On the Streets is a Zikoko weekly series about the chaos of modern dating: from situationships and endless talking stages, to heartbreak and everything it means to be single in today’s world.
Freshly single, Peter* (26) is learning what it means to live without being responsible for a partner’s actions. What started as a sweet connection soon became a relationship built on fear and constant crisis management. He opens up about his dating history and the moment he realised he couldn’t be someone’s entire world.
What’s your current relationship status, and how do you feel about it?
I’m single for the first time in four years, and I’m still trying to adapt. Sometimes I miss my ex, but being alone feels necessary right now.
Right. Let’s walk through your relationship history. How did you get here?
Before I met Princess*, I’d only ever been with two people.
The first was in secondary school, and I wouldn’t even call it a real relationship. I attended a religious secondary school where I met Doyin*. Our relationship was very innocent; we only held hands. We spent most of our time talking, and I realised we had very similar personalities. She’s still the person I’ve felt most aligned with in my life. We helped each other academically and spiritually.
But after we left boarding school, life pulled us in different directions. We went to different universities and eventually lost contact in 2016. The last I heard, she now lives in the UK. Even now, years later, I still wonder if we were meant to stay together.
At the time, it didn’t hit me too hard because, less than a year after we lost contact, I met Mary* in April 2017.
I was in my second year, and we were both active in our campus fellowship. I admired her from a distance, but I felt too shy to approach her. I told one of our student pastors that I had a crush on her, and he introduced us. We started dating not long after.
What was that relationship with Mary like?
She was a good person, but we didn’t connect in the way I wanted. I enjoy disagreements and intellectually stimulating conversations, but with her, those moments rarely happened.
About a year into the relationship, something happened in my family that shook the foundation of my faith. I started questioning what I believed and the practices within our religious circle.
I wanted to be sure that what I preached actually made sense, so I began asking questions.
Whenever I raised doubts about something religious, she’d get defensive. We started arguing about doctrine, and it quickly turned into a pattern. She’d dismiss me by saying we could never understand God, and that I should stop asking questions.
Our first major fight happened after I told her I felt she was gullible. She took it as an insult and insisted I was calling her dull.
Over time, I stopped going to church and attending fellowship. Given my position in the church, it was a huge change. Mary responded by giving me an ultimatum to return to church or end the relationship. I eventually admitted I no longer held religious convictions, so she broke up with me in 2019.
That must’ve hurt. How did you cope afterwards?
It was a tough period. Religion was important to me, so losing my faith and losing my relationship at the same time felt overwhelming. I wanted to be alone.
I also felt isolated. Some friends pulled away because they felt our values no longer aligned. I understood their reasons, but it still hurt. It took almost another year to recover, and I stayed withdrawn for a long time.
It wasn’t until after my NYSC in 2021 that I met Princess.
I see. How did that happen?
I was making an effort to socialise more, so I joined swimming lessons. Princess caught my attention from the very first class because she was really pretty. A group of us swam together, so at first, we only exchanged greetings. That changed one day when her group wasn’t around, and she ended up pairing with mine.
I noticed immediately that she was eccentric and open like me. During our first real conversation, she told me about her family trauma, and I shared my story too.
She spoke about loneliness, and I could relate. We decided to become friends, even though I already had a crush on her. Within weeks, I confessed my feelings. She said she felt the same, but admitted she was scared because people had abandoned her in the past.
I promised her I wasn’t like that. I told her I was also looking for my person, and that’s how we started dating.
How did the relationship go?
At first, everything was great. She was intelligent, open-minded, and easy to talk to. We could have really stimulating conversations, which was a big part of why I loved her.
We also stayed in contact. She’d call three or four times a day and still text later on. I liked how close we were in those early days.
Over time, it stopped being cute. She wanted to talk and text constantly, and it started affecting my productivity. I don’t multitask well, and my work often requires focus. If I went two hours without replying, she’d blow up my phone with calls and messages.
Did you try setting boundaries?
I tried, but she barely respected them. One of our first major arguments was about living together. Around eight months into the relationship, I moved into my first apartment. She suggested moving in with me since we were dating.
I knew I couldn’t handle that, especially because I already felt suffocated. When I said it wasn’t a good idea, she took it to mean I didn’t love her.
I stood my ground, but I still spent a lot of energy on managing her reactions. I even got a male roommate and lied that my parents insisted, because I didn’t want her to move in. Even then, she exploded.
That was when I realised she always wanted her way, and when she didn’t get it, she reacted badly. When she got angry, she threw things, slammed doors, and said deeply hurtful things. She’d also have depressive episodes and expect me to drop everything to be with her. It was exhausting.
I can only imagine. Did you consider leaving?
I did, but it wasn’t an easy decision. Her issues weren’t totally her fault, so I feltprotective of her. She’s a child of divorce. Both parents remarried and had kids in their new marriages, and she felt like she didn’t belong anywhere.
She often said she had no one. I was the only person she had, so I carried that weight. But at some point, it became too much to handle.
I first tried to leave in 2023. She entered into another depressive phase, and even though I called and texted, I had a work event coming up and couldn’t go immediately. I also knew she wasn’t alone because a friend checked on her and kept me updated.
When I visited after my event, she told me that if she’d died, I wouldn’t have cared. I tried explaining that I needed space and that not seeing her for a few days didn’t mean I didn’t love her. She asked if I wanted to leave, and in that moment, angry and overwhelmed, I said yes.
Before I knew it, she started banging her head against the wall. When I tried to restrain her, she screamed like she wasn’t herself. I eventually calmed her down, got her into bed, and stayed the night.
After that incident, we never really addressed the issues. I stayed with her because I was scared of what would happen if I left.
That must’ve taken a toll on you.
I became more of a caretaker than a partner. She needed constant presence and reassurance, and it felt like my needs didn’t matter. When my boss bullied me at work, I expected her to support me the way I supported her, but our conversations always circled back to her pain and problems.
She also didn’t allow room for friendships outside our relationship. Even platonic friendships triggered intense jealousy.
In December 2024, I attended a reunion with old friends from secondary school. I didn’t tell her beforehand because I knew she’d react badly. I posted pictures on my story, and she sent me multiple voice notes calling me evil for not informing her.
When I didn’t respond, she went to my apartment and created a scene until my housemate called me. I rushed home in panic. She demanded explanations, accused me of hiding things, and fixated on a picture of me posing with some female friends, insisting it meant something else. I tried calming her until she eventually left.
That night, I hit my limit.
Oh.
I texted her and said it was best we ended the relationship and stayed friends. I explained that I cared about her, but she needed professional help, not a romantic relationship that had become her entire support system.
She accused me of leaving because I had someone else. Then she said whatever happened to her would be my fault because I put her in that position.
I didn’t take it seriously. I turned off my data and went to sleep. When she went silent for more than 24 hours, I thought it was over.
The next evening, her friend called urgently and sent screenshots of a farewell message Princess had sent. She said nobody loved her and that she had taken hypo. Thankfully, her friend acted quickly and rushed her to the hospital.
Goodness. How did you feel hearing that?
I felt sick with guilt. I went to the hospital immediately. She wasn’t in danger, but she needed treatment. I stayed with her, and my feelings shifted into pity. I knew her story, and I felt responsible.
After she recovered, we had a calm conversation where she admitted she needed therapy. I told her I’d support her, and we got back together. I paid for therapy because I hoped working through her issues would help us.
After two sessions in 2025, she said the therapist didn’t understand her and stopped going.
At that point, I became unhappy all over again. The relationship started to feel like an obligation. Even our sex life became performative to me. I was emotionally stuck because I was afraid that if I left, something terrible would happen, and I’d feel guilty forever.
It affected my productivity at work, and I was eventually laid off. In September, I gladly took a job offer in another city. When I told her I was relocating, she fell apart. I tried to reassure her that we could still talk and visit, but I knew deep down that it was the beginning of the end.
After I moved, she kept calling and messaging, and I became more distant. When she started talking about visiting, I realised I wanted no contact at all.
On 3 November 2025, I blocked her number and blocked her on social media. I contacted her friend and asked them to keep an eye on her. She tried reaching me with unknown numbers, and the few times I picked up to explain myself, she screamed, so I stopped answering.
Even though I know she’s alive, I still feel bad about how things ended. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to start therapy. I’m starting to accept that putting myself first doesn’t automatically make me a bad person. I still wish her the best.
I’m sorry. How have these experiences shaped your idea of love and relationships?
It’s taught me that you can’t be someone’s entire world. Love matters, but you still need other support systems. You can’t lean on one person totally and expect it not to collapse.
Finally, how are the streets treating you these days? Rate it on a scale of 1 to 10.
I’d give it a 7/10. I’m free and finally have space to breathe, even though I still feel like a bad person. Hopefully, when I start therapy, it’ll be a 10.
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