It’s been over two years since I’ve opened up this site, and a strong part of me wants to delete my blogs from here for good simply because I’ll never use them again.
I have been changed so much from the teenager who started this “On My Terms” blog back in 2008 – that was FIVE years ago. The one romantic idea that has kept me from deleting my account here: What was important to me in 2008? What were the motivations, emotions and thoughts that got me through high school? Was I as immature and naive as my peers and just didn’t realize it?
It almost feels embarrassing to read over some of the posts I’ve made here out of pure frustration. The poetry. The romantic longing. As a twenty year old who will turn twenty-one in just a few months, I don’t have very much in common with sixteen year old me. The important things in her life were looking forward to her first kiss, online RPGs and finding a new pair of jeans that didn’t show so much of her thick legs. I had absolutely no idea how much was going to change in the next year, how my values and the thoughts I’d had my entire life were going to completely flip.
Through the years, I met people that let me open my mind and THINK – I stopped accepting the ideals my parents had thrust on me about racism, religion, social structure and fitting in, and started to try and think my own way, become my own person. At least that’s what I thought I was doing, because even today I’m still finding new crevices to my personality and windows to my soul.
I thought love was going to be simple and that I’d get it right the first time. Just a year later, at seventeen, I thought I was actually in love with a boy who wanted nothing more than a night with me, because he disguised it with sweet compliments and a humble attitude. Four years later, I can’t believe I was silly enough to fall for that. I didn’t fall completely, didn’t give all of my body to him because he was the first young man to ever show interest, but I came dangerously close to giving my happiness to a horny boy. That was the year I started hating myself, and it’s taken YEARS to recover that inner happiness.
So if you ever read this, Devin, sweetie, I’m talking to you: you were clever. You called me beautiful and said that I would fit right in with your family, and you hit me with an ‘I love you’ that was way too fucking early and way too fucking insincere. I wasn’t in love with you, but I said it because the thought of you disappearing terrified me. After that one date, that one night that I’ll probably have in my mind forever, your excuses grew larger than your ego, and I spent way too much time crying, asking myself what I’d done wrong.
I’ve seen you preach these days about how much you love a woman who respects herself enough to wait. But you’re a hypocrite, baby, because at seventeen you were just as anxious to jump into my pants as any other teenage boy, and you were no virgin back then anyway. I am so glad that the Me back then had enough sense to keep her pajama pants on when you’d have been so happy to peel them off. I was naive and in complete lust with you, but you are not worth the emotional trauma I’d have suffered once you poofed into a cloud of smoke.
One last thing before I finish with you though: that kiss, my first kiss? That was perfect. It was soft and easy and took my breath away easier than anything else that happened that night. Looking back, it wasn’t with the right person, but it was a story that I can tell people now and not be ashamed of. So thank you for that one thing you did right, I suppose. And fuck you very much for the rest.