i knew exactly how she felt
So, here’s the something else that happened last night. I connected with my tv. I know that sounds lame, but… I was watching Everwood (for seriously only the second time). I don’t really know much about this show, except that it takes place in a place called Everwood. There was a plot about a girl on the show who’s about 16. She leaves for school one morning and ends up in the next state. She steals a perscription form from her doctor and fights with her parents. Ironically, her name was Amy. It was as if a bucket of cold water had hit me in the face.
Get some popcorn and settle in. This is gonna be a long one.
When I was 14, I dated “the guy” (not to be confused with “that guy” of previous post). The guy who eventually all women date. The bastard. The one who stole my innocence and changed my outlook on the world forever. His name was Mike.
I met Mike when I was 14. We went on a school trip to Washington D.C. Best Friend was their as well, but she wasn’t Best Friend yet. Ironically, she was there from the first moment until the bitter end. That is why she is Best Friend now. He was dark and mysterious and listened to bands I had never even heard of. I can still remember that he bought a Judas Priest cd while we were there.
It started out sweet enough. My parents drove us to our first movie, his mom picked us up. Thursdays he used to come over after school and stay for dinner. But then, he started letting his true colors show. And his true colors were the kind you would see on a bad acid trip.
He had some serious abandonment issues, and some serious money=love problems. His parents adored their older daughter, but let Mike know he’d been a “mistake”. In my young mind, he was sad, and I could fix him. As we all know, this seldom works. He pulled me into a downward spiral so fast I had whiplash. I began mouthing off to teachers, failing tests. I was on the phone with him constantly. And when I say that, I mean it. At 3:30 when I got home from school, he’d call. We’d talk til dinner, and when my parents went to bed I’d call him back. I was staying up til 3 and 4 in the morning. My mom began working at my school to keep an eye on me. I was sneaking out. I was crying all the time. I got in a fight with my then best friend at school--a fist fight. I had no desire to even get up much less go to school and be what everyone thought I should be. My parents took away my phone. He gave me another one. It was under my bed. My mom found it. They had the call waiting disconnected so that they could tell if I was on the phone or not when they weren’t home. I was forbidden to see him. And that’s when it really got bad.
I ran away from home. I was on the greenbelt (a paved path running all through the woods of my hometown) when a man approached me with a knife. He didn’t get to close, but he did tell me not to scream. I didn’t. Instead I turned tail and ran for it. I don’t think he really followed me far. I went home, curled up under my covers, and cursed my luck and my weakness. A few weeks later, acutally it was just about this time of year, Mike was over at my house (my parents relented and let him come over so I’d stop lying to go see him). My mom was upstairs wrapping Christmas presents. At this point, I knew Mike was bad news but was still ensnared by his little-boy-needs-help soul. He said he wanted to have sex. I said I did’t. He said “yes you do”. Um, “no I don’t” I replied. “YES. YOU. DO.” So I did. Not because he hurt me or forced himself on me, but because I was afraid he would. I had found out previously that he had hit his previous girlfriend. That was perhaps one of the weakest moments of my life. We broke up. My parents bought me a Fender Precision black and white bass guitar for this. I returned everything he ever gave me, with the exception of one stuffed animal (bunny chuck) and a shark’s tooth necklace. He began pulling the “I just swallowed fifty pills but if we get back together I’ll throw them up” routine.
We got back together. I remember laying on the floor of the guest room, crying in my mothers lap. Telling her that I felt like I was drowning. That I was clawing my way to the surface to breathe but that the harder I struggled the farther away the sunlight got. That I felt like I was dying, and that that was what I wanted. I began seeing a shrink. That didn’t last long. I didn’t like her, and I didn’t want her help. I used to stick my head out the car window and scream bloody murder when my mom took me there. That in and of itself probably helped me more than the shrink did.
It’s funny, what we remember. I remember that I tried with all my might to push everyone away from me. I remember Best Friend holding on for dear life. No matter what I did. No matter how awful I was to her. She was the only person in my life that stuck by me through that whole ordeal, and when it started, she had nothing invested--we didn’t even know each other that well.
I remember all of that drama with my parents. How they were there for me, how they tried so hard to be strong. How they were honestly willing to move to a new neighborhood to get me away from Mike. I remember sitting in the living room, arms crossed, ultra-defensive, as my dad cried and told me he didn’t know what else to do. I remember that all I did was roll my eyes and tell him “shut up--it’s my life”. They were mean, evil and invasive. I secretly thank them every day.
Other than the afforementioned Thanksgiving-ish episode, there are only two other moments that I clearly remember about my relationship with Mike. One was unlike the previous story, my strongest moment with him. I knew it was over, but he wouldn’t let me go. We were in the halls at school. In a stairwell, on the landing. Students were hustling past us on their way to class. We were arguing and I turned to go. He grabbed my arm (so hard it bruised) and whipped me around to face him. His fist was raised. And I yelled. “Go ahead, hit me Mike. It’ll make you feel like more of a man, I’m sure!). Everyone in the hallway froze. Guys that had never given me the time of day before, and have never spoken to me since pried his hand off my arm and threw him into a wall. Girls who looked like beauty queens took me to the bathroom and asked me if I was okay. Those were the hardest words I had ever had to say. He never raised his hand to me again.
The final memory I have of Mike was the last time I talked to him. I had made ammends with a friend and was staying at her house. We were drinking wine out of a box. At 14, after 2 glasses we were tanked. He called her house. I talked to him for awhile, but he was pulling his suicide stunt again and I had had enough. He said if I hung up on him he was gonna kill himself. I’d like to think that I suddenly realized how stupid he sounded and how stupid I was to believe him for so long, but I’m pretty sure it was the wine. I started giggling, told him to stop calling me and hung up on that chapter in my life.
In retrospect, I’m glad I was so young when this happened. If I had been 18 or even 16, I probably would have run off with him and gotten married. Then where would I be? No, I’m glad I was young. It opened my eyes to the character of people around me. I am an eerily accurate judge of character. I can dislike someone from the moment they walk in the room, without ever speaking to them, and I’m usually right for it. Even when I can’t put my finger on it, once people’s true colors come out I am dead on with my assessment.
I saw Mike about a year ago, in a bar. We stared at each other, the fire of rage burning in my glare. He started towards me, and as a testament to the strength he made me find in myself, I turned and left the bar.
Posted by amy t.
Comments...
Wow. I’m ever amazed at the strength of people. Your story is unfortunatly a familiar one, as I watched many friends deal with boyfriends like that guy. I’ve had an ex-girlfriend try the suicide thing on me too, which was sad. I was fortunate to have gotten a lot of that stuff out of the way early as well.
I’m proud that you have found strength in your experiences. If we were all so conscious of life’s lessons, I’m sure we’d find the next stage of humanism. Wherever that may be! 