To my final joke

I'm writing this after a very eventful night in my life.

Finally, I can say that I'm free—from the shackles of my past relationship. The weaponized mistakes, the emotional blackmail, the gaslighting, the manipulation… it has all ended.

I feel vindicated.

The Final Joke

It was just a simple tote bag that gave the lies away. Ironically, it happened during a comedy night at the café. I was busy, as usual, when I noticed a tote bag dangling at the corner of a table. She owns that bag. I know it like the back of my hand.

I asked myself—where did this end up? Why does my friend have this? That bag was at the house.

Then it hit me. Hard. Like a brick to the face.

Suddenly, everything made sense. All the signs, clues, doubts I had buried—all surged back. It was a moment of clarity, like a blade to the gut. This time, it felt right. This time, the gaslighting ended. No amount of "sorry" or excuse could cover this.

I sent her a simple message:

“Is this your tote bag? Next time, don’t be so obvious. Making a fool out of me. Kapal ng mukha niyo.”

She replied without hesitation:

“Hineram niya 'yan.”
She said it so casually.

I responded,

“Obviously, you two have something going on. Please lang, not in front of me. Have some respect. Are you even that close? That was from the house.”

She replied:

“Gago.”

Then my so-called “friend” abruptly left the café. Which was really suspicious. As if he knew.

“Di ka na nahiya, syet!”
I told her to just leave.

She looked rattled. Left in a hurry, even forgetting to pay her bill.

At this point, I didn’t know what to feel.

The truth should hurt. It should be fucking painful—to know that someone you loved, and a friend you trusted, both wore masks in front of you.

But then I started doubting myself.

What if I was wrong?
What if it was all in my head?
Just another trick of my anxiety?

I needed answers.
Everything was left hanging.
Uncertainty. Self-doubt.
I had been gaslit and manipulated for so long I didn’t even know what was real anymore.

I ran outside. I followed her. I saw her across the street waiting for a cab. I crossed over and grabbed her hand.

“Bakit mo 'to ginagawa? Anong klaseng trip 'to?”

She didn’t respond right away—obviously shocked. She was just waiting for her cab. I had appeared out of nowhere. Words escaped her.

Then she said,

“Wala na tayo.”

Not the answer I was looking for, but the emotions were already high.

“Why would you do this!?”
I asked again.

She responded,

“We are in a public place, Guill! Mahiya ka naman!”

I let go of her arm.

“Wala naman akong ginagawang masama. Bakit ako mahihiya? Now tell me—kayo na ba? Ginagawa niyo akong gago?”

She shouted back:

“Matagal na tayong wala!”

“Show me the text. Show me the messages!”

I reached for her phone. We struggled. Her bag and my hand were tangled. We were in the middle of the road.

I pulled her toward the sidewalk. She sat down, shielding her phone. I told her to stand up.

Then she started crying, shouting:

“Help! Police!”

She became hysterical.

We eventually got to the sidewalk. I begged her—I don’t want a fight. I just want the truth.

The cab she had booked arrived.
But instead of going home, we ended up at the police station.

She said I hurt her.
I have no long nails.
She showed scratches—clearly self-inflicted during the scuffle.

I swear with full honesty:
I never punched, kicked, or assaulted her.

---

Weaponized Mistakes

She had this planned.

A stash of old photos from past fights. Kept in case she needed them. Her trump card.

I let her use it. I wanted this to be over.

I’m not a violent person. But she knows my triggers. I’ve been recovering from hyperthyroidism—mood swings, anxiety, short temper.

She would lock me in rooms to confront me. She thrived in conflict. I’d break down and lose control. It escalated. I hurt her. Not because I wanted to. I lost myself.

She always brought up old issues—past relationships, cheating, all long resolved.

I wanted to leave. But every time, she threatened to expose me.

“I’ll post the photos. I’ll destroy your reputation.”

I made mistakes. I apologized. I tried to be better.
But she kept pulling me back into that pit—reminding me over and over:

"You’re an abuser. A cheater. A liar."

But if I’m as awful as you say—
Why stay for six years?

You had the upper hand.
You got what you wanted—new phone, trips abroad, an engagement ring.

I had nothing left.
You had everything to gain.

---

Pool of Debt

I was wrecked—emotionally and financially.

I tried to save for our wedding. I encouraged you to find work, to help with our bills. But you drained our wedding savings to fund your 2024 trip.

You said you'd pay it back.

Then you kicked me out of the house—even though I was paying rent.

That was a year ago.

You always said we’re “not together” anymore. Sure—literally, that’s true. But we weren’t fully separated either. There were debts, assets, unresolved ties.

---

Tried to Be Civil

You still came to the café. We still saw each other almost daily. We shared the same circle of friends.

We tried to be civil. To fix the mess. To move on, somehow.

But when you slept with one of my friends?
That's it.

You crossed the line.

You betrayed me—again.

I warned you. I told you our relationship was like a strand of hair—fragile. Yet you kept gaslighting me, manipulating me.

This time, I just wanted an answer. I wanted to be free. Truly free.

---

The Answer

At the Women and Children’s Helpdesk, the policewoman asked her:

“Do you have a boyfriend now?”

She answered in the coldest tone imaginable:

“Yes.”

And she stared straight at me.
With a look that said she’d won.

But the truth is—

That yes was all I needed to hear.

It’s now on record.

And it’s over.

All the lies, all the pain, all the manipulation—undone by that one word.

She played all her cards.
Used every weapon.
But it doesn’t matter anymore.

That “yes” gave me closure.
It gave me freedom.

---

I Am Now Free

I see it now for what it is:
Reactive abuse—when a female narcissist pushes you until you snap, and then blames you for your behavior. Never owning up to the abuse that caused it.

But now—finally—

I am free.