What unmonitored prescription drugs do to relationship

Mine was changing before my eyes, but I didn’t know why—and I didn’t realize it.

Only in hindsight do I understand: they put him on a serotonin-stacked cocktail.
No monitoring. No warning.

His empathy changed first.

I used to tease, “Where did your empathy go?”
He’d half-laugh and correct himself.
I know now—he was mirroring me.

He sent me articles, saying, “This must be what’s wrong with me.”
I didn’t listen.
I built him up every time.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He said he felt worthless.
Like he was in the way.
Like he knew I didn’t want him there.

I thought I must be making him feel that way.

Then came the accusations—
that I was cheating,
that I was mad at him (twenty-five times a day),
offers to leave, erratic behavior I couldn’t explain.

I didn’t know.
So I made sure he took his “happy pill.”

If he forgot a dose, he accused me of poisoning him.

He asked me:
Why are my dreams so strange?
Why do I get nosebleeds?
Why am I gaining weight?
Why am I sore all the time?
Why am I so exhausted?
Why does my head feel like this when I miss a dose?

And I didn’t listen.

He told me I didn’t listen.
I thought I did—but I didn’t absorb.
The symptoms were never bundled together.
I couldn’t see the pattern.

He told his doctor about rising blood pressure.
Excessive sweating.
Exhaustion.

The answer was more medication.
Another layer on the cocktail.

A cocktail that went unmonitored for a year—
until I figured it out after I called off the wedding.

The doctor added a “tiny pill” because the venlafaxine “needed help”—
said he was just stressed.

It happened during a virtual visit,
in my living room.

Emotional blunting came after the cocktail.

Long conversations—gone.
Teasing—gone.
Texts with music—gone.
Morning chores—gone.
Phone calls—gone.

His nerves were on fire around me.
Clearly, I was the problem.

He didn’t want to do anything with me—
but he presented fine to everyone else.

And in the end, they said:

“We just grew apart.”
“Move on.”