life lesson - love
Falling in love is - and always has been - a journey. I used to think that it was so easy, that you can just fall into love. But it’s so much more complicated than that - for me at least. It’s always changing and constantly moving around, realigning, which is why I think it’s taken me so long to understand love; that and the plethora of bad experiences I’ve had.
At 5, love was easy: skipping about the classroom, I saw a boy, a boy I knew very well. He knew me too, I knew that. I thought I knew a lot of things. I teetered over to him, sitting right next to him, making sure our knees were touching. I looked up, and smiled at him. He smiled straight back - that was it! That was love, right there and then! And truly I would never feel the same thing again for a long time.
At 8, love was funny: girls giggled next to me, whispering about who they liked the most, who they were desperate to be asked out by. I laughed too - of course I had someone in mind, you had to! If you didn’t, you were weird, so I had someone in mind. I could see the boys playing football on the concrete pitch, pretending not to care, but secretly thinking about who they would ask out. And it was funny - it still is - to think that love used to be so simple.
At 10, love was confusing: changing in a room full of girls became one of the most nerve wracking things for me - not because of my obvious body issues, but because of something else, but I couldn’t tell what. My heart would race as I walked into the changing rooms, sweat pilling under my armpits as I frantically looked anywhere but the naked girls all around me. I distinctly remember a moment - I was mid-change, my shirt unbuttoned, when I realised I had been staring at a girl the entire time. She noticed, and proceeded to point out the fact that I was staring, calling me a whole bunch of names. I knew from then on it wasn’t normal, that the only way I should be looking like that is at a boy. So I continued to hide any evidence of me even being anything other than completely and utterly straight.
At 12, love was nothing: determined to show people I was not the staring girl in the changing rooms, I dated every single guy I could to prove how straight I was. I got called so many things - slut, whore, slapper, every name in the book that consisted of how many boys I kissed - but no gay insults. I felt relieved that no one thought that any more - however my idea of love was becoming crumpled. I can’t remember my first kiss, who it was, when, all I know is that I didn’t care, as long as people thought I was straight. I eventually got into a 9 month long relationship, only for it to end with the guy coming out as gay. Irony.
At 13, love was better: after a long process, I realised I had to tell people I was bisexual, but to a big cost - everyone thought I was straight and I’d already dated a big portion of the guys in school to prove I was straight. I waited until I was almost 14 before telling a single soul - I’d known for nearly 4 years I wasn’t straight, and telling a single person felt like the entire universe was off my back. I told more people and I got so excited about what it meant for my future. But I couldn’t love anyone - not yet.
Now, at nearly 16, love isn’t real.
A lot happened between coming out and currently. I met a boy who melted my heart, only to have him tear it up without care - useless arguments and constant shouting, forcing me to do things and over protection: it breaks you. Having people you like hurt you is probably one of the worst pains because you don’t expect it from them. This goes for the small crushes to the long term relationships - it hurts. Especially when you go through so much to get to a point where you’re happy with how you perceive love and someone shoves it down the drain.
Love isn’t real unless you find that one person.
So here’s my advice; cherish true love. Cherish the love your best friend gives you when they text you at 2am with a silly pun. Cherish the love your family gives you when they gather round and sing happy birthday. Even cherish the love your dog gives you when it sits in the centre of your lap and rests its head on you. Cherish moments.
Love, break and learn.
~
At 5, love was easy: skipping about the classroom, I saw a boy, a boy I knew very well. He knew me too, I knew that. I thought I knew a lot of things. I teetered over to him, sitting right next to him, making sure our knees were touching. I looked up, and smiled at him. He smiled straight back - that was it! That was love, right there and then! And truly I would never feel the same thing again for a long time.
At 8, love was funny: girls giggled next to me, whispering about who they liked the most, who they were desperate to be asked out by. I laughed too - of course I had someone in mind, you had to! If you didn’t, you were weird, so I had someone in mind. I could see the boys playing football on the concrete pitch, pretending not to care, but secretly thinking about who they would ask out. And it was funny - it still is - to think that love used to be so simple.
At 10, love was confusing: changing in a room full of girls became one of the most nerve wracking things for me - not because of my obvious body issues, but because of something else, but I couldn’t tell what. My heart would race as I walked into the changing rooms, sweat pilling under my armpits as I frantically looked anywhere but the naked girls all around me. I distinctly remember a moment - I was mid-change, my shirt unbuttoned, when I realised I had been staring at a girl the entire time. She noticed, and proceeded to point out the fact that I was staring, calling me a whole bunch of names. I knew from then on it wasn’t normal, that the only way I should be looking like that is at a boy. So I continued to hide any evidence of me even being anything other than completely and utterly straight.
At 12, love was nothing: determined to show people I was not the staring girl in the changing rooms, I dated every single guy I could to prove how straight I was. I got called so many things - slut, whore, slapper, every name in the book that consisted of how many boys I kissed - but no gay insults. I felt relieved that no one thought that any more - however my idea of love was becoming crumpled. I can’t remember my first kiss, who it was, when, all I know is that I didn’t care, as long as people thought I was straight. I eventually got into a 9 month long relationship, only for it to end with the guy coming out as gay. Irony.
At 13, love was better: after a long process, I realised I had to tell people I was bisexual, but to a big cost - everyone thought I was straight and I’d already dated a big portion of the guys in school to prove I was straight. I waited until I was almost 14 before telling a single soul - I’d known for nearly 4 years I wasn’t straight, and telling a single person felt like the entire universe was off my back. I told more people and I got so excited about what it meant for my future. But I couldn’t love anyone - not yet.
Now, at nearly 16, love isn’t real.
A lot happened between coming out and currently. I met a boy who melted my heart, only to have him tear it up without care - useless arguments and constant shouting, forcing me to do things and over protection: it breaks you. Having people you like hurt you is probably one of the worst pains because you don’t expect it from them. This goes for the small crushes to the long term relationships - it hurts. Especially when you go through so much to get to a point where you’re happy with how you perceive love and someone shoves it down the drain.
Love isn’t real unless you find that one person.
So here’s my advice; cherish true love. Cherish the love your best friend gives you when they text you at 2am with a silly pun. Cherish the love your family gives you when they gather round and sing happy birthday. Even cherish the love your dog gives you when it sits in the centre of your lap and rests its head on you. Cherish moments.
Love, break and learn.
~