Enablers Hurt People Too.

I’m angry. And this time it’s not the tired, confusing anger that came with missing him. That one was messy—love tangled up with hurt. This is different. This is clean, hot, and furious.

I keep finding out new things about him. Little pieces of who he really is that he hid behind charm and “love.” Every new thing lands like a punch. It’s not just that he cheated or lied — it’s that he planned, lied, and said things to other people that should have been red flags. He said things to his coworkers, made comments that should have been noticed. He did things that, in retrospect, make my stomach drop. And the worst part? Other people heard it. They knew. They watched him flirt and joke and cross lines — and they didn’t tell me.

What hurts just as much is how many of his “friends” enabled him. I can see now who laughed at his comments, who shrugged, who didn’t speak up. Even online, people who claim to stand for survivors and call themselves allies chose silence — or worse, blocked me when I tried to speak up. There’s one woman in particular — loud about feminism and calling out abusers — who blocked me the moment I made a post about “cancelling rape culture.” It’s almost like she knew more than she let on, and decided protecting him mattered more than protecting truth. That hypocrisy feels like a kick in the teeth.

I was blinded by the version of him he presented. I wanted to believe in him. But believing doesn’t excuse the fact that people around him saw pieces of what he was and stayed quiet. I feel boxed in by it: betrayed by the man who pretended to love me, and abandoned by the people who let him pretend in front of them. I hate this. I hate that I have to live with the fallout. I hate that the town feels full of people who look the other way. I want to scream. I want to leave. I want to run away from this place where silence protects the wrong people.

And yes — part of me thinks he deserves the harshest consequences. He doesn’t deserve friends who enable him, or applause from people who pretend not to see. He doesn’t deserve the comforts he’s still sitting under. He deserves accountability. He deserves to be known for what he is, not for the mask he wore.

But anger has a use. It’s not just noise in my chest — it’s a signal. It tells me I won’t accept silence anymore. It tells me I’ll say the truth, even if it makes others uncomfortable. It tells me to protect myself and my boundaries, and to stop waiting for other people to do what they should have done in the first place.

So yes, I’m full of rage. But I’m also full of something else now: clarity. I can see who he was. I can see who let him be that way. And I can, finally, start cutting ties, telling my truth, and building a life where silence doesn’t get to win.