Mental Spiraling and Their Silence Hurting More Than Words

Mental Health + Context
I went almost two full weeks without my anti-depressant medication because of a backorder/supply issue. Around day 5 or 6 I started to really feel the shift. This medication, especially at the higher dosage I’m on, causes withdrawal effects if stopped suddenly. I knew that. Cris knew that. I just didn’t know what it would actually feel like. In the three years I’ve been on it, I’d never gone this long without. Maybe a day or two at most. So this was uncharted territory.


The first four or five days weren’t so bad. But then I started to feel overwhelmed by things I’d normally handle fine. Small stressors felt huge. Emotions felt disproportionate. I could recognize it was happening, but stopping it or soothing myself was a big struggle.


Around day 10 or 11, I was cutting and milling rough lumber for the wood countertops on the boat using heavy-duty woodworking machinery. I don’t drink or use cannabis when using dangerous machines like that. Sketchy and they will eat limbs, never mind a finger. So this day, I was very sober.

It was sometime late August, maybe the first week of September. I can’t place the exact date because my text history only goes back to the end of November. That’s when I got a “new” phone after the old one got water-damaged when I fell in the water leaving Bruce’s boat.

The Trigger: A Spiral and a Text
On the day I was milling wood, I got stuck in a negative inner-thought loop. I couldn’t shake it or think rationally. The idea that Cris thinks I was a narcissist was spiralling. For every rational thought I had telling myself that she doesn’t think that about me, I’d find two reasons she does. I couldn’t silence it. It consumed me. Crying while using those machines is probably as dangerous as alcohol and I was a sobbing mess.

The only way I could think to break the spiral was to just ask her. So I texted something like, “I know this is out of nowhere, but do you think I’m a narcissist?” A simple yes or no would have quieted the noise. Instead, I got avoidance. Questions back at me like “Why do I have to answer that? Why does it matter?”

Mentally, I didn’t have the ability to explain my chaotic thought process and just needed yes/no reassurance.


I was already struggling. I told her that. I was crying most of that day, feeling like I was unraveling. It wasn’t her fault. I wasn’t blaming her. I just needed something small to help me. I wanted connection, but it felt like I was met with a wall.

As more messages went unanswered, my mind filled in the blanks. It started to feel like her silence was an answer and she thought I’m a narcissist….but didn’t want to say it. That thought broke me. How could I try so hard to be a good partner, to work on myself, and still be seen as a monster?
How could I care so much about how she feels, yet still be a narcissist in her eyes? Why is she with me if I’m a narcissist? 


I already spoke with a therapist in the spring 2024 about this, after she’d written that letter outlining her reasons I’m a narcissist. The therapist reassured me: the fact I was openly examining my failures as a partner and wanting to change was the opposite of narcissism. But because Cris never brought closure or apologized for that accusation, the doubt lingered and often entered my mind.


Eventually, later that afternoon, she told me on the phone, “No, I don’t think you are.” But it came out hesitant, like she didn’t really believe what she was saying. By then, the damage was already done. Avoiding a clear yes or no all day had planted the seed that she really did think I was one….and nothing could shake it.


I know I wasn’t a victim of her. My struggle was my own. Still, I can’t ignore that in that moment, she could see me suffering and chose not to step in when it would have taken zero effort, mentally and emotionally. It felt like deliberate disregard for my well-being and it hurt way more than the negative spiral itself. It was a cruel and unnecessary response to a simple question asked by someone clearly in distress.

The idea that this was deliberate grew after I asked her to apologize. Her response:
“You don’t get to demand apologies”. I can still hear it clearly burned into my mind with her accent.
I made it clear on that day, that I was very hurt by this entire situation.
She didn’t apologize and seemed not very sorry that I was not mentally well.

Was she responsible for how I felt before asking her that question the first time? Not at all – this was my own mental spiral. Could she see there was a problem? Absolutely. Did she understand that she could help and that all it took was a “yes/no” response? For sure she did….but she chose not to.

The Bigger Pattern
That moment wasn’t isolated but it reinforced something I’d already started to feel: That it wasn’t emotionally safe to share with her everything that was happening inside my head. At least not until she listens to me about the hurtful things she is doing. But she was too focused on MY wrongdoings to admit or work on hers.
Our conversations about our relationship problems only revolved around things I was doing.

When I tried to express hurt or confusion any other time, I often felt dismissed or blocked out/shut down. Like the time she told me, “People in Colombia don’t have mental health problems. They don’t have the time. They have bigger problems.”

That line repeated in my head for months. It made me wonder if she just didn’t have space for my emotional world. I found myself regularly defending her lack of understanding. “It’s cultural. She hasn’t had a boyfriend or close friend like this before. Cris is dealing with her own struggles etc.”



I started to see that her empathy was limited. Her compassion and empathy felt like it was conditional, based on convenience or difficulty.
It felt conditional because when I asked for some form of empathy or compassion in a way that helps me, it was often met with hesitation and emotional withdrawal.

Changing Authenticity and Genuine Communication
It changed how I showed up in the relationship. I really started to hold things back. All the traits of a narcissist that I read about, after she first called me that, were always in the front of my mind. I was afraid I’d be seen as “love bombing” or being too intense. I was scared to say how I felt and then she thinks I’m trying to “be a victim”. I was petrified that my obsession with trying to clean up my life and simplify things, so I could service my relationship and have Cris live with me in Hamilton, was perceived as a form of narcissistic control.

I eventually stopped expressing hopes and ideas for future plans together, like talking about getting married or bringing her mother to live closer to us or how this garage/apartment project can change our future and retirement together.

When I reached my darkest and felt so hopeless that I didn’t want to live anymore, I was scared to death that if I told her, she would think I’m trying to emotionally manipulate her. I would lay beside her at night, worrying myself sick about our relationship and everything else that felt so overwhelming to me (real or perceived). I’d fall asleep those nights often wishing I never woke up…but instead of feeling like I can talk to her about it, I was worried she would attach my emotions to this narcissistic narrative she was creating.

I was even worried to tell her about the matching motorcycles I was working on for an engagement gift. I asked her to come “help me” work on them many times, so I could tell her while we were working on them, in a way that she knew they were from my heart. I just wanted her to have everything in life she desires. Not just material things but I always heard her say how much she missed having a motorbike.

Most importantly, I was worried to say how the thing I wanted most in life (not what I wanted now) was to simply wake up beside her every day and ask “what do you need to make today easier for you? What can I do to make tomorrow and the future better for you/us”?

All I wanted was to live close. I knew half our problems would be solved by living together or at least closer. The other half of our problems, like conflict resolution, would be much easier to work on. I knew and still know that physical proximity and the ability to see each other almost every day was the key for our relationship to reach it’s unlimited potential in all the ways we dreamed of, from deepening our bond, figuring out how to approach conflict resolution and ultimately having a little cafe/bed and breakfast/hotel in Tulum. That was Cris’s dream but I fell in love with it after I fell in love with her.


Even in writing this journal, I catch myself censoring. I’m afraid to sound like I’m deflecting from my own faults by pointing to hers. But bottling it up left me carrying all the blame alone. Therapy helped me see that wasn’t true and the blame needed to be shared. That silence and blame are as hurtful as any of the mean words I said/texted during my meltdown. Thankfully, therapy has shown me its equally her fault and helped me express myself in this journal project.

The Breakup and Shutout
On the Saturday morning I broke up with her, I wasn’t asking for much effort. Just a conversation about where we stood, what was working, and what needed work. These were supposed to be regular conversations but we didn’t make time the last few months to write in our book together.


The day before, when I went to her place after work, she was unexpectedly busy with work after hours (correcting a mistake she made) and preparing for French, so I respected that. I asked if we could talk the next day instead but she had plans with Diana. I had to leave because the ice around the boat was bad and needed to move the ice melting fan/bubbler under the boat in the water.


When I asked again the next morning, I got fortune-telling accusations of how I will act in the future. “You’re going to be mad for coming, so I don’t want you to come.” When I asked why she thought that, it shifted to “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Then finally, “I don’t want to talk to you at all.”.

She didn’t. Cris wouldn’t answer. No replies. No reason expressed. I was in the dark.

She didn’t know how dark my thoughts were going to bed the night before. She didn’t know I wanted to give up on life that Saturday morning before I talked to her on the phone

Later that Saturday, when she wouldn’t answer or reply, the way I reacted via text messages was very wrong. Extremely wrong and hurtful. I’ve been trying to take responsibility and make changes in my life to prevent anything like that from happening again, mainly quitting drinking alcohol.

But what also stands out is how familiar the pattern was. This wasn’t the first time she shut me out completely. Sometimes it was for days completely withdrawing. We wrote about this in our book.



I don’t even know how Cris was feeling that day. I don’t know if she was overwhelmed that day. Her voice sounded like she was drinking with Diana, so maybe they were having emotional conversations and Cris was projecting her frustrations at me. I just don’t know, because she wouldn’t talk to me.


That morning wasn’t an isolated misstep regarding the fortune-telling accusations about things I will do in the future. There had been other times in about a 2-3 month period, not to mention our entire relationship: her dance event in November, the basketball game, the Christmas trip, and finally that last morning in January. Each time I tried to brush it off, to say it was fine, to pretend I wasn’t hurt. But the pattern added up. She accused me of being an asshole in the future because of something that hasn’t happened yet….because it’s in the future….and it hurt being deliberately excluded from her life.


Eventually, I broke. I’ve since learned that around this same period I was also experiencing ADHD burnout and anxiety attacks…..things I didn’t have language for at the time. But even with that context, my reaction was still my responsibility.

My Responsibility + Regret
I know I’m responsible for my actions. The way I reacted (lashing out, saying things to hurt her) was destructive and cruel. I regret it deeply that I was emotionally abusive. I regret the way I broke up with her.

I wasn’t happy and couldn’t regulate my emotions.

It’s partially my fault for being bad at expressing my extreme emotions (I’m learning and doing much better now, thankfully), but it does not take an emotional genius or active couples therapy to be mindful of someone’s mental fragility when they keep saying “I am randomly breaking down in tears all the time” and “I don’t know what is wrong but there is something wrong”.


I need to be honest with myself and stop accepting all the blame: two things can be true. I was wrong for how I reacted. And she was also emotionally abusive — in how she withdrew, in how she avoided accountability, how she downplayed and minimized my emotional reality/mental health. She treated me as someone whose emotional needs were an inconvenience.


The Wall That Changed Both Our Futures
I remember the morning and early afternoon of January 25th vividly. In the months leading up to that, I often felt like I didn’t want to live anymore. That morning was one of those days. But the later the day went, the blurrier it gets. I do remember having extremely emotional thoughts about how I could end my life. I had immediate access to all the tools to do it. I was looking right at them. She didn’t know any of this.

After she shut me out again, I asked myself: “How can someone say they love me and deliberately do something they know will hurt me?” We wrote in our book about this. We wrote down ways to avoid abandoning each other during emotional conversations.

I couldn’t find a good answer. And Cris wouldn’t answer my calls. That’s when sorrow turned into frustration, and eventually, anger. That’s when I snapped. I said things with the intention of hurting her. I picked apart everything I loved about her, piece by piece, just to try and make her feel what I was feeling.
…and I didn’t want to live anymore.

The way I treated her that day was cruel. It wasn’t me at my core. And it’s something I will always regret.


Looking Forward
If Cris ever reads this, I don’t expect forgiveness. She is too stubborn. I haven’t asked for forgiveness in any of my messages. What I do hope for is understanding. For her to understand the context that surrounded my actions.
 For her to understand her contributions to our downfall. For her to recognize the potential of our relationship was robbed and stolen from both of us….by both of us…not just me, as she often expressed.

She couldn’t have known the full extent of what was going on inside me. Out of fear, I only ever showed her the tip of the iceberg. But the dynamic we built — her withdrawing and shutting me out at the first sign of conflict, then me overreacting — left us both hurt.


I hope one day she can see how her patterns (shutting down, avoiding hard conversations, withholding empathy, refusing to provide reassurance even in small ways) left me hurt, just the same as my overreactions hurt her.


What I’ve learned is this: love without emotional safety cannot last. Emotional abuse doesn’t only come through harsh words during angry fights; it can come through silence too. For me, silence hurts more. I’m left fighting with my own mind and sometimes that’s my worst enemy. And even when I have good intentions to connect deeper, when I poorly express those desires, I can push the closeness I’m craving even further away.

Final Thought
I’m not writing this to assign all the blame to Cris. I’m trying to reflect, to take responsibility, and to stop bottling up thoughts and emotions I kept from her. Cris was part of and influenced these events and emotions.

I’m try to be honest about how things unraveled, inside me as well as our relationship because of things both of us did.

 It’s also been eye opening revisiting things from the lens of having undiagnosed ADHD. I’m not sure how different things would have been if I was diagnose earlier, by have coping strategies and advocating more for the things I instinctively knew helped me. At least these discoveries have allowed me to give myself some grace and not be so hard on myself anymore. My self-criticism is certainly partially to blame for my mental downfall.

I needed to write this. And I needed to be honest — not just about my faults and mistakes, but about hers too. Being honest about her faults and actions has also helped guide me in my search for lifelong partnership. It’s already helped protect me from getting too involved with people I have dated, so it’s a process worth going through…even though each time I revisit these moment, I feel like I’m twisting the knife she left in my heart by saying the words “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”