"I thought it was love. In fact, he was smothering me." Roman's story shows the dark side of toxic relationships
Their story began like a romantic comedy. Two young men, a foreign city, a summer pride festival. Vibrant music all around, crowds of dancing bodies, rainbow flags and hot air saturated with energy and anticipation. Roman (28) and Libor (29) met on the first night, in the queue for a drink. One look, a short conversation, and they both knew there was a spark between them. "It was unreal. I felt like I had finally found someone who understood me. Someone who's supportive. We were inseparable from the first moment," Roman recalls.
The festival became the backdrop for their rapid bonding. Walking through the city at dawn, hugging on the crowded dance floor, their first morning together. Returning home - each to a different Czech city - they were determined to continue their relationship. The love that was born in euphoria was to be stronger than the distance. And at first, it really was.
Every weekend they followed each other, alternating between apartments, planning trips and dreaming of a future together. They talked about eventually moving to the same city, sharing playlists and childhood dreams. But within the first few months, cracks began to appear.
When love turns to fear
"Libor became suspicious. He asked who I was texting, why someone was responding to my story, and why I had exchanged a few messages with a friend from college," says Roman. At first it was comments, eventually remorse. One night, Libor searched Roman's cell phone while he went to the bathroom. "He said he was doing it out of love. That he loved me and was afraid I'd cheat on him. But I began to feel that I was no longer a partner, but a suspect. And at the same time, I was ashamed of that feeling."
Libor often stressed how much he sacrificed for Roman. How much he loved him. And Roman, absorbed in the relationship, didn't want to be the one to question it. "I thought I might be overly sensitive. That maybe I was really doing something wrong to feel so insecure." But the more he tried to be open, accessible and "safe," the more he had to step back from his own autonomy.
Gradually, the dynamics of their relationship changed. Weekends together became difficult, filled with arguments, passive aggression and reconciliation, alternating with complete silence. Roman found himself guarding his words, not wanting to mention colleagues, muting notifications so that no "inappropriate" message would come. At that moment, he hadn't said he was in a toxic relationship. Rather, he thought they were going through a crisis.
The night of the breakup
Christmas Eve became the climax. Roman and Libor celebrated at Roman's sister's house. It was a peaceful evening - until Roman hugged his cousin, whom he hadn't seen in years. Libor watched from afar and exploded in the car that evening. Accusations of infidelity, tears, screaming, remorse. "When he got home, he broke the frame with our picture together. And for the first time, I really felt fear. Not about us. For myself."
Roman locked himself in the bathroom. He sat on the floor, a simple sentence echoing in his head: this isn't love. He knew he'd either leave now or dive deeper into a relationship that was destroying him.
He left that night. He didn't sleep, he didn't wait for morning. He just packed the essentials, called his friend and left. He left a short message for Liboro: I need space. Don't write to me.
The road back to myself
The days after leaving were chaotic. Relief alternated with guilt, sadness with panic. But Roman knew he had to hold on. He started going to therapy, gradually reestablishing contact with friends he had neglected because of the relationship. He went back to running, drawing, sometimes just sitting in a coffee shop, learning to be alone again.
"I felt like I was reacquiring myself. Feelings, boundaries, joys. And I also began to understand that a relationship that began with love could also be a place of abuse of trust - even without physical violence." Libor made several attempts at contact. He wrote long messages, called, begged to meet. But Roman knew that returning would mean repeating the cycle.
Today, a year later, Roman lives alone in his apartment. For the first time, he shares his experiences publicly. Not to point the finger at Libor. But to talk about what is often hidden behind the facade of an ideal relationship - especially in the queer community, where there is not enough space to talk about toxic relationships without shame.
"I can't say I regret the relationship. It taught me a lot. But I know I would recognize some things sooner today. And I would have left sooner. Love is not ownership. Love is not meant to suffocate you. Love is to hold you when you need to breathe."
Roman hopes that one day he will fall in love again. But he already knows that a healthy relationship isn't about how much time you spend together, how often you call each other, or how passionately you make love. It's about how you feel next to the other person. And that the peace she's experiencing now is something she'll never let herself take away.
