Clearly if you have clicked on this link, then you are expecting some intense love story or a dramatic survival of a disease that happened in my life. My story is quite different from either of those things. I decided to make this page because it helps me work things out when I write them down. Some of this might explain why I am the way that I am.
In 7th grade, my sister tried to commit suicide. My oldest sister was in the other room when she took a half of bottle of advil. When my older sister found out about this, we took her to the hospital and she got her stomach pumped. She had to live in the psych ward at the hospital for about a month, month and a half. I was 13.
Life moved on. I first started cutting when I was in 8th grade. I felt fat and unimportant. One of my friends was going through a hard time as well, so we connected and got better through being friends. Then I entered high school hell.
I live in a very conservative town. Conservative as in last year there were people standing in the main “square” I guess you could call it with huge posters of Obama with a Hitler mustache, with “impeach” at the bottom. Let’s just say I’m glad to be moving out next month.
The high school transition was hard, as it is for everyone. Then came the issues. I became involved with a guy who was a year older than me that I met through friends. I’ll call him “Peter” for confidentiality. He seemed normal, but after a year or so of knowing him, his flaws began to show. He has anger management issues, ADD and ADHD. Not thinking much of it, the summer after sophomore year, I stupidly started dating him after he had blown me off multiple times, offended my friends, and who made the decision to go out with a different girl before me, and used me as a back-up when that ended. It only took two months for me to realize how little he cared for me, and really he only wanted sex. Broke up, life moved on.
I wanted someone safer. Someone who was more of a gentleman, someone who would actually treat me the way I wanted to be treated. I found “Ryan”. This guy seemed very normal, down to earth, had good friends, was really smart, etc. Little things would happen that would raise red flags in my head, but I didn’t think much of them. Two weeks before he broke up with me, he started acting weird. The night before I called him asking what was going on. From that simple conversation, I knew what was going to happen. Once one person brings up breaking up, the break up is inevitable. Thinking there may be more hope, he came over the following night, acted normal, hung out with my friends. Then it happened. It was very confusing because I didn’t really know him that well, but of course it still hurt. I am the type of person who takes dating really seriously, because I put everything I have into the other person. I found out later that the reason he broke up with me was because when I told him “oh hey this is the longest I have been in a relationship!”, he thought I was saying “I love you.” I actually laughed my ass off when this happened. But after that break up I started going to therapy every week. I discovered that the little things that I blew off before were actually very significant things that I should’ve called him out for. He shut me up, he told me to be quiet when I went on a 45 minute drive with his mother to see him play at a tournament. I was being too loud at a sports tournament. I was not myself around him. Life moved on, I discovered I needed someone who let me be myself and who didn’t try to stifle who I am as a person.
Peter came back. Dated again. Lost our viriginities together. Thought he changed. In a nutshell, he told me that he used me for sex, he never loved me in the first place, (that was the first time I ever used the l word with anyone) he cheated on me, and when I was going through a period of depression, he told me to stop bullshitting him and cut out the stupid sob story.
I kinda got fucked up by that.
We broke up in the end of June 2011. That’s when I started drinking and smoking. I didn’t get completely over that break up until October.
And that’s when I began my interest in “James”. We dated for a little bit, I kept my distance because I wanted to take things slow. After a few months, he came to one of my orchestra concerts and when I was done, met me outside with a red rose and asked me to be his girlfriend. He came with me when I had to have surgery at 5 in the morning. He sat with my mom for four hours while I was in surgery. He bought me the best presents I could ask for for Christmas. I was convinced he was my other half. When we would go on dates, if there was ever a silence, it was a pleasant silence. Never awkward. We had the same sense of humor, we liked the same music, we went to concerts and downtown and the zoo and everywhere I wanted to go with a boyfriend. He visited me in the hospital when I had to get my appendix removed. But something else was going on that I was too trusting of a girlfriend to notice. At school, I would see him talking to a girl before he met me for lunch. I didn’t think anything of it because I trusted him. I trusted him.
March. We got into a fight. Big one. We only had about one or two in the time we were dating. He made an off-hand comment that he could survive without having sex with me because he could masterbate. Me, however, I “couldn’t last a week without him”. In front of my friend. Ignored. He was ignored for a day. He didn’t like that. Long story short, he dumped me later that night. He came to my house with a decision. I thought he was coming over to work things out. He said we had different communication styles. Clearly, if you wanted to communicated, you wouldn’t have come to my house with a decision already made.
Broken. I didn’t eat for weeks. The second it was over, I collapsed. I told my friend that I needed to go to the psych ward. I wanted to die. I wanted the pain to go away.
Three days later. I see him hugging a girl. Panic. Anger. Fear. Sadness. He had asked this girl to prom three days after he broke up with me. Started dating her a month and a half later. I went to prom anyway, thought I would be okay. Ended up going home immediately after because I was crying so much.
Life moved on. I didn’t talk to him for months. I couldn’t. It was hard enough for me to get up in the morning and try to put on a happy face for the dipshits I went to school with. Graduation happened. Summer. Freedom. Escape. No more pain.
Attempting being friends, he cheated on his last girlfriend. Like any other guy, he couldn’t stand just being friends. He wanted to hook up, not my thing. That was when I started being attached again. Not good. Started blowing me off, not talking to me. He has the nerve to tell me that I need to put more effort into our friendship. I told him that it was sad that he couldn’t even admit that I was good to him, and that the reason why he pushed me away was because he felt too much for me. It freaked him out, and like any other teenage boy, emotions aren’t really their thing, so he ran.
Now, I can’t really trust any guy. I still have guy friends, but nothing close to a relationship. Maybe that’s good. I’m afraid of getting hurt again. I’m looking forward to college, but I’m scared shitless. I’m afraid to be on my own for the first time, I’m afraid I’ll screw things up. But hopefully I won’t. If there’s any mercy in the world, I’ll be able to go through college as quickly as I can so I can move onto graduate school. I’ll meet a guy who treats me well, who I can trust and who is loyal. I’ll make it through with my schooling and be able to have my dream job either in Chicago or possibly Boulder. Everything will work out.
But that’s only my dream.