Extra Journal
While deciding what to write about for these extra journal entries this weekend, one topic kept resurfacing in my mind. This is something a bit personal to me, but hey isn't that what journals are for? When both my mom and close friends recommended the same topic, I decided maybe it is a good thing to share.
All through high school I had scoffed at the girls who HAD to have a boyfriend, thinking them pathetic for feeling a need to be tied to anyone at such a young, carefree age. I dated around, never seeing the point of commitment, and never feeling that just because I slept with someone meant I had to call them the next day. I was committed only to my own freedom. This all changed when a tall, blond, corn-fed junior entered my life. This boy had a crush on me throughout high school, worked at the same restaurant I did, and even quit football and joined the cross-country team to get close to me. I was oblivious to this, and forged a close friendship with him within the first few months of my senior year. Our friendship soon turned physical, and we began sleeping together. I was the first girlfriend he'd ever had, he lost his virginity to me, and he felt as smitten as I felt smothered. He pursued me for the next few months, only to happy to jump through any and all hoops I threw his way. And finally, I fell for him-because he had proven that he not only respected but adored my need to be free, to be my own person. We were so happy together and things were ideal for awhile. Slowly, certain things began popping up in the relationship-his criticism of how I dressed, his quick temper at me wanting to be with my friends, his jealousy of my time, and his resenting any past boyfriends I had. He began taking and taking more and more of me, growing more jealous of each relationship that took up time which I was supposed to be spending with him. Before I knew what hit me, I was in tears constantly, begging him to just be happy with me and forgive me for who I was!
I think the thing that I am most ashamed about is not that I fell into this relationship in the first place, but the fact that I remained in it for over two years. He called me names and said things to me you would not wish on your worst enemy, reminded me constantly of how lucky I was that he had lowered his standards to be with me, and grilled me about my past boyfriends. Most of the time it seemed so much easier to simply agree with him than to endure his "wrath".
All of my family and friends saw it, and it broke their hearts to see me losing myself, my strength, and my identity to him. My mom tells me now how scared she was that I had lost that fire and sparkle which she loved so much about me. They all saw it coming , but to me, the day he physically attacked me was a shock. I'd gotten so used to the verbal abuse, but I never thought that he would cross that line. It was the shock that brought me back to life. I left him for good, got a restraining order against him in Louisiana and South Dakota, and began trying to rebuild myself. He had followed me to New Orleans (don't worry, he is not a Tulane student), called me every other hour, not because he loved me so much but because he wanted to keep an eye on me, to make me completely his. He tried to destroy all connections I had to my mom, my friends, any close relationships-all my sources of strength. He wanted me completely dependent on him and him alone. The things that he had once proclaimed to love the most about me-my free-spirited, self-reliant ways, had been the things which he had tried to destroy. I think one of the most important things I have to remember is not the anger I might have over losing two years of my life-but instead the wisdom, power, and independence these two years have forced me to relocate and reclaim. P.S.WHEW! That felt good. Thanks everyone for letting me get this off my chest.