Well, congratulations to me and mine, upon completing out second year together and moving steadily into our third 365 course. And with the dawning of such a measly record , it makes me recount my other relationships to wonder how this particular achievement became so important, and how bad were all the rest…
I first fell in LOVELOVE when I was 17 years of age, in the last half year of my high school career, attending a uniformed Catholic girls school, and not being enough of a popular girl to land one of the dip spitting, Wrangler squeezing, cowboy boot and hat combo kinds from the Catholic boys school next door. Sure I had made efforts (let’s NEVER forget Sophomore year with Scott the pig farmer when he showed up an hour late to DINNER, completely missing pictures and embarrassing the hell out of me in front of all the other skittle couples, and then skipping the dance entirely once his momma pig had her babies and then subsequently tried to eat them…all. We spent the night at his farm shooting deformed newborns , whose tears and squeals sound distinctly like human newborns. AHHH, THE NIGHTMARES!) but they never seemed to pan out into one of those adorable high school relationships we all know so well. (Kelly and Sol, Jaime and Nate, Jessamyn and Kelly, Pat and Renee…just to name a few…)
I was actually dating a stud from a high school in my hometown when I literally rolled up on his best friend and found that I had met my…boy. From the first moment we were hooked on each other like a terminally ill patient to morphine. Everything that love entails fell right into our laps from the ditching school and lying to our parents, panic and doubt if we didn’t get a page (the really, really old days) or a phone call from our mate, all kinds of sexual exploration and attraction (I was told by the famous Nick E. during final semester Physics, that if I didn’t lose my cherry before college, I was a LOSER, with a 3-D L on my forehead. I didn’t forget that…), and honest and true belief that this was the one person I was going to spend my life with and that was that. HURRAY FOR FIRST TRUE LOVE.
He dumped me my first week in college and that freshman year is nothing more than a hazy memory of hurt, tears, begging and loss. The good stuff, oh yah.
This hurt led me right into the arms of my first 2 year love affair, with a boy still in High School, who had fucked and drank his way through his last four years and was actually looking for the lady that he would settle down for life alongside. And can I just take this moment to say what a shitty girlfriend I was to him, and what a fantastic partner he tried to be. I was in no shape to be a good lady for any person because I was still so messed up from the first love that the second was doomed from the start. It wasn’t until his friends started congratulating us on our second year that I knew I was just passing through this guy’s life with no intention to stay with him and no real interest, or love, in him. I broke his heart BIG TIME and to this day regret having been so absent and uncommitted to him and his needs. Part of the reason that I left him in such a dramatic way is that I had fallen in love again, and my tunnel vision completely blocked him from my sight. I was living in London, England for a summer abroad trip with my college and no reconciliation was going to surmount my head-over-heels infatuation with living abroad. I had found my ideal partner- and it wasn’t a “him”, it was an “it”, a location…how awkward.
The second time I fell in love it was the BIG love. The one that you can’t imagine your life without, the person that could never hurt you, the reason for all of your life’s decisions until then – your person. He and I met in London, him already dating another girl, and me spending the first night after our introduction crying (and other losing of fluids) into a bucket…in the bar…that he worked in. It wasn’t until 3 months later, after having left England to return to Malibu, to freak out upon returning and immediately sign up for the following year abroad back in London, that we hooked up. He knew he loved me, he knew I was coming back and he was not about to let me go a second time. He was waiting for me in that same bar we met for the entire day he knew my flight was arriving. And at 9PM when I finally walked into my home away from home, there he was to pounce on his pray and make me a very, very happy woman.
I experienced the majority of my life’s great awakenings with this young man. To this day, there is still a hurt that is deep and scarred where our breakup marked me. Right before our two year anniversary he dumped me. On the day of my college graduation, surrounded by my friends and family, 3 months away from starting grad school in London where we would live together, he called and said it was over and to never speak to him again. To say that I fell apart is a light little ditty of description that can never even come close to depicting the mess that survived that horrendous day. This was my mate, my person, my life partner and to lose him in such a dramatic and severed way sliced me in half and left me a sliver of the human being I once was. The recovery wasn’t pretty either. It wasn’t until 6 YEARS later that that boy contacted me to apologize for what happening in that moment, those following months, and the subsequent years that followed. Every time I tried to contact him, he hung up on me, changed his numbers, and told all of our mutual friends it was him or me – Make your choice. He destroyed me.
So began a weird decade in my life where transitory living and loving was all that I would know and all that I would allow myself. I changed countries as quickly as I changed relationships as quickly as I changed timelines. My life felt like it was no longer my own, and I was just a passenger in a long line of 365s that would pass with me absorbing lessons and truths, and not taking another seriously or dramatically. No matter how many times I would try a “serious” attempt at a boyfriend, it always ended right before the 2 year mark at the longest, and not well for the shortest. I finally came back to America right before I turned 30 with a super sharp chip on my shoulder, and a savagely independent mindset that was rock hard and strong.
And then came Roy. To say this man chose me, pursued me, and declared his life to me is an understatement. For sure, we would not be where we are today if he hadn’t decided with or without me that we would be a good match, and that he would and could whittle me down and make me his lady love one day. I put up a valiant effort, we would go out after huge amounts of persuasion on his part, and I would just stare at him; no conversation, nothing interesting or kind to contribute, just staring. To put it harshly, I was a bitch, to put it kindly, I was playing a stiff hard – to – get routine. It wasn’t to last that long. It suddenly dawned on me that I was spurning the advances of a….wait for it….:kind, handsome, loving man that wanted me and would take all the minuses that came with my pluses, with no questions asked. WHAT?!?!?! Who am I to stay cold and distant my whole life- I’M ITALIAN FOR GOD SAKE, passion is in my every breath. I felt it was time to revive that woman, and he seemed like a good choice to take on my hot blooded nature.
So, now I’m on the path to something different, something new. I definitely haven’t been here before. I am not scared (really) or worried (deeply) that we are going to break up. I don’t fret that he’s not my “perfect” match and questioning daily what we’re doing together. He makes my life easier and better and suddenly I am starting to understand all of the relationships around me that have happy, working couples, making a good life for themselves and their families.
And now we’re going into our third year, we’re stable, we’re functioning, we’re ok. Do I question this? A bit. But have I learned enough to know when to stop question and start living? You bet. And so here’s to us, congrats love birds! And to all of the others that never made it this far…..sorry suckers. Your Loss! WOOT!