I want to open up about something that’s been weighing on me for months. I am a survivor of emotional and psychological abuse. It’s happened more than once in my life, and it happened again this past year.
On June 8, 2024, Emery (E for short) moved into the house I shared with my roommate. At the time, I was going through a rough patch with my roommate and confided in E. He presented himself as a "medium," "healer," and "mediator," and quickly began making spiritual claims—like sensing “evil energy” from my roommate. That was the first red flag.
Over the next few months, E trauma bonded with me. He shared his own vulnerabilities and sympathized with mine, which I took as a sign of genuine connection. At first, I thought he was gentle, sweet, and intuitive. But by month four, he began love-bombing me—telling me "I love you," "I care about you," and "you're my people." When I asked how he could know that so soon, he told an elaborate story about following a “sweet energy” (me) that was clouded by “evil energy” (my roommate). It felt manipulative, not spiritual.
When my roommate eventually overstepped a boundary, I encouraged E to talk things out. Instead, he gave them the silent treatment, isolating them in their room. When my roommate expressed discomfort, E sent a volatile message calling them “evil,” “manipulative,” and “self-sabotaging.” My roommate calmly asserted a boundary, and E replied, “I’m safe. I’m mean, but not nice. People are just intimidated by me.”
Even though I was angry at my roommate at the time, I started to realize E was using my frustration to control the narrative. He later told me he had moved in “because of me” and was there to “heal the house.”
By month five, E started giving me gifts—things I never asked for, like a bike and a piano. I felt uncomfortable but accepted them out of politeness. Around this time, his spiritual claims escalated: he accused my roommate of “black magic,” said they were responsible for making both of us sick, and claimed that in a past life, my roommate was a ringleader who had followed him.
I tried holding him accountable when he broke my roommate’s chair. He gave me a snarky response, then blamed his reaction on mental health. He also placed food in my cabinets without asking, and when I voiced discomfort, he dismissed it and ghosted me.
Later, we argued about the landlord. E positioned himself as the “mediator” again, saying the landlord was just “too stressed”—deflecting responsibility. When we reconciled, he said things like “I just want to be a savior” and that he’d jump in front of a bus to protect people because he cares so much.
When I shared my accomplishments with him, he deflected and made it about himself. I eventually got a new job—but didn’t tell him, because I no longer felt emotionally safe.
We had an argument about bills. Soon after, I realized he had removed me from Discord without saying anything. When I checked in, he told me everything was great—he had just gained followers.
Then came the posts: one victim-blaming people for being taken advantage of, saying they “need to be intimidating,” and another vaguely putting me down while claiming superiority. All passive-aggressive. All online.
There was one moment—just one—where he seemed to have a flicker of awareness. He questioned whether he might be the problem. Whether he had narcissistic tendencies, or a hero complex. But it was half-assed. He never truly self-reflected. It felt like a performance, not accountability.
Meanwhile, he began subtly mimicking me in disturbing ways. He claimed people were copying him, but in reality, he exhibited narcissistic mimicry: echoing my Instagram bio (“aspiring musician”), gatekeeping guitar by saying he only wanted musician friends who played power chords, mirroring my sexy content, my anklets, even my overall energy. He parroted things that made me feel empowered—but twisted them to serve his image.
At one point, I saw a post from him expressing violent urges — talking about how people littering makes him want to strangle them, and how he "wants to hurt someone but doesn't want to commit a crime." That was a turning point. I wasn’t just uncomfortable — I was scared. I started locking my door at night, slept with a hammer and knife by my bed, and blocked the door just in case. Not because I feared I couldn’t protect myself, but because I didn’t feel safe in my own home. That’s how deep psychological abuse can cut — it corrodes your sense of safety and reality.
On April 2, 2025, I finally voiced my discomfort. He gaslit me, told me I was projecting, and called me a liar. When I said, “This is abuse,” he mockingly agreed. A few days later, he sided with our landlord and called me a fraud. On April 24, he tried to steal a box from me.
And now? He’s online curating a persona—jokes, spiritual claims, vague subtweets—all while rewriting the past eight months to suit his narrative.
I’m speaking up because silence protects abusers. E can keep curating his aesthetic, posting his jokes, and hiding behind spirituality—but those of us who were closest to him know the truth. This wasn’t healing. This wasn’t leadership. This was manipulation masked as care, cruelty masked as clarity. If you’ve been hurt by him too, you’re not alone. You’re not crazy. You’re not too sensitive. You saw it because it was real. I see you. I believe you. And I’m done protecting someone who used my kindness as a mirror for his ego. His name is Prizym Emeriel Solstice. And this is what he did.
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