clothing, not hanging out alone with straight male or queer women friends, and not drinking, ever, among other things.
When he believed I’d broken the rules — wearing a tank top on a hot day, or adding a boy from my dorm on Facebook — he’d be furious. Obviously I didn’t love him. Obviously I didn’t think he was good enough for me. Of fucking course.
When those rules weren’t enough for him to feel secure, he wrote new ones. We had to talk on the phone every night for at least an hour. He wanted to know everything I’d done that day, everyone I’d seen. He brought me along to a session with his therapist, who made me hold J’s hands, look into his eyes, and…
