I nearly married a sociopath, and to this day, I’m left wondering what his true intentions were.
At first, he appeared to be my ideal partner: charming, humorous, and generous. We shared many interests and quickly fell into a whirlwind romance that I hadn’t anticipated, given my usual caution in relationships. It felt as if we were destined for each other.
Before long, we were engaged. While everything seemed fine on the surface, our arguments revealed a troubling pattern. Every minor disagreement would trigger his explosive reactions. He never accepted responsibility for his actions and often turned the blame on me, making me feel guilty for expressing my feelings. I initially thought he was just overly sensitive, but I began to worry that our issues were never being resolved.
His unreliability became apparent as he frequently arrived late to our dates without any communication. When I asked him to inform me if he was running behind, he would lash out, claiming I was being unreasonable and that he was working hard to provide for us, even though we weren’t married yet. He barely contributed to wedding planning, despite my father covering the costs, and when I sought his input, he would accuse me of dismissing his nonexistent ideas. He even admitted that he didn’t care about the wedding itself; he just wanted to tie the knot.
Adding to the confusion, he spun a bizarre tale about a threat to his life from someone in the apartment complex he managed, claiming he had alerted the police about a drug and human trafficking operation. He took a week off work out of fear, yet the logic of his story fell apart upon closer examination. At the time, though, I was concerned not only for his safety but also about our future together, especially as he mentioned quitting his job. When I tried to address my worries, he often feigned illness as an excuse to avoid the conversation. On one occasion, he claimed he crashed his car because he was anxious I would break up with him, yet I never saw any signs of damage.
As the wedding drew near, I began to notice inconsistencies in his stories. He told my mom he had ordered invitations, but later admitted he hadn’t. It became clear that he was stalling the wedding. He lived with his parents and was supposedly working on converting their apartment for us, but the project was forever delayed with ridiculous excuses that were never his fault: the architect was slow, permits were mishandled, and the house required siding. I even assisted him in renovations, but the apartment never materialized. When I proposed renting nearby until it was ready, he dismissed it as a waste of money. Eventually, I suggested we buy a small trailer to place on the property while we waited, which I mostly funded despite his higher income. He insisted on remodeling it, even though it was only meant to be a temporary solution.
As the wedding date loomed, he became increasingly erratic. He accused me of being perpetually unhappy, even though my stress stemmed from both work and wedding planning—tasks I was managing alone. He expressed feelings of self-doubt, saying things like, “I feel like I’m a burden to you” and “I don’t know why you’re with me.” Then, three weeks before the wedding, he broke down, claiming he wanted children while I did not—a complete reversal of our initial agreement to take things as they came.
In hindsight, I realize he was trying to manipulate me into ending the relationship, projecting his insecurities onto me. He issued an ultimatum: I had to decide whether we would continue as a couple. I pleaded and cried, but he remained detached. When I invited him over for a serious discussion, he brought along a mutual friend as a mediator. I laid out my concerns about his unreliability, emotional instability, and dishonesty, but he offered no reassurance or commitment to address the issues. It became painfully clear that if I went through with the wedding, this would be my life—a cycle of avoidance and neglect.
He stood up and left without a word.
Later, a family member met with him to retrieve my belongings. He inquired about how I was doing, and when he learned I was upset, he began emailing me. I had changed my phone number, and my relative wouldn’t share it with him. He questioned how our relationship had ended, and when I recounted my grievances, he responded with excuses and blame. I ceased communication with him. I learned later that he attempted to contact me through my best friend, but she refused to assist him after I shared my experience. He even sought out my friends on social media, including one of my exes, which I found unsettling. I warned my ex, who found it odd and agreed to be cautious.
Over a month has passed since I last heard from this troubled individual, but I’ve received updates about him. He has become increasingly absent from a church he claimed to be actively involved in, often leaving early without explanation. A mutual acquaintance informed me he attempted to pursue another woman shortly after our breakup, but she rejected him. Additionally, I learned he had previously pressured a much younger woman into a relationship that ended for similar reasons.
To this day, I remain unsure of his motives. I’m neither wealthy nor exceptionally beautiful; perhaps he sought a compliant partner to replicate the domestic life his mother led, completely devoted to family duties without her own independence. These are merely theories, and I can’t say for certain.
As a result of our relationship, I lost my job after he persuaded me to quit, claiming I wouldn’t need to work once we were married. I lost the life I envisioned for myself and my faith in others. Most devastating of all, I fell for a facade—a man who never truly existed. I mourn the loss of that illusion, and I may never understand why it all happened.
If you find yourself in a similar situation, I encourage you to explore resources like Psychopaths and Love or Out of the Fog for support and insight into these complex relationships. Additionally, the Psychopathy Checklist is an excellent resource to understand the traits associated with sociopathy and narcissism.