I would love to sit here and tell you that my first kiss and relationship were with the guy I’m with now; it would make thinking about it much less awkward. But, life’s a bitch like that.
So, my first kiss was with my first boyfriend, which is terribly unadventurous of me, I know. You see, I’ve never been one of those girls that can be casual with a guy. One night stands turn into weeks of wondering why no one loves me and why I must be destined to die alone. That being said, I’m actually really good at being single – I just have to stay as far away from fuckboys as I can possibly get. Anyway, for the purposes of this blog post, I shall refer to my first boyfriend as just that, it would be unfair to name him without permission.
We met during my last year of GCSE’s, he’d gone to my school but had been in my older brother’s year group, so we didn’t really mix during school itself. He added me on MySpace (I was a proud MySpace emo and complete pc4pc and bulletin whore) and we got chatting. Our first “date” was meant to be a trip into our local town, but when I first got there he said we were going to his. I was only 15 at the time, and I knew it was a terrible idea but he was so very hot and I was so very stupid. That afternoon, I got my first real kiss. It was all very innocent and clean cut, thankfully. I don’t think I could lay my teenage years out so openly if it was as messy and sticky as some peoples.
We were together for about 2 years, the second of which I was really just trying to figure out how to get rid of him. The first year we were together I hardly slept due to his “depression” and “suicidal” tendencies. Issues which I found out were actually just him pretending his acne meds were anti-depressants. It’s made me incredibly suspicious of anyone who ever claims to be suffering mental illness so openly. Usually, as I’ve discovered over the years, those who suffer for real are those who keep their mouths shut about it.
There were many 4am phone calls along the lines of “I’m about to cut myself” but, thanks to hindsight, I know now that he was never in any danger. It was all pomp and show really. Then he started saying that one day we would get married and have babies – awkward considering I never wanted those things. He became obssessed with how pale I was and how I looked “slightly Asian” – he was a martial arts student and loved all things vaguely Oriental. I never saw my friends because I was too busy spending time with him. As a couple we became relatively MySpace famous for promoting mental well being and suicide/self-harm prevention. I was moonlighting as a photographer at the time so spent many hours photographing us and creating powerful images for a MySpace friend of his who ran a suicide awareness page. I mean seriously, a 16 year old and a fake sufferer promoting mental well being? I can think of better qualified people.
But that’s what you do, isn’t it? You think at that age, when it’s so intense and everything is an adventure that you’re in love and this is it for life.The truth is, you have no idea at 16 who you are, what you want or how to get it, so you kind of pretend to be whatever the cool people want you to be. Cool to me and my demographic back then was hardcore Emo, Punk, Skater etc. We were the most badass people in school, and I as one of the few girls in that group had the most badass, older, tattooed boyfriend. I still follow that pattern, except now the boyfriends aren’t boys playing at it anymore – Chef is truly badass, and a man rather than a boy.
But anyway, it all came to head when I discovered his anti-depressants under his bed and the box literally read “for the treatment of acne”. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. It suddenly hit me that I wasn’t even that upset and therefore couldn’t have been in love with him – but the anger was incredible. I’d been drawn in and duped and made a fool of and I was seriously pissed. So I did what any teenager with a newly found self-awareness would do – I dumped him on Christmas Eve. I invited him to my house, I dumped him, and then sat there awkwardly for about 4 hours while he sobbed and begged me to change my mind. When he finally left I was upset – I’d never broken up with anyone before, he’d been a huge part of my formative years and I felt like a bitch. But I have to admit that didn’t last very long at all. By Christmas Morning I was myself again. And when he text me in early January saying he missed me, it took very little to simply delete the message and carry on with my life.
And that is my first relationship. It’s a bit twisted I’ll admit, but it taught me a huge amount about the difference between men and boys. Thankfully. I honestly can’t imagine what kind of guys I would go for right now if he hadn’t been such a sly bastard to me. It honed my douchebag radar and I can spot them at 100 paces now. So, thanks I guess.