Truth Bombs is where I turn memory into meaning. Shanna Shock-A-Rama is a moniker inspired by my ex-girlfriend, Anna.

Before Anna, I was tender without caution. Generous, trusting, forgiving to a fault. Love came easily to me. I believed the best in people even when the evidence said otherwise.

Anna was my third serious relationship. We shared a love for theatre and Shakespeare. She once learned to sing Sonnet 18 to me: "Should I compare thee to a Summer's Day?" It felt loving at the time. Years later, in therapy under hypnosis, I realized she sang it every time I confronted her about affairs or manipulation. It was her way of calming me down. Shakespeare wrote every sonnet in Iambic Pentameter—a whimsical, deep poetic verse often times best kept between lovers.

For seven years in a relationship with her (through break-ups and all) I didn't know the language of narcissism. I didn't understand supply or entitlement. I didn't see how someone could construct a reality where they're perpetually innocent while harming others. I didn't see my own identity eroding, my world narrowing, my voice softening into silence.

Some things Anna said to me to manipulate me over the years:

• We hurt the ones we love the most.

• She is not even my roommate anymore, she lives in Texas now.

• I just want to have my cake and eat it, too.

• She did not mean anything to me.

• Too bad, life is unfair.

• You blow everything out of proportion.

• You are the love of my life.

• You are my soulmate.

• She does not want children, we are just having fun.

• Can't you just wait for me?

• I don't view them as affairs, I think I am just polyamorous.

After seven years of trying to be seen, a therapist said: "You are in an abusive relationship and you are not safe there." I fired her. Found another therapist. Two weeks later, the same truth surfaced. I was already in grief, in the denial stage. Then came the anger stage of my grief.

My anger had a face, a voice, a name. It was directed at the person who manipulated the most sacred human desire: to love and be loved. The more Anna clung, the more aggressive my anger grew. My body wouldn't let me go back no matter what my heart said. My need to protect myself finally outgrew my need to understand her.

Every phone call, email, text from Anna triggered a volcano of rage. I asked for separation, for silence. Her shame was too great. So, I took extreme measures to get away from her. She took extreme measures to maintain connection. I forced silence. She went to online stalking. For years I took screenshots, obsessed with "catching her." She still looks me up online, as recently as June and September 2025. I still take snapshots, but I've never posted them—this time I am though. Some part of me still hopes she'll respect my boundary for complete No Contact, something I've been committed to since 2009. She never valued my boundaries, so as one might imagine, it’s been a lived struggle my entire adult life.

It wasn’t all bad, I suppose. I learned what love from another human isn’t, and that was a valuable lesson later on in life. I knew before Anna that love is patient and kind, but after her it became so obvious to me that it's also accountable. It respects boundaries. It nurtures growth. It's honest, humble, and full of joy. My success later in life told me everything I needed to know about what I left behind.

If I found my way out, you can too.

Louise DeSalvo writes: "A healing narrative renders our experience concretely, authentically, explicitly, and with a richness of detail." This is not written to shame, expose, or punish. This is the truth, spoken plainly. This is for everyone who has loved someone who could not love in return and wouldn't let them go.