I am 15, and terrified of the idea of loving people, because people have generally proven at this point in my life to be cruel, and often my undoing. Still, when I really begin to heighten in terms of sexual want, and find someone who wants me to, and doesn't act like I'm disgusting for it, I find myself loving him. I also find myself falling for a girl-when I find they're dating each other and have lied to me, I am completely fucking heartbroken, for feeling like I am undesirable. I spend those two weeks post discovery so angry I can't think.
I am 16, and have been dating this boy for less than 6 months, but he knows me inside out as my best friend. At 17, I stop putting an expiration date on us and fall into love with him. When he takes my virginity it is one of the few times I can refer to it as making love, and I am happier in some ways then I have ever been. He acts as my partner and confidante and I can tell him anything.
I am 18, and my lover has left me out of inconvenience of distance. Two years have passed, and I have struggled with depression long and hard, and while this makes me disinclined to trust anyone who says they love me, I do not turn to suicide as a comfort, but sex, of which I spend most of my senior year chasing after, and disregarding my own safety at times.
I am 19, and have been with this curly haired masochist for almost 4 months. As my introduction to someone else who likes kink, who likes to fuck, where we started out at a high, we end at a low when I open the relationship up, as he refuses to touch me, tells me he loves me, but comes home every night and tells me about the girl at work he's trying to sleep with. I am angry and bitter, and sleep with someone I meet out trying to sleep with someone I've been okayed with. This instigates our breakup, which leads me to spending nights on the couch with someone with a girlfriend, not fucking, but falling asleep to Lord of the Rings.
Halfway through the year I realize I am in love with the headfucked former Marine, and find myself torn between my head-held-high- requirements for pride, his girlfriend, and my overwhelming desire to be held by him, for once, wanting sex out of it because it seems to just complicate things. Eventually he leaves, giving me his service issue knife. He comes back, but we are not the same.
I meet a broken Army boy, with PTSD. This suits me, as I am also broken and in love with someone whom (it seems) does not love me. We date. The curly haired masochist returns, and I learn the hard way that polyamory is sometimes more about talking then it is anything else. They do not. The relationships with the two of them cost me almost everything I like about myself, and in the process of figuring things out, the memories of my rape resurface.
I turn 20. I still love the Marine, and while I sleep at night with the Army Boy, this weighs heavily in my mind and moreso on our relationship. I do not sleep with him the night of my birthday, but instead choose to go home with my partner, who I am determined to build up with, not lose out because of someone who can't say they love me.
I move to Chicago, where I start to stand on my own feet, slowly. The Army Boy dumps me, at the time telling me he just wanted to be friends and long distance was a hassle, but admitting later he simply didn't trust me to stay with him. I am lonely and hurt by this, and the Marine and I lose contact in one of our fights.
I live my life. I go on. I fuck, and I become more apt in kink and communication. A friend takes me under his wing and teaches me the hard lessons about communication, especially while poly, and helps me learn to cope with my now what would be called triggers.
My best friend boy-from-firsts, my first love and I, we fall in together again, and despite our best efforts, fall in love and give each other keys. We find a girlfriend, and we three, we two, get more and more complicated, until we learn to hate each other. Within a week, they've both left me, and I've moved home.
I, and this punk-ass old school man, with child, and primary, we dance around each other for the better part of six months. We never use the words "love" and even more rarely "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" and eventually move from a relationship to "just fucking friends."
I never talk about how I feel like he abandoned me because of distance.
I, and this new punk, this gutterpunk, grown up rough and hurting, we fall in love between bourbon, emo music and candlelit basements. We fall in deeply, and make future plans, and for once, I plan to stay only...only we fight constantly. Only he stops hearing anything I have to say. Only he turns to lighting my fuel, over and over again until everyone around us notices how often I'm crying. He dumps me..and immediately tries to take it back. The months after, he sends me passive aggressive messages implying everything was my fault, and telling me he loves me.
I, and my best friend of six long, hard-won years, we fall in love. We fall in, we make plans, we talk about the future, and most of all, we tell each other everything. Only, I am damaged. Only, I am failing to be a good person. Only he withdraws from me and denies it when I ask over, and over again if he wants to leave, if he needs to leave, I tell him I'd understand.
When he's finally convinced me he'll stay, that he wants to be with me, to talk about my issues openly.
Then he leaves.
I'm tired of love. I'm tired of falling in love, I'm tired of vulnerability, and I'm just plain tired.
Over and over again, the mistake seems to be mine, repeatedly.
Over and over, I'm not worth anything, my feelings don't count, either to me or to them.
Over.
and over.
and over.
I think, for now, I'm done.
I am 16, and have been dating this boy for less than 6 months, but he knows me inside out as my best friend. At 17, I stop putting an expiration date on us and fall into love with him. When he takes my virginity it is one of the few times I can refer to it as making love, and I am happier in some ways then I have ever been. He acts as my partner and confidante and I can tell him anything.
I am 18, and my lover has left me out of inconvenience of distance. Two years have passed, and I have struggled with depression long and hard, and while this makes me disinclined to trust anyone who says they love me, I do not turn to suicide as a comfort, but sex, of which I spend most of my senior year chasing after, and disregarding my own safety at times.
I am 19, and have been with this curly haired masochist for almost 4 months. As my introduction to someone else who likes kink, who likes to fuck, where we started out at a high, we end at a low when I open the relationship up, as he refuses to touch me, tells me he loves me, but comes home every night and tells me about the girl at work he's trying to sleep with. I am angry and bitter, and sleep with someone I meet out trying to sleep with someone I've been okayed with. This instigates our breakup, which leads me to spending nights on the couch with someone with a girlfriend, not fucking, but falling asleep to Lord of the Rings.
Halfway through the year I realize I am in love with the headfucked former Marine, and find myself torn between my head-held-high- requirements for pride, his girlfriend, and my overwhelming desire to be held by him, for once, wanting sex out of it because it seems to just complicate things. Eventually he leaves, giving me his service issue knife. He comes back, but we are not the same.
I meet a broken Army boy, with PTSD. This suits me, as I am also broken and in love with someone whom (it seems) does not love me. We date. The curly haired masochist returns, and I learn the hard way that polyamory is sometimes more about talking then it is anything else. They do not. The relationships with the two of them cost me almost everything I like about myself, and in the process of figuring things out, the memories of my rape resurface.
I turn 20. I still love the Marine, and while I sleep at night with the Army Boy, this weighs heavily in my mind and moreso on our relationship. I do not sleep with him the night of my birthday, but instead choose to go home with my partner, who I am determined to build up with, not lose out because of someone who can't say they love me.
I move to Chicago, where I start to stand on my own feet, slowly. The Army Boy dumps me, at the time telling me he just wanted to be friends and long distance was a hassle, but admitting later he simply didn't trust me to stay with him. I am lonely and hurt by this, and the Marine and I lose contact in one of our fights.
I live my life. I go on. I fuck, and I become more apt in kink and communication. A friend takes me under his wing and teaches me the hard lessons about communication, especially while poly, and helps me learn to cope with my now what would be called triggers.
My best friend boy-from-firsts, my first love and I, we fall in together again, and despite our best efforts, fall in love and give each other keys. We find a girlfriend, and we three, we two, get more and more complicated, until we learn to hate each other. Within a week, they've both left me, and I've moved home.
I, and this punk-ass old school man, with child, and primary, we dance around each other for the better part of six months. We never use the words "love" and even more rarely "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" and eventually move from a relationship to "just fucking friends."
I never talk about how I feel like he abandoned me because of distance.
I, and this new punk, this gutterpunk, grown up rough and hurting, we fall in love between bourbon, emo music and candlelit basements. We fall in deeply, and make future plans, and for once, I plan to stay only...only we fight constantly. Only he stops hearing anything I have to say. Only he turns to lighting my fuel, over and over again until everyone around us notices how often I'm crying. He dumps me..and immediately tries to take it back. The months after, he sends me passive aggressive messages implying everything was my fault, and telling me he loves me.
I, and my best friend of six long, hard-won years, we fall in love. We fall in, we make plans, we talk about the future, and most of all, we tell each other everything. Only, I am damaged. Only, I am failing to be a good person. Only he withdraws from me and denies it when I ask over, and over again if he wants to leave, if he needs to leave, I tell him I'd understand.
When he's finally convinced me he'll stay, that he wants to be with me, to talk about my issues openly.
Then he leaves.
I'm tired of love. I'm tired of falling in love, I'm tired of vulnerability, and I'm just plain tired.
Over and over again, the mistake seems to be mine, repeatedly.
Over and over, I'm not worth anything, my feelings don't count, either to me or to them.
Over.
and over.
and over.
I think, for now, I'm done.
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