I honestly believe that the first time your heart is broken, good and broken, it helps to define every relationship you will have after, every breakup, every fight.
When I was 18, I fell in love for the first time. The kind of falling in love that only happens when you’re 18- consuming, soul crushing, only thing in the world that matters love, and I was completely lost as to how to handle it. Until that point, my experience with boys was mostly of the “omg omg omg he’s so hot, I have a massive crush on him” variety. I had barely kissed anyone, and the one sexual experience I had had was not a mutually agreed upon one.
I met Jeremy, and was completely floored by how strong our connection was. It was easy to fall in love, and he was my first everything. My first real boyfriend, the first person I had slept with, the first boyfriend I lived with, the first person who asked me to marry him. He was my world, and it’s safe to say that ten years later I can still remember every moment, every ounce of feeling that was shared between us.
We lived together in a little room in a little house, and though we were broke and cramped, I thought we were happy. He had moved to my area from Atlanta, and had quickly found a job at a local mall. His ultra-religious parents were not happy that we lived together, or that he moved to Philadelphia, so far away from them. I remember his mom calling fairly often to remind him of this. Our life was a fun one, we would both go to work, come home, go to shows, have sex, and just be together. I don’t remember us fighting much, if ever, and even if you asked me now what problems we had then, I wouldn’t be able to think of many.
And yet, one day out of the blue (it seemed), everything changed.
At the time, I was working two jobs, and he picked me up like normal. I remember the ride home being tense, though I was unsure as to why. As I stared out the window, he told me he was leaving, that he was moving back home to Atlanta. I don’t remember HOW he told me, what words were used. I only remember staring out at the road, focusing on the street lines, and feeling as though a million bricks just fell onto my throat. I didn’t cry, but I had to slide down as far as I could in the seat to keep myself from welling up, and somehow, to keep him from seeing me. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, something snapped. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t do anything except explode into tears and shake. I grabbed onto him, gasping for air, and knowing in that moment I couldn’t do it, that I couldn’t wake up without him next to me. He cried some too, telling me how much he loved me but it was something he had to do. He was unhappier in Philadelphia than I had known, and his parents made it pretty clear that him being there with me was not acceptable.
As I was holding on to him, he began to rub my head, and I remember hating him in that moment. The fact that he would dare try to comfort me when he was the one doing this to me made me sick. I pushed him away and muttered, stupidly, “I’m not going to help you pack”. That night, with me on the bed crying and ignoring him, he packed up all of his belongings. Not only was he leaving me, he was leaving me the next day. I cried and cried, so hard at one point I actually got sick. Eventually, I calmed down some, and we began to talk. Not much, but some. We went to bed with him holding on to me, but I was so upset that most of the night was spent with my entire body pressed against the wall to keep from touching him. I had never felt pain like that before, I had never been in love, and then had that person decide I wasn’t worth sticking around for.
Around 4 in the morning, we got up and I went with him to get coffee. We sat in the driveway, and we talked for a while. At that point in my life, I had been completely convinced we would always be together, that we would marry and have a life that was all our own. At 18, what did I know? The whole morning felt surreal, and it felt as though nothing would ever be okay again. I eventually got out of the car, and he hugged me so close, and so tight, and I just felt like I was dying. I asked him not to leave until I left the front window, and I went inside and stood at that window for so long. I finally couldn’t stand there anymore, and I went to what was now just my bedroom, laid down, and began to cry all over again. I remember hearing his car leave the driveway, and at that point I honestly believed that I would die. That that was it for me. I fell asleep and didn’t get up till the next day for work. I spent at least a good month in a cloudy fog, I can’t remember anything from that time.
That relationship was the start of me being terrified of love. I had gone into that with my whole heart, never realizing it could end the way it did, I was so naive. From that point on, I was always waiting to be left, waiting for the person I was with to realize they didn’t want me. It took me years before I was able to even really trust someone completely, to give myself over to a relationship and not sabotage it.
Break ups have gotten easier since then, mostly because I have never again allowed another person to be my whole world, and because I have come to realize there’s a million reasons things don’t work out, but that reason will never be because I am not good enough. That’s the best thing I learned from having my heart so completely destroyed.
