I have been considering writing about this time of my life for a while now, as I’ve been having flashbacks of these events a lot recently. Therapy tends to bring this stuff back.
This week I came to a decision; after reading this badass quote:
“I am not afraid of my truth anymore and I will not omit pieces of me to make you comfortable”
I’ve been omitting parts of my truth my whole life, I’m done with that. In the end my decision was: fucking write about it. Do whatever you need to do my darling girl.
So, here we are, and I must add (Hi mothership!) that I go into quite some detail about difficult times for me (Some of it sexual), so (mum) you may want to think twice about carrying on and reading these words…You have been warned (mum), if you carry on (which I’m happy for you to) then you do so at your own peril.
Just sayin’ (I love you).
. . .
The year is 2011. The month is June. I am 23 years old.
I’m in Barcelona with two amazing girlfriends. Let’s call us the three musketeers for now. I change my mind a lot, so this will most likely change too.
Barcelona became our place back in 2007, when we were only 19 years young and went on our first proper girls holiday. We had some of the best times of our lives. It was so good that one of us moved there permanently, and now, in 2016, we are still constantly making plans for future Barcelona reunions.
I think it’s safe to say we have a soft spot and deep love for the city of Barcelona.
In 2011, the three musketeers decided to return to Barcelona for another much needed girls holiday. I particularly needed this holiday.
In late 2010, I decided to get back together with an ex-boyfriend. BAD MOVE, the shit that went down left me needing a holiday, and therapy. At the time, I thought it was true love (Aw!), but now I think we only got back together because we were both confused, plus he was alone and needed a place to crash in Leeds, which is where we both ended up going for university. I had a lovely house with wonderful flatmates (there was one exception), so this worked well for him. I have to clarify, this is my side of the story; therapy has me doing some serious exploring of past shenanigans and this is my take on the situation. And my feelings.
We met in college, in London, when we were both 16 and had a turbulent relationship after our first two weeks together. I still reminisce about the first two weeks of our relationship, it was fun, innocent, honest and there was so much love. I used to always think that I stayed in this relationship with the hope that this guy I spent those two weeks with was going to come back, but that never happened (surprise surprise).
Turns out the guy that I fell in love with didn’t really exist; he put on an appealing mask that lured me in, and once he had me, he then showed his true colours; he was horrible to my friends, he didn’t want to see me when I asked but forced me to see him when he wanted, he didn’t care for when we spoke, he was flirting with other girls, he told people that he was single when in fact, by this point, we had been dating for around twelve to fifteen months, he would be a bastard to me and then come over to have dinner at my house. There was a lot more; he was raising all the red flags basically, but I want to write a book one day so I’ll save the nitty-gritty details for that.
I read a quote recently which I felt perfectly summed up my relationship with this person, it’s by Maya Angelou and it goes a little (a lot) like this:
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time”
I have learned this now. Unfortunately, the painful way; through experience. But I look back now and well, I knew who this person was very early on, I just hoped and naively assumed that he would change. Funnily enough (Not) he used to play Naive by The Kooks to me a lot. He told me I was naive for spending so long with my ex-ex boyfriend, whom I dated for a few years before this relationship. Yes, I have been in long ass (fuck) relationships since the (way too) young age of fifteen. FUCKING FIFTEEN!
We broke up soon after my nineteenth birthday, we had just spent a month in Jamaica with his family and well, he was a dick there too. He called me stupid in front of his auntie and spent a lot of his time on MSN (Yes, MSN was a long time ago) talking to other girls. Who fucking does that?! You’re in paradise with a gorgeous latina who believes she’s fucking in love with you, wouldn’t you just make the most of this surreal situation? Maybe I am naive…
Just to be clear, I’m not being big-headed, I have some serious self-esteem issues, but I look through photo albums now and feel sad because “DAMN, I looked fucking stunning at nineteen. And at twenty-one. And at twenty-two. And at twenty-three. Oh and every year up until now.” But I never embraced it, I always put myself down. I’m still working on this actually. I’ve been on diets since the age of like eleven, and I really didn’t need to. I know many can relate to this, but I’ll save this discussion for another post.
Anywhoozle (in the words of Amy Schumer), we officially broke up in 2007, carried on having a disturbing on-off relationship for too long, in this time we both moved to Leeds for university – no, this was not planned – and officially got back together in 2010, whilst still completing our university course in Leeds. When we were back together, things got really intense, reeaaally quickly. It was like we had never broken up. I guess in a way, we didn’t really. We just “kissed” other people and then “kissed” each other for a while.
He seemed so different, I was blown away by this “new” person. What I saw was a kind, caring, attentive person. This guy was lighting candles out in the cold with me in honour of a cousin who had passed away in a car accident. This is also the same guy that was there for me when my friend (and someone who is always in my thoughts) committed suicide. This all happened within the same month. However, unfortunately, in reality, I was deluded because really, I was just a past time for when he was bored.
In January 2011, the boy left me in Leeds to go study in San Diego (California) as part of a student exchange program that our university organised. I wanted to go do the same in Australia, but unfortunately, I was still in the process of applying for a British passport so in Leeds I stayed. And y’know what, now I’m glad that I did. I loved Leeds and the friends I made in that fun, beautiful place.
When the boy was in San Diego, I mentioned the nice things he did for me and the lovely letters he wrote to me when we were in Leeds together, and his response was “God, that’s such a long time ago”. FUCK. It all meant nothing to him.
. . .
Click here when you’re ready for the second part of this post The one-night stand that left me feeling empty. Part 2: The first time
(Again, more details in the book or later in this blog…We shall see what my mind decides to do one day).