I remember the first time I thought I was in love. I remember the pain that came with it, the massive amounts of self consciousness that he hammered into me. I remember the pushing, the rough sex, the various objects that were thrown at me. I remember being told I was useless, that no one except him could ever, or would ever love me. I remember the large range of girls he cheated on me with. I remember being too weak to break things off, knowing full well that he wouldn't miss me. That I would be left to deal with the grief alone. I remember every time I wanted to walk away being roped in by some sweet and grand gesture and being fooled into believing that he really cared about me.
As one could imagine, I was broken when he was finally done with me. I had never had much of a self esteem, and he took the rest with him. I was a disaster. The pain made me sick to my stomach. He was cruel. He made sure I knew how quickly he had moved on. And I was left alone to deal with the consequences of staying with him for so long.
Every other guy I dated since then saw through me. I don't blame them for that. I was shattered and unbearably translucent. I hated myself and after they were either done abusing that low self worth, or once they got tired of how empty I was, they didn't stick around. The pain from the first one bled into all the others. It repeatedly beat into me a sense of never being good enough for anyone to love. I was miserable and alone, and I gave myself away to anyone who would be with me, even if only for 15 minutes. I wanted to feel wanted and loved, and unfortunately it came in short validations that left me feeling like a slut.
I felt...I felt worthless. I looked in the mirror and I hated what I saw, what I had done. I turned to substances and late nights and vices. Anything that made me forget who I was.
I can't blame all of this on him. It would be ridiculous. Really there is no one to blame. I was weak and he took advantage, but at any time I could have stepped up and tried to love myself. The terrible tumble of events that happened afterward I completely take on myself. I am not proud of what I did or who I was, but it has taught me what I'm not.
The point of all this, was that the hell I went through and the pain I associated with it was unbearable.
Then there was Frank.
Through our relationship he taught me slowly, and carefully, how to love myself. He was gentle, and he was kind. And I started excelling at school and I started looking at myself differently. I went from feeling like a monster, to feeling like a survivor. He looked at me with eyes that saw me and he loved me.
He did.
But then somewhere down the line, he gave up on me. Gave up on us. And those warm eyes turned cold, his breath turned to alcoholic residue, and his words became hard. It was subtle, and it was slight, but it was there.
And then one day, it was over. Just like that. As fast as it had started, it was over.
Two years ago, one year ago, 6 months ago, I thought I knew my whole life. I thought he was my team mate. My wedding partner.
And one day we woke up and it was over.
Just like that.
And this time, it's different. This warm numbness has settled over me. Instead of the stabbing pain of heart ache, I just feel loss. And it's consuming and nonexistent at the same time.
Growing up is funny. Learning to love yourself is strange. Finding self respect and worth when you thought you had lost all of it is genuinely humbling.
He gave up on me, but I didn't give up on myself.
It makes the pain...hard to feel. It's there. It harbors itself deep inside me, but instead of growing bigger each day it wears away, bit by bit.
I am someone worth loving. I am kind hearted and smart.
The love we had was real, at some point. First loves. I didn't feel it til I was 20.
I guess what I'm trying to say is regardless my shortcomings, my anger, the doubts I carry about myself,
I'm okay.
And I know this is the right step in my life. And I want it to be awhile before I even try to give my heart to someone else I want to grow, and experience life on my own. I don't have the energy to even think about something serious.
And I've never been that way before. I've always wanted someone to be with me all the time. And I'm confident enough now to know that I don't want that.
So. Turns out he wasn't the one. But he did do a lot for me. And I know at some point, he loved me. It makes these feelings more bearable. And they have ebbed away...it's almost been two months. But it's not just the boy I've mourned over, it's the potential of the life we could have had together. And it is a loss. Because it's something I can't get back, and wouldn't want to work for.
And that's very strange to me.
Look at that. I think I'm growing up.
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