Thursday, August 12, 2010

First Love

The summer before I started my senior year of high school was beautiful.  I met my first love.  He was tall, athletic, blond with the most beautiful blue eyes ever.  I was 17 he had just turned 21.  I spent a lot of time with him and slowly started hanging out more with him then friends.  That's what happens when love is young, fresh and new.

He was good to me.  He bought me my first car.  OK it was a total piece of shit but no one else was buying me a car.  In the best of times, he was affectionate, attentive and protective - I always felt safe with him.

As summer turned to fall, I headed back to school.  Shortly after starting that school year, I turned 18.  A week later, I walked into my bedroom to find my mother, her sister and my cousin packing up the little that was left of my room.  Because I was rarely home she thought it was time for me to leave.

With nowhere else to go, I moved in with my boyfriend.  Each morning I would drive him 40 min to his job.  Then come home to take a shower and drive in the opposite direction 30 min to my job.  I would get to my afternoon classes then head to pick him up from work.  Looking back, I am so proud of myself for holding down all those responsibilities - I even purchased my own senior pictures.

Later things between us started becoming just like my parents - hot/cold/hot/cold.  Our fights had a lot of screaming, yelling, and calls to the police on a couple of occasions.  I told him I couldn't deal with it anymore.  I didn't want to be like my parents.  If after a year our relationship was still unhealthy, it would have to be over for good.

A year later we were not only still behaving badly, but I also found out he was addicted to crack.  Love really is blind because I had zero clue.  It was time for both of us to move on. 

I did speak to him a few times after.  At one time he was in rehab and wanted me to wait for him.  There were many times after that he tried to manipulate his way back into my life with all the promises I had heard before.  The last time I spoke to him he was in jail... Boy, did I dodge a bullet.

I also learned a great lesson
You can't pick up roses if you're holding shit. 
Meaning you can't pick up roses (a great relationship) if you are still holding on to shit (a bad relationship). 



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1 Friends Commented:

sherri said...

My second husband was addicted to meth. He would go to jail, come out clean...then after a few months start using again. He was very abusive when he didn't have any meth... and he would shoplift (and other things) to get money for his drugs. It was a horrible life! It took me a few years to realize he wasn't going to change... he didn't want to change... good riddance!