Tag: teenager

6. Max

I’m going to keep this story as brief as possible. There’s a 700 page book I wrote dedicated to Max. Max was my first love. I fell in love with him in high school. I was the Christian girl and he was the emo kid with eyeliner and the Blink 182 shirt. Every interest I ever had in music, guys, and pandas came from Max. He was the only guy I had ever cared about more than myself. We were friends first and we’d only ever kissed once. And when it looked like we were going to be in a relationship, he’d decided to go back to his ex. Looking back, it was not that big of a deal. But at the time, it was catastrophic. I had given my whole heart to this guy emotionally, and when he broke it, I was shattered. That was the first bout of depression I had ever come across. That was the first instance that launched my addiction to self-harm. I had cut letters into my ankle. I was distraught. To help me learn and mend, I wrote a book about my life in high school right up until I joined the Air Force.

Eventually, Max and I came to a resolution and it was fine. We talked every once in a while, but nothing substantial. My husband knew how much I had loved Max. But in the book I wrote, I came to the conclusion that I had to stop dreaming about him. He was never going to tell me he loved me, he didn’t want me. Max was a dream, and a far-fetched one at that.

Or so I thought. When I was neglected by my husband, Max and I started talking. We hadn’t talked in quite a while, but he still did something to my heart, four years after the fact. The thing about Max, was that he was the most unique person I had ever met. I have never met a soul like him. He talked in riddles and metaphors. There was something dark and mysterious about him and it was so easy for him to reel me in.

Max and I started skyping while my husband would be at work. Our conversations were light hearted and enjoyable, but still, I shouldn’t have been talking to him without my husband knowing. I just needed some attention. Doesn’t make it right though, I know. He’d call my son “Little Max” even though he knew that wasn’t his name. Then he did it. All of the convincing I had told myself, and this motherfucker ruined it.

“A part of me wants to tell you, but I feel bad because of your life now.”

“Tell me what?”

“Idk. Everything. If I had a chance to be in your life now, I would be there in a heartbeat.”

FUCK. And it all came back. And then of course, my dumbass had to ask.

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever stopped. I’ve buried it at times.”

Everything. Everything I told myself for years. He never loved me. He didn’t want me. It was all a lie. He’s always loved me. The way I loved him. And this motherfucker decided to tell me after I was married and had a child. WHY THE FUCK–goddamit men. So fucking stupid. I can’t.

My heart had opened right up to him. I was so confused. I had literally built a wall around my feelings for him and with one sentence, it crumbled. What was I to do now?

Max and I talked for a few more days, before I finally told my husband. I had to be honest. I couldn’t hide it. I owed him the truth. Of course, when I did, he was angry as fuck. So angry, he punched the wall next to my head. Scared the shit out of me. He made me feel like such a piece of shit. I felt horrible. How could I, as a wife and a mother, consider taking my child away from his dad to chase after a high school love? I couldn’t. It was selfish. Max was my missed connection, one that I would miss for life.

My husband was so pissed at me for days, but I had decided to tell both him and Max that I made a commitment to my marriage. This was my life now. This was the life I chose. My son came first. Max understood, but mending things with my husband, that was going to be difficult. I had talked to my mother about the situation and she told me to take a breather. She asked me a series of questions, and I told her I just wasn’t feeling valued by my husband. I told her we weren’t having sex. She stopped and asked me if I thought he was cheating. I was like, no way. He wouldn’t sacrifice his family for it.

OR SO I HAD FUCKING THOUGHT.

Mom’s little question floated around in my brain. It had been a while since I checked his shit. The last conversation we had about anything remotely like that was four months prior, when I went into labor.

So out of sheer curiosity, I opened up his Yahoo! account. Apparently the idiot forgot I knew the password. And what did I find? Sure enough, the bitch that he had been exchanging pics with before I got married, Hannah, was in there.

And there was a lot of messages from the the previous month. They talked about me, about Adam, and about wanting to have sex with each other. And I’m not talking simply, like explicitly. Apparently, when he was doing his “shift” with our son, and I was sleeping, he was messaging and calling her. He would tell her how much he loved her.

I was shattered. And then I was livid. Here I was, telling him I had feelings for someone and BEING FUCKING HONEST, he was lying and doing this shit. I was done.

So I did what I do every time I find out about this kind of shit. I made myself look gorgeous, did my makeup and waited for my husband to wake up. And he did, while I was doing my makeup.

“Baby, will you get me something to drink?”

I smiled sweetly. “Of course.” I walked into the kitchen, got him some orange juice, and gave it to him. He looked at me. “You look pretty. I love you.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“What do you mean okay?”

I took the screenshots I had printed out. I threw them at him. “Wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Why is it that all men when they know they’ve been busted, evidence and all, act like you’re out of your mind?

He looked at it and acted confused. “I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s all your fucking messages with Hannah.”

He tried to make excuses, but he knew his ass was grass. I laid into him. I yelled at him for treating me like shit, making me seem like I was a horrible spouse, and betraying me again. I told him I wanted a divorce. I told him that I had said if he ever did this shit while we were married, it would be the end. And here we are. I told him I was taking Adam and I wanted him to suffer.

I also messaged Hannah on Facebook and told her she was a homewrecking whore and I hope she was happy that he was going to lose his family. Also, I told her that he said she meant nothing to him and was like porn. Which, is what he told me. He told me he didn’t love her and it was a mistake.

For some reason, this offended her. So much, in fact, that she gave me her Facebook password with the promise from me that I would not post anything on her profile publicly. I didn’t need to do that. I had more class than that.

But when I read through her messages between her and my husband, I was completely and utterly appalled. He had told me it only happened for that week of messages I found in the Yahoo! Turns out, they had been messaging since that night I was suspicious. The night that I went into fucking labor for our child. This motherfucker lied straight to my face. Four fucking months worth of the most sickening shit I had ever read in my life. All of the things he did nice for me during that time was wiped completely out. I hated him. I hated him. I fucking hated him. They talked about how when he’d visit back home, he’d make up a story about “hanging out with the guys” and leave me with Adam, and then going to go fuck her. These messages guys, they were so detailed. I swear to God, I had a vivid picture of what this girls pussy looked, tasted, and smelled like by the end of these messages.

I couldn’t fucking believe it. HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN SO FUCKING STUPID. WHY THE FUCK DID I MARRY HIM? WHY THE FUCK DID I HAVE KIDS WITH HIM. I WAS GOING TO MURDER HIM.

I was so angry and I ripped him a new one. I screamed that he was a liar. Thankfully, my son slept pretty well, so he didn’t hear me yelling. My husband didn’t know what to do with himself, except beg for my forgiveness. And I wouldn’t give it. I was done. Fuck him. I was taking my son and going for Max. Fuck this. FUCK THIS MOTHERFUCKER. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

I bawled and bawled. I hated him. So much.Three days later, I told my Mom everything. I was making wild decisions and she had to tell me to calm my shit. Then she asked another detrimental question, damn her.

“When was your last period?” She thought maybe I had been overreacting and losing my shit because of PMS, which has been known to happen. I sat down and thought about it. I had one period after I gave birth, but I couldn’t remember my second. Then it dawned on me. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. NO.

 

2. Inexperience leads to experiences, and not always good.

My first real boyfriend in tech school for the military started receiving indications that I was a little baby-crazy. Now, he was nowhere in the position to be knocking my baby wanting tendencies, solely on the face he was married. That’s right, married. Judge me.

Judge me all you want. Because to you, I’m just some bitch you met on the internet. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. That’s the whole point of this. But yes, my boyfriend was married. But listen, in my defense, his wife knew. Yes, now this took a different turn. I had met him out a field while we were doing PT. I was injured and so was he, so we were standing on the edge of the field. Well, he was. I’m a lazy-ass motherfucker, so my broken-ass was sitting. In a pile of red ants, I’d soon discover. He was a short mexican boy, with a really fun attitude, and some charm. He was ridiculously smart. Like, the kind of smart you can’t stand. There was shit he talked about that so so scientifically intricate, I’d zone out while he talked because it was just too much for my brain. It was embarrassing really.

I don’t remember how it all started, but he said something about his wife coming to visit. Then he mentioned the idea of a threesome. Apparently, that’s normal now. I did not know this then. I had sheepishly told him I was a virgin. And I was for the most part. I’d experimented with girls when I was younger, but I’d never had a dick in me. Fairly impressive for an 18 year old girl.

I once messed around with my high school teacher when I was 17, and I got caught. Worst high school graduation ever. That teacher was married too. Apparently, I attracted married men. And then with it. Because I’m a moron. For someone who was a virgin, I was kinda turning into a big hoe. That should have been my first clue.

But anyway, he suggested I come out with them one evening and see what sex is like. There was no pressure for me, just to simply observe. Let me tell you, for a virgin who’d never actually held a man’s dick in her life, watching two people you didn’t really know have sex was one of the weirdest experience I had until that point.

I felt intrusive, as if I was watching something I wasn’t allowed to see. Like, why was I there? I was a little uncomfortable, and a lot shy when they pulled me over to the bed. As mentioned before, I had a little experience with girls, so when they invited me to do stuff to her, I was like, okay, I can do this. It was a little more comfortable. I don’t think I did anything with him, although I can’t remember. But I wanted my virginity in tact.

I talked to some of my girl friends about losing my virginity. It was becoming something I just wanted to move past. I had been a religious girl in high school, saving myself for Jesus, and what not. Not that if you’re doing so, it’s wrong. Whatever floats your motherfucking boat. It’s your body. Fuck whoever you want, if you want. But premarital sex was taboo, where I learned about it from. You only want to have sex with your spouse, because sex is something God blessed between a husband and a wife. I was told that if you had sex with someone other than your husband, it meant that you were creating soul ties with another, and it would tear you apart. Also, I was told it hurt a lot. Didn’t make it sound very appealing to be honest. So, I had been flat-out scared to lose it. It wasn’t that I didn’t have offers, just the idea of being naked with someone freaked me the fuck out.

So I decided, well fuck it. Let’s get it over with. And I did. It wasn’t a horrible experience, at least not like some of the nightmares I’ve heard. I lost it in a fancy hotel room. I can’t even be certain I had an orgasm at that point. I don’t think I could tell, so I’m assuming not. It wasn’t bad, but I was more disappointed that I didn’t feel anything different. I got done, and I was like, really? This is what everyone was worried about? I didn’t feel in love, nor was I attached. I expected it to be a little more exciting. This is what they call “becoming a woman?” Very anti-climactic, if I do say so myself.

 

1.Where crazy comes from

1.Where crazy comes from

Nobody starts out crazy. We’re not born out of the vag or tummy being like, “I think I want to be a psycho when I get older. I want to hate everyone around me, not trust anyone, and live in a world full of shit.” At least I didn’t. And maybe I don’t “necessarily” hate “everyone”, but shit, in this world, I’m telling you, there’s a lot of serious dislike.

And I’m not crazy. At least, I’ve never been diagnosed as such. Of course, I’ve never gone to a doctor to test that theory. So we’re going to call me “not crazy.” But the problem is, I feel crazy. I feel it every day. I overthink waaaay too much, panic over the most ridiculous things, worry about everything, and am constantly stressed. But being an adult is being stressed. I know this. It’s not all rainbows, unicorns, and fluffy kittens out here in the adult world. We’re all struggling to make ends meet, pay our bills, work our worthless and underpaid jobs, just trying to make it through one day at a time.

But see, it wasn’t always like this for me. I had a pretty good life, as far as typical lives go. When I was 18, I was stationed in Japan. In 2011, I got out of the military on pregnancy. My boyfriend was in the military as well and we got pregnant. Okay, well I got pregnant.

I know what you’re thinking. Dumb ass teenager went and became a statistic. Can’t use a fucking condom. Irresponsible. And maybe that is the case. Yes, I was young. Did I bite off more than I could chew? Probably. Who doesn’t at some point in their lives? But, I became pregnant on purpose. And it wasn’t to trap my boyfriend. He was aware of it. This was no accident. This was a conscious decision made by two baby adults. You see, when I was 17, my sister had a beautiful baby boy that lived with me and my parents. I spent the first year of my nephew’s life with him. I had not had much experience with babies beforehand. But shortly after my sister brought him home, I fell in love.

Have you ever experienced something in your life and you think to yourself, “This is what I am meant to do.” ? For me, that was being a mom. I can remember the exact moment I wanted to be a mother. My nephew was maybe a week or two and I was in a recliner, with my nephew laying on my chest. No one else was around. I was softly patting his back as his squishy little face nestled into my chest. I was singing quietly to him. I believe the first song I sang to him was called “With Eyes Wide Shut,” by blessthefall. I was an alternative girl, so my music tastes are a little strange to some, especially when looking at me.

I watched his little eyes flutter open and closed, trying to fight sleep, but not making a sound. They finally closed and he lay there, tiny breaths escaping his chest. He look so tranquil, and my heart melted. Even though we had just met and he’d only been in this world for a couple of weeks, I felt so connected to him, and absolutely fell in love. “I want this. I want to be a mom. I want to be one right now.”

Mature seventeen year old I was, I deperately wanted a baby. From that point, I fell in love with babies everywhere. You know those movies like Baby Mama and How To Be Single when these women who want babies start hallucinating babies everywhere? Basically, that was me. Now, I wasn’t seeing full-blown hallucinations (Thank God), but there was an ache inside, knowing desperately I wanted one of my own.