The One Who Changed Everything

I’ve been avoided this post because this one was going to be next. He was my next boyfriend and I wasn’t sure I knew what to write about, to talk about. I feel nothing about this situation now.

“So many events and moments that seemed insignificant add up. I remember how for the last Valentine´s Day, N gave flowers but no card. In restaurants, he looked off into the middle distance while my hand would creep across the table to hold his. He would always let go first. I realize I can´t remember his last spontaneous gesture of affection.”
― Suzanne Finnamore

To Know the Start, You Must Begin at the End

It was August, but I don’t remember the sticky T-shirt feeling your suppose to have during this month, or the sweaty walk up his flight of stairs and the continuing question, “It’s too hot to not have air units.” But I remember the wind, his window was open, even though he was nowhere near. I had two more hours before I would pick him up at the airport. I had to beg and plead with him to pick him up, to spend time with him for the night. His texts were worse than a sigh, he wanted to sleep and didn’t seem to have any interest in having sex, even though we hadn’t seen each other in three months.

Did I know he was cheating on me? 

In many ways yes, I knew. My mind had already made many of the connections, but the rest of my body wasn’t ready to catch up and learn he had cheated on me for five months (longer than I assumed). He hadn’t just been sleeping with some girl, but he loved (maybe still loves) her. He introduced her to his family during a vacation they took together, he stole my car to see her, he took out the photos of me and filled them with her tall, skinny body, her red lipstick and every photo of her showed had a soft smile.

Walking up his stairs that night didn’t feel different. But it was colder, for an August night it was almost chilly. And he didn’t even try and hide the beautiful lacy cami folded up so neatly, so gently. It wasn’t mine and I was sure this wasn’t a gift. Her love letters laid out across his bed, his poems written about her, some sweet and most sexual poems describing her breast, her pale skin, the way she fucked the best.

This girl wrote poetry (at this time I didn’t even imagine I would want to become a writer), she was edgy and had the same dark sadness he carried. They were perfect for each other and they figured this out before I ever did. Before he decided to let me know. And I knew her, pretty well actually. I had hugged her a few times, stopped by her birthday (where they met, were my roommates pointed out an uncomfortable flirting vibe)She was an avid activist and feminist woman and she was best friends with my best friend.

Walking down his stairs was a completely different story. My knees shook, the room seemed so hot and I didn’t feel the need to cry. I met up with my brother to pick up my cheating boyfriend from the airport. I hugged my cheating boyfriend, I smiled at his return and he mostly spoke with my brother. I finally noticed the distance had been there for months.

His main reason for cheating on me: He was in love and he thought we had broken up already. When he dropped me off at the airport, we hugged and a got teary eyed. We said goodbye and he though this was our break-up. Even though I spoke on the phone with him, text him and told him I loved him.

Random Memories

I remember finding one thing, this “list” he wrote. It had all the names of the women he had ever been with or loved/cared about. We weren’t ranked with numbers but in more of factual way.Every girl had two things like, Betty: Pretty eyes, kinky, Mary: Nice hands, enjoys going out. 

Mine were: “Sporty” and “Can get men easy”. 

Both were night owls, but those weird night owls who like to walk around parks late at night. My EX use to try and get me to join him, but I hated walking in public places at night. I wanted to be at home reading books, working on papers, watching a film. I would later find out they would go off together for walks in the park less than a mile from our houses. Yes, crazy to think we all lived in the same neighborhood. I later would tell my best friend about this, the one who lived with this girl and she would be shocked and say, “I remember her telling the house she was going on a late night walk and it was a normal thing for her to do.” I would say, “It was a normal thing for him to do too.”

He and I would try to be friends. I would forgive them both, because that’s what a young lady does. She doesn’t show her pain, she puts on a good face. That’s what the stories show. “You don’t want to be the bitch” So you met her, you welcome her into your house, you hear him talk about her hair, how her body is thin in just the right places. How she loves poetry, loves writing and how she doesn’t fit in with the world. I would break ties with him a year after it all happened, because he wouldn’t admit that stealing my car was a bad thing. He blames me for getting him fired, for ruining his life, for making her leave him. So he kicked me out of his house screaming at me, cussing me out and flipping me off.

We never spoke again and I never want to but he did text me congrats when I graduated, he text all these nice words and a bit of me wanted to text him back, but I will never let myself forget how he treated me. So no I will never speak to him again. I don’t want to.

But no, I don’t feel hatred towards him, sadness or regret. I feel nothing. Not the numb kind of nothing. Like when the dentist injects the novocaine into your gums, but the numbing sense something is missing that was once there. Like you once had wings but they were clipped, or all your hair falls out at once. I have forgotten so much about him and our time together. It feels like I’ve been thrown into the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind 


Who am I now after three years? A young woman trying to get her shit together. I think it’s the best way to describe me. I have more trust issues than I can count and that I was aware of a year ago. The body issues I never had before and I’m scared another guy will call me stupid, put my down, grab me hard.

I spent a lot of time between other guys sheets trying to prove I’m not worthless

Today I sit in my room looking for old emails, letter, anything from this relationship to give me a jump start for this post and I realized I got rid of everything. It’s all gone and I just feel numb.

My First Time


There is a lot to be said about the first time you have sex. You never forget that person, that moment and that *facepalm* feeling, “what were you thinking?” In the words of Mike Birbiglia, “At least no one saw it.”

John and I only dated for about five months, but it would a life changing five months.

Recently I told my best friend Sarah (friends since 4th grade) that if I had never met John we wouldn’t have met half of the friends we spend time with to this day. If I hadn’t dated John she may have never met her fiance. (More detail on this in a future post)

I met John (or Johnny) through a friend on Facebook. Johnny, my friend/his friend and I all ran cross country. I wasn’t running any longer though and was still dealing this a very painful back and neck injury due to soccer. We met via facebook, like any weird high school relationship starts. Note: This is such an embarrassing story for me personally.

We planned to meet at the local mall, like any young teenager with no real concept of hanging out places. My best friend Sarah came, even though I knew Johnny was a real person (thanks to my friend who knew him) Sarah just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a murder. He wasn’t a murder just in case anyone’s wondering, but after dating him and how we broke up I will say he turned out to be an asshole.

Funny Side Note: When Sarah and I first met John we both thought the same thing, ” wow he’s shorter than I thought he be.” He wasn’t super short, like he as taller than both Sarah and I. Still he was shorter than we had anticipated.

Dating in high school was so simple. Compared to dating as an adult, where you have discussions, share of each other’s emotional baggage and have an exchange of traits. Adult dating is like watching a National Geographic mating video, The Mating rituals of the Savannah” Where you watch a very bloody mating display of lion and you’re like “I want none of that.” So you go drink wine in your sweats and hang out on Tumblr.

But high school was easy. “Will you be my girl?” “Yes.” Done.

Like how it states in my title: My First Time

Johnny was my first time. I think I was 17 years old. Johnny was 17 too and only a few weeks older than me. A Taurus, I’m a Gemini.

Note: I don’t believe in horoscope in any way. I’m not laying out stones on my body or painting my body with symbols. I just the ironic description of horoscope and I believe it’s a simple/basic profile of someones personality and most people from all over understand horoscopes so there. 

We had sex. It was fine. Johnny had sex with his girlfriend before me, who moved away he claimed. I had never had sex and I was the first one out of the majority of people I knew to have sex. In his bedroom, with the TV night movie special, Catch me if you can. Surrounded by superheroes and a childhood still being played out. The moment you realize this is a stepping into who you will become, but as a young kid it’s a different thought than it is looking back on the moment.

The moment you realize this is a stepping into who you will become, but as a young kid it’s a different stepping stone you think about. As an adult you think about all the baggage it created and as a teenager it was “I’m fucking having sex!”

Did I want to have sex? Yes and No. Was I a bit hesitate? Yes. Did he push me a little bit to have sex. Oh yeah. Does this thought make me a bit uneasy as an adult? Of course.

Johnny was the first in a long line of guys I gave myself to. Gave up my body to and trying to become the definition of pleasure. I would win love through sex I thought and this only intensified after how our relationship ended.

Johnny had this long lost love for years. Some girl he just only loved but she never loved him back, until one day she did. At the end of our relationship from what I was told they started seeing each other, very intimately.

Johnny was a loser. He would go on to say this other girl was his “Jenny” and he was “Forrest Gump.”


This is how we would end. Through a terrible movie analogy.

Months afterward we would meet up again to chat.

I was still into him (but dating a friend of his) And he knew I still was into him and used this to his advantage. (We also hooked up a few times when we were both single throughout the months of fall) But one day a few weeks when I was dating one his friends we met up. Which just turned into me pointing out I knew he slept with her when we were still together and him asking me why I was seeing his friend.

And this moment I will never forget:

Johnny then told me ” no one will ever love you. No one will ever want to marry you.”

I know this is not true. But how would you feel, at 18 years old, from the first guy you had sex with? It was heart breaking for many years. Sometimes I think back to this conversation and wonder if he cursed me somehow because here I am single at 25.

Years Later

We wouldn’t talk for a long time after that conversation. Then, because he had a hold on me for the longest time. That silent sexual energy, that enegry you get from having sex and loving them. I had also just had a very awful break up with my boyfriend I had been with for four years. John was smart and he prayed on my recent break up. But our conversations and talk all ended one day when he was hitting on me via text.

John: “What did you do on your Saturday night?”

Me: “Oh just spent time with friends, went to the bars and danced. You?”

John: Oh not much, just went out, danced, did some nose candy…”

Nose Candy…? NOSE CANDY! Out of all the slang, lingo, short talk he picked NOSE CANDY! How about you just say I did some blow, or I don’t know I did cocaine. Good old cocaine

Also, John was well aware that drugs are not the way to my heart. At 25 years old I haven’t even smoked a cigarette or smoked pot. If you want to, cool. I’ve never been interested in any of it. It’s like coconut. Some people love it and some people don’t. Or like Anal.

So after this very weird text message it kind of hit me how much this guy had really hurt me, used me and was a loser. So I told him to leave me alone (Because he was also notorious for sneaking his way back into my life)

And now I call him Mr. Nose Candy.

Mr. Nose Candy would forever set in motion how I felt about my body and he was the first trip down the stairs, the first roll of the snowball effect, the one I looked back on when someone left me. When I felt like my body, my sex wasn’t enough to keep a man.

My relationship with John would be the knife in my back I would feel after numerous boyfriends cheated on me.

John was the first.

So how do I think about my first time now? I think about a bird molting.

 That’s the image in my mind.

A bird losing its wings.