You never thought you would be the one to try something like this; something that could mess up your whole life in just one try. You were never that kind of girl that would give into peer pressure, but when it came to him you wouldn`t second guess anything. You`d only be dating him for a couple months and that’s when he told you to try it. You remember sitting in his basement when he pulled it out; the bag of white rocks. “Just one hit, it won’t do anything” was all he kept saying, and because you “loved” him you agreed. One hit, that’s all it took to get you addicted. When the high was over, it sucked. Every waking minute was painful, you needed more, and that’s what he had for you. Pretty soon you were doing it every day. Skipping school just to get a hit; one hit, that’s all it was. Whenever it wasn’t in you, you were twitching. It had only been 1 month but you were addicted. As days dragged on, you knew it wasn’t working for you anymore. You started trying other drugs; heroin, coke, ecstasy, anything you could get your hands on.
Through this time, you and him were starting to fade. The relationship wasn’t about you two anymore, it was about the drugs. When you were sober, you were a different person then you were before. After time he broke up with you, he said it was so he could get clean, and hopefully so could you. He was wrong, that set you off. There wasn’t a minute that you weren’t high anymore. Just one hit, that’s all you needed every hour. Time went on, and by now it was 6 months since you guys broke up. You didn’t want to be sober because every minute you were, was another minute you were hurting. He had been clean since the day after you two were finished, and rumors were spreading that he had moved on. Another reason for you to take one hit, to believe it was all lies. Something about being high made every bad thing a lie, and your world was “perfect”. But when you woke up from that world, real life was dark and grey.
You were no longer the beautiful girl were before. Your skin, ruined; your cheeks, sunken in; your hair, thin and lifeless. You weren’t the “A” student everyone knew you were, the teachers were lucky if you showed up to class once a week. Everyone around you noticed, but you didn’t care. Being high was all that you wanted to be, because you couldn’t get hurt. But every time you weren’t there was pain. You saw him smiling, something you wouldn’t ever do again. Every day, the girl everyone knew faded away, and every day it made it harder to give it up.
He tried talking to you, to make you get clean, but every attempt failed. You wanted to do it for him, but since there was nothing left between you two, it was pointless. Anytime you heard he was happy, you would shoot up. It was all you could do to not put a bullet through your head.
Days dragged on, and each one of them was a harder one to get through. You messed up big time, but there was nothing you could do about it. The drugs were like a monster inside of you, never letting you escape. Getting high wasn’t fun anymore; it was more of a necessity, but wasn’t just meth you were addicted to now; no it was ecstasy and coke. You need it, just that one hit, and everything would be better.
You never wanted to be this person, the one who was addicted, the girl that people starred at while walking down the street, the one that paramedics would have to resuscitate because you OD’d once again. You didn’t want to be the burden on your parents’ lives because you wouldn’t come home for days. You didn’t want to be the girl that gave up everything for one person that would end up leaving you. But thanks to that one hit, you were. “Just one hit, it won’t do anything” you said before taking your last breath.
I hate you. I hate you for everything. I hate you for letting me believe there was a glimmer of hope that he might like me back. I hate you for never telling me that you knew he knew I liked him. I hate you for telling him to talk to me. I hate you for letting me cry in front of you over him. I hate you for being someone who I could confide in when you kept things from me. I hate you for thinking this was the same as you. I hate you for being liked by him.
I hate you. I hate you for everything. I hate you for being only my friend. I hate you for what you did. I hate you for being something I could be wrapped up in. I hate you for thinking we could move past this. I hate you for pretending nothing happened. I hate you for never giving me a chance. I hate you for not talking about why. I hate you for liking her and not me.
And I love you. I love you for everything. I love you for not being like the other people. I love you for not making me hate you. I love you for being there when you in reality you really weren’t. I love you for being something, someone I could escape to. I love you for being you.
My story literally started out like every other girl who got knocked up at the age of 18. There was nothing really more to add to it all all, it wasn’t original. But unlike most girls my age that got knocked up I didn’t have a choice what to do with it. And like most girls my age I loved the
boy man that got me pregnant…
He had been my friend for 15 years, and 8 of those I was completely in love with him. At the young age of 10, I looked into those powerful green eyes that everyone fell for and knew I didn’t feel the same way anymore. This was of course right before he pushed me right off the old tire swing causing my to fall into the swampy lake. But because the dimples in his cheeks grew as his smile widened and his laugh filled my ears, I could never be mad at him.
It was at age 13 that our lips first met. This was what I considered my first kiss, but to him I think it was just practice. We were on the roof of my house watching the stars when he rolled over and just planted one on me. He told me he had always wanted to have kiss under the stars, and since we were both there, he just had to do it. That was the last time we kissed for a long time.
He started dating his girlfriend when he was 15. I being in love with him was obviously against this relationship but because I was a year younger I lacked many things that would make me equivalent to this dumb bitch that took my man. They dated for a year until he found her having a quicky with the substitute teacher behind the bleachers.
We didn’t start dating until I was 16, this was when he confessed that he just was looking for someone like me but nobody else would do but myself. Cheesy I know, but for me i was over the moon. 6 short months later I lost my v-card to him in the back of his 97 durango. It was definitely not what I had imagined my first time to be like but it was with him.
Two years later and a lot more experience, we were stuck in this situation. I had missed my period two months in a row, and now I was gaining weight. I didn’t tell him when I bought the pregnancy test because I didn’t want to freak him out, but 5 pee sticks later I was 100% positively two lines sure pregnant. And now I had to tell him.
I remember the look on his face when I told him. He gripped the couch so hard and then just stood up and walked out of my house. He didn’t call me for 4 days, which was understandable but I was a complete mess. When he finally did call me, all we did was cry. That was all we really could do because we were just two scared kids.
It had been three weeks after I had found out I was pregnant, and I thought things were getting better. We finally told our parents and mine let him stay with me. Everything was looking up for us until that night. Now I’m not going to get into it because you know what happened, and honestly its still a little hard for me to talk about. I lost the baby, and I guess I shouldn’t have been so sad or anything since every night I was praying for something to happen, anything so I would know what to do. I guess I just prayed so much that my words got twisted around and it made me seem like I wanted the baby gone.
We had so many plans what we were going to do, when we were going to get married, where we were going to buy a house but when we lost the baby, we lost all of those. And as much as I wanted all these things; what I really wanted was just to be that 10 year old little girl being pushed into the lake by the boy with the curly hair and the green eyes, falling in love all over again.
it was the thought of being somebody’s something. it was the fact i could matter to someone that drew me in. i didn’t know why it had to be him but it was. the complications with it didn’t make it any easier but nothing ever does. i wanted to be with him. i wanted my life to be like the cute stories you read or the movies you watch with the couples so “in love”. i wanted to come home and just cuddle with him and listen to the rain. i wanted to walk hand in hand down the street. i wanted to go and get ice cream and share just one cone because that’s just what we would do. i wanted to walk on the beach and watch the sunset and just know i was starting to fall in love. i wanted to take cute couple pictures just to make some people jealous. i wanted to wear his sweater all the time and cuddle it when he wasn’t there. i wanted to just sit there and intertwine our fingers and stare into each other’s eyes and just smile. all i wanted was to mean something to someone. i wanted to know what being in love with your best friend felt like. i didn’t want to know what having your heart broken by your best friend felt like because they don’t want those things you did. and i certainly did not want to know what its like to be just a friend.
It was hard at first, but I know I had to do it. I had to pack up and move on just like everyone else had done.There were pieces of me that wouldn’t move on though. More like pieces of him that I wouldn’t let go of. Everyone had said how perfect we were. Like kids in love. Except we weren’t just kids in love. We were two people who had found their better half. That’s
what he was what he is to me; my better half.
I remember that day like it was just yesterday. I woke up like any other day, and why wouldn’t I have? Like always I got dressed and made my way to his house. I walked up the same three cobblestone steps that lead to the big wooden door of his home. I put my key into the stiff lock only to find that it had already been unlocked. Unusual, but nothing that would alarm me too much. When I entered the small condo everything was silent. I called out his name telling him I was here but there was no answer. He must have been sleeping or in the shower like he usually was when I came early in the morning. I walked down the familiar hallway to his bedroom. The door was slightly ajar so I knew he was up. I pushed the door back, only to see his bed neatly made, like he hadn’t even slept in it. I shuffled across the carpeted floor to the bathroom, noticing the light was on. I called out his name once again but no answer. I opened the door to the bathroom and saw him lying on the cold floor. I rushed over to him holding his limp body in my arms. The empty pill bottle was still in his hand. I don’t remember much after that, just a lot of screaming and crying after calling 911. The doctors had told me that he had taken the whole bottle. 44 pills was all it took to lose my better half.
I found the letter he wrote to me in my bathroom drawer, five days after he had died. It was the first day I had even pulled myself out of bed. In it he told me how sorry he was for doing this to me, but that he couldn’t take it anymore. He told me that I was not to blame, and if it weren’t for me he would have been gone a long time ago. He wanted me to know that he hated himself for having to put me through this, but suicide was his only option. I cried a lot that day.
Ten days after finding the letter, I was still pinned to my bed. I wasn’t just sad and brokenhearted I was jealous; jealous of him. He was okay now, while I had to try to patch up the hole he left in my heart. I had to deal with the fact that he was no longer here. I would never have him to play with my hair while we watched The Notebook for the billionth time. I would never be able to intertwine my fingers with his as we sat cross-legged on his soft mattress. I would never get to listen his heart thud while I lay on his chest. I would never be able to feel his arms wrap around me while he sang me to sleep. I would never get to hear him tell me he loves me over and over again. I would never be able to talk to him on the phone for hours and hours. I would never be able to feel his hot breath on my neck as he whispered little things into my ear. I would never feel his lips on mine ever again. But most importantly I would never feel him again.
Days had past since his funeral, and I still couldn’t move. Months had gone by and I still had not left my house. People didn’t get it anymore. His death was just something that had happened in the past, and it was time to continue on with their lives.
It took me one year, six months, two weeks, and five days for me to get better. I had visited his grave every single day that I could, but now it was hard for me to even think of going there. I wanted to believe that I was in a nightmare, and that I would wake up and he would be lying next to me but that never happened. I didn’t want to do the same thing that he had done to me, but like him it was my only option.
And 44 pills was all it took, for two better halves to become one.
I used to think that I knew exactly what love felt like. That would be because I thought I was in love. He never carried my books to class. He barely held my hand in public. And you better bet if his friends came towards us, he would walk off with them leaving me in the dust. But there was something that pulled me to him. Like a magnet that was too strong to resist. I didn’t figure out that this “love” I was feeling wasn’t real until I had given it all away.
We had dated for six months until it happened. I had always said that I would have waited until I was in senior year or completely and utterly in love when I was going to lose my virginity, and I was neither in this case. He made me believed I loved him, and honestly I did think I was. We went back to his house after school on a Wednesday afternoon. I still remember the weather that day and every moment of it. His parents were both working late so we had the place to ourselves. I remember laying there on the bed, his lips gently caressing mine. When he reached for my pants I didn’t resist like I have done countless many times before. My friends had told me that if I didn’t give him what he wanted he would be gone just like that, and I honestly could not stand losing him. Within minutes I was there on my back completely naked, my bare sole and everything waiting for him. His eyes wandered up and down my body like a tiger looking at his next meal. I didn’t realize it then, but that’s all I was to him; a piece of meat. It only lasted five minutes until he was finished but it felt like hours of painful actions that I never wanted to relive. We quickly got dressed and sat on the edge of his mattress and the silence and awkwardness was all that filled the room. I still can hear the harsh words in my head that he said to me, “Well now that we are finished you can leave.” I remember looking at him and tears just streaming down my face.
Not only did he take my virginity but he had taken my heart and just threw them both away like it never mattered at all. To him all I was, was the girl that he would hump then dump. It wasn’t love that I felt, it was desire. A desire to be wanted by someone. To matter to someone. All the time that I thought I was madly in love with him, I was just madly in love with the thought. The thought of the feeling you can’t just make yourself feel. The feeling l-o-v-e.