My Scarlet Letter

My first break-up was horrible.

In fact, there are a few people that read this blog that are probably nodding their heads so vigorously right now that they might fall off their necks. See, I was in my freshman year in college and I started dating one of the first guys that showed me attention. My whole life up until that point seemed to be filled with guys that I liked but didn't like me back. I know...it's the story of most people's lives. Anyway, my first boyfriend was in college. He was tall and oh my goodness did he have a mullet that was EPIC. Despite the mullet, I got really attached to him - very quickly. He was my first kiss and my first love.

A few short months later, I realized that I no longer wanted to date this person...I realized that I'd rather take my chances with other people. So I broke things off with him. He sat there, crying in my bedroom saying, "But I thought that you were 'The One!'" I can't even remember all the guys that have said that to me when I've broken up with them...which is amazing since NONE of them actually asked me to be "The One"... but now we're getting into a different post topic. Anyway, after I broke up with him, I felt so good...for about 12 hours. And then OH how I wanted him back. Of course, then he wanted nothing to do with me.

So I cried almost all the time. I didn't eat (or at least not much) for weeks. I couldn't go to my Chemistry class because it reminded me of him (he was a Chemistry major) and if I did, I ended up crying through it. If I had to count how many times I cried to my friends Joella and Jon, I'd say that it neighbored close to eleventy hundred.

The worst part was going to sleep. Because I would inevitably dream of him. In my dreams, things would be fine again - we'd be in love and we'd laugh at how the whole break up was a big mistake... But then I'd wake up and have to face reality all over again.

I was not with him. I was alone. I'd mourn all over again every day - practically soaking my pillow with fresh tears. It was, in a word, absofrickinhorrible.

These days, I'm finding myself in that similar situation. There is an issue - one that I have spent many tears on - that has plagued me the past 6 years of my life. At first, it was horrible just dealing with it...but eventually it became almost a part of myself. I accepted it and hated it at the same time. For a short while, I thought that the burden would be lifted from me. But it turns out, that is not the case. I've learned to live my life as if everything was the same...and most of the time I find myself being very happy. Because I'm not faced with this issue daily, it's easy for me to forget that it *is* an issue.

And then, when I least expect it, it pops up again. It IS like waking up from a fantastic dream... and a part of me mourns all over again. I realize that for some reason, one I can't pinpoint or blame on any one else, this issue will never fully go away. It affects other people. And the guilt? Why, that's nothing compared to the shame.

It's like having to wear a scarlet letter on your chest day in and day out. And then, unexpectedly being able to go to a party where no one knows you so that you can wear any outfit without that "A." You have a fantastic time... only to come home and see the entire wardrobe (A's and all) waiting for you - right where you left them.

It's like re-injuring yourself.

Or maybe it's more like getting a paper cut in the same area over and over again.

It doesn't ever seem to heal completely...and sometimes I wonder if it ever will.