I am currently in…
Being in like with someone is hard for me:
- I hate feeling vulnerable.
- I hate getting that butterfly feeling in my stomach.
- I feel like some clingy chick.
- Depending on the guy, I might fall quickly.
- I could fall in love.
I have been in love twice in my life.
I believe that “Teen Love” is real love, because that is the love that [teens] know, and it is real to them. Therefore, it is real love.
Calling “Teen Love” surreal is like calling “Adult Love” surreal.
Personally, I think that when an adult tells a teenager – or merely someone younger than them – that they don’t know what love is, then it’s the older person that is either 1) unhappy or 2) not familiar with love.
Andrew was my first boyfriend, therefore he was obviously the
first second guy I have ever loved. That was my sophomore year of high school, I think. That was when I was merely so ecstatic that a guy would actually like me and want to be with me.
I almost had a boyfriend in middle school, but because we were both too shy to personally tell each other, it never happened. I wonder where he is now.
And whether he remembers me.
If he would notice me.
If he looks the same.
If he is still alive.
If he died.
Moving on, when I like-like someone a lot, I do stupid things, including saying things I don’t mean. I don’t mean to say them (or even to text message them), but I do. And then I regret it.
But, really, I don’t want to be in like with anyone. I don’t even want to be in love.
But I do. Unless it is happening right then and there.
How am I supposed to know that not all guys are jerks? How am I supposed to know that not all guys are like The Jerk?
I don’t think I’ve told you about The Jerk.
The Jerk’s real name is Cody P., but I prefer The Jerk. Because he is SO special, he receives a special name such as The Jerk. 🙂
I “met” The Jerk via a friend. It was a long distance relationship, and the age difference between The Jerk and I is either two to three years or three to four years – he is older than me.
Things were not too great at home. I lived with my mom then. My mom and I have not always been as close as we are now. Long story short, I was depressed, and I didn’t feel loved at all, so I looked for it in someone else and found it in someone else: The Jerk. We lasted off and on for about two years or so. I knew his number by heart ONLY because I deleted his number from my phone so many times. He kept hurting me, and I kept falling back for him. He knew what to say to get me back; he knew how to get me back because he was a player.
For my seventeenth birthday, he gave me a present: the truth. He called me around midnight to tell me “Happy Birthday” and to tell me everything. Everything. Not some of the things he had done. Everything.
I can’t get over it to this day. I do try to see the good in people, but then I remember him. I don’t know how to get over it. I really don’t.
The Jerk had slept with seventeen girls mutliple times each time I told him I couldn’t/wouldn’t go to Austin, TX to meet him. He had it all figured out, too: I would tell whomever I was with that I was going to visit a friend, and then I would go to the hotel room he had gotten. He wanted to sleep with me.
17 girls. 17+ times.
It makes me sick to even think about him.
It makes me sick to know that I was that … I don’t even know … lost? I think lost is the correct word.
So now I’m scarred. I can’t see past it.
I’m scarred; I’m scared.