Wednesday, 02 May 2012
I've always been a very insecure person, especially where guys are concerned. I could probably take this back to when my biological father walked out when I was seven and I blamed myself, asked what I had done to make him leave, why he didn't love me anymore, etc. I hate blaming him for all of my fucked up emotional problems and I hated that my parents blamed him, too, but I can't help but think that's where all of it started.
Even in elementary school, I had very low self-esteem. Kids that young are just supposed to be happy-go-lucky. They make friends, laugh loud, play hard. I never had a whole lot of friends. By the time I was ten, the school I went to put me in classes for self-esteem development. It was obviously supposed to help me develop higher self-esteem and self-worth. I never felt like I was worth much to anyone, so why should I be worth something to myself. At ten, I already knew that people were disposable and easily replaced. No matter how many times a week they put me in those classes, I never really progressed.
Once I was in middle school, that's when I started having boyfriends for the first time. I liked the attention they gave me and, to have a guy like me, made me feel pretty. That was the only way I ever felt better about myself. Of course, it started out very innocently. Middle school was sixth through eighth grade. My first kiss was in sixth. My first make-out session was in seventh. By the time I was in eighth grade, I had pretty much discovered my sexuality. I knew what I wanted. I knew what guys wanted. If guys were the key to making me feel better about myself, who was I to stand in the way?
I went through a lot of guys that year. Yeah, I had a serious boyfriend, but he went to a different school. He wasn't around all the time. So, there were other guys. Never anything serious. I'd mess around with this guy one night and then the next night it was someone different.
It was the same year that I had put myself in a "questionable" position and was pulled out of school for it.
All of those events led me to lose my virginity to a guy I can barely remember. I remember his first name. I don't think I ever knew his last. I remember what he was wearing, but I can't remember what he looks like. The worst part is I had only known this guy for about ten minutes before I invited him to my bedroom.
It wasn't how I thought it'd be and it wasn't how I wanted it to be, but that was the choice I made. I didn't lose it to a boyfriend, someone (at the time) I thought I was in love with. It was a stranger that I gave what I can't get back. He was the one that set the bar and the divide between sex and love for me. I was thirteen years old.
From that point on, the two were completely separate. By the time I was back in school, I was a year behind. Eighth grade all over again. I made new friends, better friends, but old habits die hard and some don't die at all. I cut down the messing around with a bunch of people and I didn't have sex again until high school, but I still craved the attention and affection of a guy. I needed it to be happy.
The summer before my sophomore year was when I decided to have sex again and it wasn't with the guy I had been dating for six months. Another guy. Another stranger. At least this time I had known him for a couple of weeks before I invited him over. He left as soon as it was over. He stopped taking my phone calls. I never talked to him again. It hurt a lot more than I wanted it to, but, once again, how can I cry over the repercussions of a decision that I had consciously made?
After that, I decided that the next time I had sex it was going to be with someone I could see myself in a relationship with, that I could possibly date.
The next guy was way out of my league, but that didn't stop me from trying after he showed some interest. We hung out a couple of times and had a blast. He wasn't a stranger. I remember what he looks like and I can tell you his last name. I fell for the line, "It's wrestling season and I can't really have a girlfriend during the season." To me, it was a silent promise that he saw me as his girlfriend in the future. I was fine with that, so when it came down to it, I went ahead and had sex with him. It happened a few times, then I had to make excuses to my friends about why he was blowing me off and not returning my calls. I think that one hurt a lot more than the other two.
My husband and I started dating shortly after all of that happened. After each relationship, after every bad decision, he had been there to help pick up the pieces. He was the only guy I have ever had sex with that I loved and that I knew loved me. I wouldn't trade that for anything.