When I was 18, I feel in love. Not a crush on a boy at school, or an infatuation with an actor, but what I thought to be true love.
His name was Scott. I met him at Anime Boston. We were both at the rave hosted by the convention, when I spotted him across the room. Our eyes met, and we shared the same shy smile. I wasn't going to approach him though, I was too flustered, too surprised by this beautiful boy dressed as a catboy (Go ahead and laugh. In hindsight it is rather ridiculous). I was saved, though, when my friend Becca went up to him, asked him about the large bell he wore. This gave me the courage to ask him to dance. To my surprise and pleasure, he said yes.
In the flashing, colored lights, Scott was the most beautiful creature I had encountered. He was tall, with a full, sulky mouth, and soulful green eyes. I didn't notice his weak chin, or his large nose. I was too caught up in the moment. He smelled divine, musky and sweet. I never really forgot that smell, though it doesn't mean the same things to me now. It means nothing much, now.
As we danced, I began to feel the stirrings of attraction, of desire. This frightened me, for it had been months since I had felt so strongly about the opposite sex. It reminded me of the intense feelings I had for Robert, a.k.a The One That Got Away.
Just two months before, I had briefly dated a young man named Robert, or as I called him, Robbie. I had never wanted anyone so strongly in my life, and was struck by a wave of lust and puppy love. When he suddenly ended it, I was heartbroken. Devastated.
So here I was, on a dance floor in Boston, having sudden, strong feelings for a man I had only known for fifteen minutes. I panicked, and ran away from him.
But I didn't escape. He followed, and we resumed our dancing, me dropping not-so-subtle hints, he holding my closer and closer. I wanted to kiss him, but was too afraid.
Finally, it was he who took the initiative. I turned my head, and suddenly, his mouth was on mine. It was his first kiss. He was 20, and had never kissed a girl, never had a girlfriend. Like me, he was a virgin.
Even five years later, even after all the bullshit he put me through, remembering our first night together leaves me feeling a strange sort of nostalgia. He seemed a beautiful stranger then, and even now, for the boy he was at Anime Boston, was nothing like the man who would come to bring me four years of misery and hurt. They were two different people.
That night, I made him my boyfriend. It was a rash move, but I was so young, so besotted, how could I have done anything else. It didn't matter that I lived in Vermont and he lived in New Jersey. We spent the con together, inseparable, except for the times when I had to be with Becca and my sister. Around them, I spent the con being peevish, and frustrated. But around Scott, I was all smiles and giggles.
Yet something about him bothered me. From the beginning, I knew something wasn't right. Something in my gut told me that this was wrong. Yet I ignored it. I ignored my gut, and I ignored the warnings from my sister, my friend, and even the over the phone warnings from my mother. I had a new boyfriend. I had a new boyfriend, and I showed him off like new puppy.
When the con was over, and we were separated by state lines, everything changed. He was emotionally and mentally abusive from the get-go, playing head games with me.He was a misogynist, too.
And yet, a couple of weeks into the relationship, I dropped the 'L' bomb. It was very special. We were chatting on Yahoo, while I was on the phone with an Auntie. Another fight was starting between Scott and I, and I played a trump card. I said "If I told you I loved you, how would you feel?". He loved me too.
It was cheap. It was a cheap, dirty way to say I love you. I don't even know if I meant it at the time.
But I did love him. He was the first boyfriend, that I wanted to marry, have a family with.
And yet, we treated each other like shit. I realize now, that I treated him badly, in reaction to how I was being treated. It was automatic. I didn't like being hurt, so I hurt back. At the time, I was also having problems with my mental state. I was being treated for the wrong disorders, with the wrong medications. The whole thing was a disaster.
And I yet, I loved him. Fiercely. I loved him and I trusted him with all my secrets. I reveled in having a boyfriend I could share things with. One night, when were were snuggling in bed together during one of our rare visits, I told him I'd love him forever. His reply? "I'll love you until you fuck up".
Those four years together were hell. Love simply wasn't enough to make it work. Love is never enough.
He was verbally and emotionally abusive. I was scared of him. My heart would race whenever he called. He always made me feel bad and guilty.
The names he used to call me:
-Whore
-Slut
-Bitch
-Dumb Bitch
-Retard
-Cunt
Once, when I wasn't walking fast enough for him, he shoved me. That was the only time he ever laid a hand on me. I however, lost my temper and shoved him once or twice. He brought out the worst in me, the very worst.
We were together for four years, and it was sexually unsatisfying. At least for me. Every time we tried to make love, he'd panic and chicken out, leaving us in virginity limbo. And, he was an inconsiderate lover to boot. If I said 'no' to something, he'd keep asking and begging, wearing down my will and defenses until I finally said yes. I won't go into any further details. I don't want to talk about it. It's too humiliating. I think that was the point. I think he wanted to humiliate me. He hated women.
It wasn't until after we broke up that I found out that wearing down someone's defenses is a form of sexual abuse.
He used to forbid me from talking to friends, accuse me of cheating, threaten to leave me. We'd split and reunite, split and reunite.How did I let him exert all this control over me, despite the distance?
Because I was scared. I was scared of losing him, of getting dumped again.
I made excuses. He was messed up because his parents were abusive. I treated him just as badly, blah blah blah blah blah.
There's too much to talk about. Too many details. As I write I remember more and more. There's not enough room in my mind to share them all. What can I tell you? Some of this stuff is too weird and embarrassing to even think about it. It was a dark time, and it was a dark relationship. Why did I love him? All I can ask myself is why, over and over again. No answers. People do stupid shit when they're in love. Love is a bitch. Fuck love.
As the years passed, my love and desire for him faded. Yet I tried to keep it going for as long as I could, a futile effort. Finally, when he dumped me in a fit of pique right before my birthday, I'd had enough. For two months we negotiated a reunion. But by June, I realized I was done. I'll never know what prompted me to stay gone. The pretty boy from Anime Boston didn't exist, and I was no longer the sweet, shy thing. I was a woman now, a woman who'd finally grown a set of ovaries and had had enough. I was tired of his illogical logic, and blind hatred. I was tired of his paranoid delusions. I was tired of suffering, and making my family suffer. I was tired of hurting him. The best thing was to to leave, and stay gone.
When he'd call, I'd panic. I was afraid if I talked to him, I'd slip right back into the old ways. But I stood strong.
It has been over a year. I have not heard from him, I have not looked him up online. I wonder about him once in a while though. I wonder if he's alive. I wonder if he's moved on.
But I do not love him anymore. I will never love him again. I used to miss some things about him, but not so much anymore. I'm over the romance, but I'm not over the abuse. That'll take a long time. Some people never heal completely.
Once upon a time, I told a boy I would love him forever. But I lied. I only loved him until he fucked up.
