I got into my first relationship in March of my freshman year of high school. For a girl who spent the majority of her life waiting for this moment, it was surreal. I was in a group of friends that consisted of about 10 of the most dramatic girls I've ever known. I consider myself one of the top contributors, and it wasn't our fault, we met in 8th grade drama class.
Over the course of our friendship, it seemed to rotate who had "the boyfriend." Sometimes, it was even the same boy with a different girl (like I said: dramatic). I always envied the others when it was their turn, and now, it was finally mine. I had the boy walking over to meet me for lunch. I had the name "boyfriend" in my phone directory. And I even got a hand made card from a friend on our 1 month anniversary. Back then, it certainly was something to celebrate.
We lasted a solid month before I broke up with him over a rumored spring break cheating incident; a rumor that he openly admitted to starting, although he swore it wasn't true.
Although I ended the relationship, I didn't escape the mourning. I finally had found what I had been wanting for as long as I could remember, a boy who wanted to make me his. It may have been a boy who thought a rumor about cheating on his girlfriend made him look cool, but it was a boy nonetheless.
I missed being able to call someone my "boyfriend". I missed feeling the security of being taken. And I missed awaiting the daily visit and hug during our lunch break. The anger over the rumored cheating incident lasted all of about 5 minutes. Long enough to end the relationship, but not long enough to get over it. I found myself pining over the boy before the end of the school year.
Thus began about a 6 month season of playing racquetball with my heart. It was the epitome of an on-again, off-again "relationship." And sadly, each on-again segment got slightly more physical than the last. By the end of the season, I was giving him far more than I had ever given a man physically, and getting none of the security of a normal relationship. I look back now, and realize that I barely knew this person who had such a grip on my heart. I was also only 15 years old, and already feeling like I needed intimacy to win over a man.
In the middle of this giant mess of teenage emotions, hormones and intimacy, another man was added to the mix. Fortunately, this particular man was unlike any of the others I had ever known. I met him on a high school church retreat that I was invited to by a friend, and his name was