Solving a Problem by Creating a New One

Rehashing through my sexual history can seem amusing or entertaining to most (sometimes to me too,) but quite honestly it takes quite a mental toll on me. 

I’ve been busy fucking up my relationship and trying to keep it together. Quite the hypocrite aren’t I? ( not really fucking it up, I’ve just been PMSing and shit has been rough my depression blah blah blah trouble in paradise.) 

ANYWHO my brain had to take a break from Paul. I don’t think about or talk about him… So yeah I needed to set that aside for a little while. Writing helps me sort through things. Sift out the tiny details that I missed or make sense of a situation I was too close to to understand. When I wrote about my past and my experiences it’s not always pleasant. It needs to be done though, it does help me ventilate issues I won’t talk about. 

One of the major issues in my life besides my taste in men and my skanky decisions, is my eating disorder. I suffered under its reign from 2005/2006 (that would have been my eighth grade year) till current (2015). I must admit, my eating has gotten better in the past two years but I still struggle and have bad months every once in a while. 

I never had a good body image or good self confidence. I was always the strawberry blonde, freckled, fat kid. I didn’t really become “attractive” per say until I reached my senior year of high school. (That’s my own opinion. I’ve been told otherwise.) My parents were going through a tough time after my eighth grade year. My grandfather had passed away whom I was very close with and my sister was off at college getting DUI’s and failing classes and spending lots of money. Plus my parents had their own issues. 

My dad would drive me to school in the morning and bitch about my sister and my mom. My anxiety and the pressure from listening to a 40 year old guys problems crippled me and a lot of times I’d throw up once inside the school. I always thought it was nerves or my anxiety or whatever but once I realized how much better I felt after throwing up I started to make myself throw up whenever I felt an anxiety attack coming. (I later learned it was a coping mechanism and sometimes a trigger for anxiety attacks.) 

Then after school my mom would pick me up and is listen to her. I was always back and forth between the two. A owl, a messenger a tennis ball being belted from one player to the next and crashing against the ground only to be whacked again. 

When a girl and her friends in the hall at school made vomiting noises at me after I came out of the bathroom I knew my habbit had gotten worse. 

You’re still fat,” I remember her saying the further I got away from her the better. But her words clung to the back of my brain like a leech and I’ll always remember that. I started making myself throw up more. Even when I wasn’t having anxiety. I was hiding it at home. I’d turn on the water in the bathroom and throw up. When that became a problem I learned how to throw up almost silently. 

By the end of my freshman year every time I threw up it felt worse and worse until one day I threw up blood. It terrified me so bad I stopped puking for a week. The next time I forced myself to puke my throat felt raw and tired. “I can’t keep doing this, what if I die,” I remember talking to myself. That was the first time I thought dying might not be so awful. 

A friend Tara, cut herself a lot and when she was trying to stop or ran out of room to cut herself in places that could be hidden she used a tight hair tie to snap her wrist when she felt the urge. Conditioning yourself to stop. It worked a little for me but I found the best way was not to eat. If I didn’t eat I’d have nothing to throw up. 

I had “solved” one problem and created another. How did I deal with my anxiety? I started cutting. It was easy to do. It made everything in my head go dark and quiet, like laying your head on cool tile in a dark bathroom when you have a migraine. 

By my sophomore year I had lost a significant amount of weight and had been rollerblading everyday at my brothers football practices. I got a lot of response from my family and friends and people at school. “You’re so thin,” “wow you got skinny so fast,” “you look the best you ever have,” “I was worried you’d turn out like your sister.” 

It only made me feel better. Reinforced my need to grow thinner. Vain. I know. Then it became so much more. Every time my parents would fight or use me for a councilor I wanted to disappear. I wanted to hide. I didn’t want anyone to talk to me about their problems because I could barely manage my own. 

My sister had gone to school out in west Texas and got a warrant out for her arrest for writing a hot check. I remember my dad blowing up. He was never happy. He made my younger brother cry. I didn’t want to talk to my dad, I didn’t want to exist when he was around. I was painfully aware of my parents financial situation. I knew how much they paid for everything. In stride, I never asked for anything. 

So when Kathleen told the people she told at our church who then told my parents they were ready to send me off to a inpatient treatment center. I felt so selfish and awful I didn’t deserve to recover or get help. It was too expensive. I objected till the final day that I walked into the facility and my parents turned me over. It felt as if I were punishing them financially for something I was doing to myself. 

I really hated myself for it and sometimes when I think about it, I still feel guilty for letting them try to help me. 

** image used with this post is not my own. It was downloaded from the interwebs. 

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Flying From a Nightmare and Back to Hell

I was still sick and on medicine when Paul told me he was going to go to Chicago for a baseball event he had planned with his buddies months ago. I honestly didn’t mind because that meant I could have some R&R time and no mental abuse. Two days before Paul left we got into an argument because he went through my phone and saw I was emailing an old friend from high school, spencer. 

Spencer was very outgoing, very talented. Played music, sang, could do magic, he could act. Just a all around talented and sweet guy and we talked about our nightmares and dreams and writing. Paul got jealous and started slamming shit around at 3am. (He had gone through my phone while I was asleep.) I woke up confused and he was shouting at me that I didn’t care about him. 

I began to attempt to reassure him saying things like “I do love you. I moved all the way from Texas to here for you. To be with you. To be near you.” It wasn’t enough he kept talking over me. I was so tired I sat back down on the bed and put my head in my palms. I didn’t understand what he wanted from me.  “What do you need me to do to prove to you?” I asked him. He didn’t hear me or he did but his drunk self just ignored me so I got under the covers and put my arm over my face to shield the light because I was not going to argue with a drunk man. 

Next thing I knew he was on top of me. Hitting me, with his fists. I started crying and begging him to stop. I told him I loved him while he was hitting me, it didn’t stop. I blocked my face from him and began to really fight back and I knocked him off the bed. That made him angry. I went for the bathroom door which wasn’t far and he grabbed my waist and wasn’t letting go. 

I was half in the bathroom half in the bedroom and that’s when everything got real, really fast. 

I will not and can not go into detail on the whole thing but he had me by my hair and told me to tell him I loved him over and over again while he did what he wanted with me. 

The next day I wouldn’t speak to him. I barely slept the night before. We got into a fight about me wanting to go back home. He went in the bathroom and “cried.” Then after an hour or so he came out and tried to act like an adult. He was mad at me that I didn’t try to open the door or check on him. 

The day after that he left for Chicago. He Skyped me while in Chicago. Drunk within hours of arriving. Begging me to tell him I loved him. It was exhausting. The next day I drove myself down to the market and for soup and some items to make me feel better and more at home. I watched Netflix all day and Drew and blogged. The fifth or sixth day he was in Chicago he thought I had someone with me while we were skyping. He insisted on me showing him no one was there and agin with doubting my affection for him. I was still very sick and grew sicker of him the more he drunkenly blabbered on. 

He called me several times that night  and by the fifth or sixth call I had had it. I told him it was over and I didn’t want to speak to him ever again. Then I hung up on him. His friend called me, all his friends called me. Left me voicemails not to leave Paul and that I was acting foolish. I called my parents house, crying and asked if they could book me a flight. 

My grandmother worked for an airline and got me a first class flight so I had to dress up/look nice. It was 10 at night and the flight left in an hour or so. I packed as much shit as I could and left everything else’s behind. Nothing I needed or couldn’t replace anyway. I called and got a taxi and I left about 20 minutes after I got off the phone with my dad. My Taxi driver was really nice. He asked me where I was going and I said “Texas,” and he asked “is that your home?” I stared out the window with tears streaming down my face and managed to say “no, just where my parents are.” 

I tipped him well and went and got my ticket checked in my bags and literally walked straight to the terminal and got  onto the plane. No waiting. I was in a navy blue dress and I hadn’t brought a jacket. I was freezing. I don’t know how I did it, but after take off and seeing the Fourth of July fireworks go off I fell asleep. I didn’t wake up until we were preparing to land. 

I remember getting off the plane and getting my bag. I walked through the airport out to the entrance my parents said they would be at. As I walked outside the air stuck to my skin how syrup coats pancakes. The moist air soaked my lungs and the heat made the back of my neck sweat a little. This is what Hell feels like. 

I did not cry. I simply got in the truck and we went home and I went to sleep. 

I thought maybe it was over but it wasn’t. Paul had made up his mind to seek vengeance for me leaving. I just didn’t expect him to hop on a plane and come after me. 

Tail Between My Legs

I am an animal lover. When i hear the term or phrase “Running away with its tail between it’s legs.” I think of a scared or defeated animal. Probably hurt weather it was mental or physical. That is exactly what happened between me and my dad and why i put my tail between my legs and ran back to my abuser.

Where we left off last time (In my time line of mis-fortune in relationships.) I had left in the middle of the night to fly back to my boyfriend who i had every intention of leaving. Being there was a significant age difference it was difficult for me to communicate effectively with him. Often at times it felt as if i were communicating to my father… not in a good way. It was hard to relate to him at times and we disagreed a lot. I thought I knew Paul and understood him. He was honestly a stranger. I couldn’t have known less about him. I didn’t want to take anymore mental abuse from the environment with my parents, as a result I ran back to the stranger who hurt me in other ways.

Let me just say… I am TERRIFIED of planes. I don’t get on them unless it is crucial to my existence. (In this instance it was because i believed I had no where else to go.) Between being up all night before hand trying to decide weather to go back to Paul or not, being extremely emotionally spent from the fight with my dad, terrified of getting on a plane alone and going from one abuser to another, was not a good combination on my body. I hadn’t eaten in almost 48 hours either. By the time i got off the plane i was just happy to see the ground. Paul was there to pick me up and he drove me “home.”

I wasn’t feeling well and i remember unpacking and wanting to cry. The next day we went  to see his brother, Jason, which was a 35 minute drive. Paul lectured me the entire way there despite how sick I felt. I specifically remember that drive because a trooper pulled us over and Paul talked his way out of a fucking speeding ticket. I digress, we stayed there all day and left Jason’s after I had fallen asleep on the couch from Jet lag and being sick.

Paul had his tonsils taken out when he was extremely young so he never experienced strep throat or laryngitis or anything that affects the tonsils and makes you fucking miserable. He didn’t believe i was sick and told me to sleep it off despite the fact that i begged him to let me go to the doctor. He threatened me saying he would kick me out. I asked him to drive me and I would give him the money from my next paycheck and he said it would be a waste.

I went three days without taking any medicine and feeling like shit. On the third night Scarlet Fever had taken over and I began to hallucinate, I was talking nonsense, yet i don’t remember any of it. Paul said my body was hot and I wouldn’t stop sweating. He drug me to the balcony to get some fresh air. It was 40 something degrees outside so I began to seize from the temperature change. Paul had to carry me inside and finally called his mom and asked if he should call 911. I did not break my fever that night. The next morning I woke up unable to speak and Paul drove me to a care now facility.

I had developed scarlet fever from having untreated strep throat, and had pneumonia. I cried in the doctors office while away from Paul. I wanted to ask the Doctor for help… not just medically. I was unable to communicate seeing as I lost my voice so even if i did have the courage i wouldn’t have been able to. I was prescribed a bunch of medicine and they sent me home. Paul apologized profusely and told me he was afraid for my life. He was mad and said he hated me for scaring him like that. I felt distant from him after that. As an apology to me he went and adopted a kitten who i named Pumpkin. Pumpkin kept me company while Paul went out looking for a job since he had become unemployed.

When my mom called and I talked to her she cried and said she wanted to get away from my father and she hated him for driving me away. She begged me to come home. I told her about being sick and that Paul hadn’t taken me to the doctor and she cried while i reassured her everything was okay.

What was to come later that week I would have never expected would happen to me. I had experienced violence from Paul but not like this.

Curiosity and Revolt Against My Own Rules

Oliver was a Bass guitarist, skinny, tall, awkward and soft spoken. A true stoner and a philosopher of sorts. 

*Man do I pick ’em*

He was my source of revenge against Houston but also to feed my hungry curiosity. 

“Curiosity killed the cat” I know that’s what y’all are thinking. 

Well we dated all the way till October and in that time we learned about each other and how we think. Our opinions on religion and humanity. What kind of music intrigued us. I went to all his bands shows. I smoked with him and his friends all the time. We were more friends than we were boyfriend and girlfriend. 

Houston hated me. I could smell the hatred rotting his intestines from the inside out. Hate is a poison you feed yourself. I was having no part in it. I guess you could say I’m cruel or a sadist although I disagree. At the time I believed he well deserved it. Nothing could quinch my sexual thirst like he did so if he was going to treat me like shit then I’d punish him emotionally. 

I tried having sex with Oliver, I did have sex with Oliver, it wasn’t very good though. I admit, he did what he could to please me and I did successfully orgasm once or twice with him. Majority of the time it was faked to get him off of me. 

Over time we became more distant and eventually broke up. My reason? He wasn’t good at pleasuring me and he dropped out of school and wasn’t looking for a job mooching off his parents. I wanted someone with initiative and drive. 

“Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back.” Only it wasn’t as satisfying. 

Houston got word that Oliver and I split up and he gave me a call. He had moved in with his mom to help her pay for bills and stuff since his parents had decided to separate. I drove to him and we talked for a long time and I told him why I had made my choices. 

He grinned and told me what a little shit I was. That he was sorry for behaving how he did. We went swimming the next night and we fooled around in the pool and then he carried me inside and threw me in his bed. 

Commence one of the most intense fuck sessions of my life. 

It was as if he were taking his anger out on me but in a “gentle” way? I can’t explain it without getting graphic. I just remember his tounge curling around my ear while his hand serviced down there and simultaneously fucked me like crazy.  The multitasking of that man. We had sex three times that night and then I left in the morning. 

The next days to follow were stagnant. It was as if time was slowly leaking from a hairline crack in the walls of life. Talking to him was… uninteresting and boring. I had nothing to say to him and he had nothing to say to me. We left things there for the most part. Talked on and off but our “relationship” went away very fast. 

At my job at Haveys Hardware my interest went in another direction. l, against my better judgment, (I have a rule about not dating people I work with. Guess I revolted against my own rules.) met a on site technician/repair guy who was too intelligent for his own good. *Tommy #1*

Tommy was an extremely intelligent guy. Majored in rocket science. Kind of guy who makes you think of “Sheldon” from “The Big Bang Theory.” Only not as intense. That relationship was purely innocent at the start. 

We almost had sex one night in the back of his car but there was no pennitration. He immediately accused me of having a STD the next day when his dick was a little sensitive and itchy. 

I went and got tested, after waiting days for that result and feeling completely mortified the test came back negative. I informed him I didn’t have and STD and he apologized. (He had honestly made me feel so gross and awful.)  Our relationship got rockier from there. 

The sex was good-ish and when I told him what I liked in bed he complied. It was faked, forced even and I told him to forget what I liked and to just be himself. He felt insulted and upset so, that didn’t go over very well. 

After that I couldn’t stick it out with him.

He knew he was smart, he made it known. He put others, (including myself) down and constantly disregarded people’s feelings. I pushed him away and eventually broke up with him shortly after Valentine’s Day. He was upset but remained professional at work. 

Two short weeks after we split up I met someone else. Someone who would make the next 9 months of my life mostly miserable. 

*man do I pick ’em: for a while I seemed to date guys who smoked and drank and made poor decisions. So that would be sarcasm my friends. 

*Tommy: I literally went on to get involved with 3 other Tommies, you’ll hear about it later. 

Firey Sex and Great Revenge

After I graduated guys came out of the wood work at me. 

“I liked you so much in high school, I never had the courage to talk to you.” 

“You’re so gorgeous let me take you out on a date.” 

Stupid shit like that. 

I was too into Houston to care about any of them though. Houston had this egotistical confidence that was disgusting and attractive. Dominant personality and greedy. Once he put his hands on me I felt drugged. 

The first time was when I was a freshman. He put his hand down my pants in the hallway. Right in front of everyone. But no one saw because of how we were positioned, because of the pillar in front of us. It was quick and fast and to prove a point. (We had been playfully debating) That he simply could and that he made me wet without doing anything. 

He wasn’t wildly attractive. He wasn’t super muscular. He was very cute though and a decent body. He was funny. Sarcastic. Self depreciating but not in a bad way or in a way that makes you uncomfortable. 

I always acted as though I couldn’t care less weather he was interested or not but deep down I cared. I cared a lot. 

The night I graduated I went to a party at his house. Everyone was in the garage. Soft core porn on the tv in the back ground. Beers. Weed. He was two years older than me. All his friends were older too. One of the guys at the party, Colton, was drunk and grabbed my boob. Houston, almost broke his hand. 

When I left about 30 minutes later Houston walked me to my car and kissed my forehead and apologized for Coltons behavior. After that we were almost inseparable for the rest of the month. I snuck out of my house to go see him all the time and we kissed and played with each other but didn’t fuck. 

One night in particular though he had to see me. He drove to me and picked me up and I gave him *road head* all the way to his house. We always hung out in the garage. Their was a couch and chairs and a tv and a plush rug. I was sitting on his lap while e played a card game with his friends, Alex, Darius and Oscar. I was spaced out from smoking and in my own world enjoying being in Houstons presence when the guys got up and left. 

Houston and I started making out and then he ripped my shirt. Like. Tore it in half and picked me up and was fucking me. It happened so fast and so unexpectedly. I was hooked. His mouth was greedy and he wanted the air from my lungs. Our sex was firey and passionate and rough. His hand in my hair was a control but not pain. He curled his hand around my throat lovingly and would bring his body close to mine slowing the rhythm. 

In the middle of this the garage door began to open. I remember being on top and Alex and Darius standing with the garage half open gawking at our naked bodies. It wasn’t until I started laughing like an idiot that they chuckled and closed the garage door again. It truly didn’t bother me. (I sometimes wonder if it was the weed or the subspace I was in from giving my self so wholly to someone.) 

He was amazing as far as sex went. After June, after we had had sex several times he became distant and mean and cruel. He said mean things to me that would make me cry and verbally asualt me around his friends. Calling me slurs and laughing. So I broke up with him. And made him cry. Plus I started dating one of his friends, Oliver. 

*Road head: when a person performs oral sex for another person who is operating a motor vehicle.  (if you didn’t/don’t know what this is I suggest looking at urban dictionary for further explanation.) 

Slut It Up and Girl on Girl Crime

“Sometimes I wish I were body confident so I could go to akon or comicon and slut it up” 

I nearly died after a laughing fit. Simon is a good friend of mine. He’s pretty into anime. When talking about Cosplay that was what he had to say on the matter. When we dove into the subject he said he didn’t understand why girls were allowed to dress so slutty and promiscuous and if he did it it would be frowned upon. 

I told him he had every right to. If he wanted to be a female character he totally could. Or if he wanted to be a shirtless dude he could do that as well. It’s all in the matter of taking the criticisim. But I understand where he’s coming from. It’s intimidating dressing up or looking “slutty.” I reminded Simon that a lot of comics are drawn by men/for men to read. (My own personal opinion.). That the girls with tiny waists and big breasts and tight clothing appealed to men reading. Therefor it gives a girl an excuse to dress up and instead of being called a slut or a whore, people are asking to take pictures with her and calling her by a super hero name and not a derogatory slur. 

I’m an avid comic book fan and I love super heros. I’m cosplaying as Ms.Marvel back before she was clad in a full body unitard and super chic short hair. 

I’m talking black unitard with the yellow lightening bolt, thigh-high black boots, black gloves, red sash and a wicked black eye mask. 

If I can’t finish my costume in time it will be used for Halloween and every other excuse I can find to wear it. 

I love Carol Danvers and all the bullshit she’s been through. Plus she was raped and I feel that on a deep level. She was in the military and huge play in shield, she was in the air force and God she has such a bad ass background. I love her evolution. Not just as a character but in asthetic as well. He costume changes and the women who played their part as Ms. Marvel now known as Capitan Marvel and she’s getting her own movie. (Allegedly.) the latest Ms.Marvel is Kamala Khan, jersey, Muslim teenager and inhuman. That my friends is some intense evolution of the story line. I haven’t gotten around to reading it, (I’ve been wrapped up in spider-verse) but I think it’s kick ass! Plus the representation is awesome. 

Ms. Marvel is just a great strong woman and a great role model. I grew up admiring girl power in Sailor moon, Wonder Woman and her amazing fighting, cat woman, bat girl, super girl, poison ivy, Harley Quinn, Storm, Rouge, Kitty Pride and spider woman. 

I didn’t look to celebrities or singers, and famous actress’s. I looked to my mom and my family, to comics and the cartoons based off the comics. Of course the occasional historical woman figures. 

I just love super heros and I am so totally stoked to go to comicon and have a good time. 

With that being said, I see so much negativity and “girl on girl” crime or “hate.” (I prefer crime because I love that word. It makes me think comic books.) 

Especially when it comes to cosplay and Halloween and dressing up. I hear and see posts or comments about how “slutty” a girl looks. Or that her hair isn’t the right color or her skin isn’t the right color or WHATEVER. It’s just so awful. Plus girls compare themselves to other girls and say bad things about themselves in there head and that’s just as bad. 

I say things mentally to myself that I would never say to any of my friends. So why say those things to myself? We deserve a break. I know this goes for men or guys as well. We are only human and we all have a positive and a negative to our mind. I guess it just depends which side you want to feed and give more energy to. 

All in all I believe it’s important to support one another weather we are cosplaying, creating a YouTube make up channel, trying a different look with our wardrobe, playing a new sport or wearing our hair different… No matter what a girl is deciding to do with herself (or person) they make those choices MOSTLY for themselves.

“Be Kind; Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” — said by a probably dead guy

(Maybe Ian Mclaren or John Watson? I dunno) 

A Woman’s Touch and Lots of Loss in One Year

So Padme. 

Padme was super gorgeous. Long dark hair down to her waist, bright hazel eyes, tan skin, body better than a Victoria secrets model and a wicked smile. I met her at an establishment much like hooters. 

God, I was 14 going on 15 and she was 21. We were “friends” our friendship lasted a short 7 months. It was during the time I hung out with the Fletcher twins. She did coke and smoked weed and drank and she was “cool” the coolest girl I had ever been around. When I first saw Padme I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be her or be on top of her and that posed a problematic issue within my inner self.

Am I gay? Am I Bi-sexual? Am I a pan sexual? What is my sexual identity and is that such a bad thing if I am? I’ve been with a girl before but it didn’t turn me on or really interest me. Padme though, she made my panties wet just by winking at me. 

First time I went to her apartment I told my parents I was staying the night at her house and she’d drive me back the next day. They liked Padme. They thought she was sweet. Well I went to her apartment and she drank a little I drank even less. We watched a scary movie and talked about men and feminism and then after my 2nd beer she asked me if I wanted to kiss her. 

Being the honest person I am I told her yes. I remember her sliding herself over next to me on her white couch. It may as well have been a cloud the way she practically floated. Her hair smelled like coconut and her skin was tinged with that tanning lotion that smells flowery. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my neck. She flipped my long blonde hair off the back of my neck and kissed me there. It set off something down my spine and into my stomach and through my vagina. That was enough confirmation from my earlier question. 

We made out and she fingered me there on her couch with the horror movie credits playing in the background. She pulled me up off her couch and I followed her into her bedroom.  

We quickly became inseparable and even though she was high or drunk most of the time I didn’t care. Maybe it was the fact that she was so beautiful and she was interested in me that drive me wild or maybe it’s how she made me feel sexually. I was in love with her. Fiercely. 

I had my friend Zeus drive me to her place one night after we hadn’t talked in maybe 3 days or more and no one answered. The lady across the hall however came out to walk her dog and informed me that Padme had moved. 

Later I confirmed the allegation on Facebook. She had posted about how texas had ruined her life and she needed to rid the toxic people and that she would never be moving back. “Sorry if this comes as a shock.” I remember that’s how that update ended

I was devestated. No goodbye. No closure. 

Now. 2 years later towards the end of my senior year, an abusive ex boyfriend trying to commit suicide and my other ex coming around she sent me a Facebook message apologizing. 

At first I hated it. I hated the letter. I hated her. I wanted to respond and tell her how she ruined my life and made me question everything about myself and what I had done wrong…. 

But after reading it out loud to one of my friends about a year later it sank in what she was saying and I was actually happy for her. 

While in Texas She had gotten into “modeling” aka the porn industry. She got into drugs and drinking. She had to get out and that meant moving back to the west coast. She called herself a “coward” for not telling me but she said I “was the one good thing Texas brought me and all I did was ruin you.” 

At the time of th letter she had fallen in love and was artificially insemenated and was pregnant with a baby girl. He girl friend was a gorgeous woman with short hair and petite. She was doing better and furthering her career in English and wanting to be a teacher like she had originally gone to school for. 

(At times I think of her and wonder what she’s doing. I’m sure smiling and playing with her daughter. )

When I got the letter I didn’t tell Greg But it drove a wedge inbetween us and I was distant to him. We didn’t really resolve things until prom came around. Even then things were rocky because that’s when Greg told me he was joing the military. The marines.

After prom we broke up and things were Rocky. I went into a deep depression and clung to my eating disorder and Felicia and Farrah. I also had class with Jeremy. We stayed hanging out a lot. I smoked weed with him and we would make out and skip class. I also spent time with Felicia and hung out with her and her boyfriend who wanted to be a rave DJ. I went to the confirmation retreat through my church again this time as a “leader.” Meaning I was in charge of a group. 

Greg was there too, he wrote me a letter telling me how much he loved me. Telling me he wished we were still together and that I was the only woman he would ever love. It was very romantic and emotional and it made me cry. It did not sway me though. 

When camp was over and we went back to the church late mass was getting out. I remember walking into the back building where PIO was held. 

Everyone was crying and that’s when I found out Kathleen had died. She was at her friends house and they had shot up heroin Kathleen however did not wake up the next morning. 

Suffering through that, the next month in April my mothers dad, my papa, died of a heart attack. Last time I had seen him was over Christmas. My senior year had turned out to be an abusive emotional and death infused year. I went through the motions at school but that was about it. 

Jeremey and I ended whatever it was that we had together. He told me “you smother me,” And I left his house and cried the whole way home. 

That “relationship” should have never happened with the emotional turmoil I was going through. I just wanted someone who was going to be permanent. Everyone and everything in this world is temporary. I just hadn’t learned that yet.