I grew up in an extremely small town. Have you ever heard of northern Michigan? That is where I am from. Everyone knows everyone. I felt like I had to get away. And, I would find these amazing life. Everyone loved me. Everyone understood me. I could be myself. All I had to do was leave this stupid little northern town in the middle of nowhere. Then, I would have made real life experiences!
Listen, life don’t work that way. Stop watching those damn inspiring movies, and be realistic. Before you fuck your whole life up!
My parents moved away and left my sister and I in northern Michigan. It was the best time of my life. I could go wherever I wanted to go. I could see whoever the hell I wanted to see. I could drink until 5 am or I could sleep until 2 pm. Whatever I wanted to do, the world was in my hands. It was honestly the best time of my life. I had friends coming and going. I had bottles of vodka on hand. I was crawling up stairs. I was reading magazines in the bathtub, and dancing in the middle of the night while my sister was at work. I was so incredibly happy!
However, I had so much damn pressure to move. My friend was leaving the town and she wanted us to move to a bigger city. My family was in the south. I was so incredibly lost! Who was I suppose to be around? I did have an amazing job. I made great friends there, and I was actually making okay money for my age. I was able to support myself. I just did not know what to do. I felt so much damn pressure.
My sister and I decided to move across the god damn country. I had to say goodbye to so many people. I was moving to warmer climate, I was going to be tan all the time, I was going to be enjoying life and experiencing new things!
At this point, I was like fuck it I am going to do everything I can before I move down there!
In case I did not mention it before… my mother and I do not get along. She is controlling. She tells my business to everyone including the fact that I dated a man who was in a relationship. She thought that everyone should know. She also always had to know where I was at all times, and that included when I was 21 years old.
Anyways, I decided to enjoy life as much as possible before moving across the damn country. My friend, my sister, and my dogs, and me (of course), packed up the car and went to Lake Michigan. I took a bottle of vodka. I was blacking out on the way there. I met a cute guy at the gas station. I was too shy to of course get his number. I had fun at the lake that day. I ruined it.
I was stumbling everywhere. I pissed in a bush. I was screaming at cars next to us. I was hanging my head out the door. I was going back to the gas station, getting more alcohol, flirting (again), and leaving. I drank the whole way home. I burned my friend’s seats in her car. She was so pissed. I don’t really remember that part. We can leave that out and maybe talk about it later.
Anyways, I got home. I tried getting more alcohol. I took the car around the block. My little sister was calling me over and over again. I almost crashed into a damn curb. I got home, and she was so mad. She was yelling at me. I just remember laughing. I remember thinking everything was funny. Why not fuck my life up along with other people’s relationships with me? I don’t care if they love me or not. It doesn’t matter because I hate myself. I don’t even know how I got to this point.
When she left, I invited a boy over. I honestly can barely remember inviting him over. He came though. I throw all my clothes in my room. I acted cute. He had sex with me and took the one thing that I valued in myself. It was gone and I would never get it back. In all reality, I gave it away like it didn’t matter. He even tried to have sex with me on the picnic table. My neighbor’s were right inside. It was their table. I finally pushed him off and he was gone.
I acted so proud of it. Like I graduated high school or I won the damn lottery.
A few days later, I invited a new guy over. The same thing happened. I barely remember it the next morning. It doesn’t matter though, right? I am a women now. I had to be drunk for it to happen but at least someone had sex with me. At least, I would not be a 22 year old virgin. That is all that matters. It does not even matter that I got an STD that was, by the way, 100% curable. As long as I can say I am a woman.
I hated myself enough to throw myself to complete strangers who I never seen again after this. Why would I think just because I have sex that I am acceptable in life or something?
To me, it was damaging. The way I was raised. The way my mom tried to teach me to value myself. I just threw it away to men who just wanted to pound me from behind. They gave two shits other than the fact that their dick was getting wet. And, that is the honest truth. All I cared about was being socially acceptable. In the end though, I felt like shit. I still think about those nights I wish I could forget forever. I think it was just because I always wanted sex to mean something. I was raised that way. I mean I could have at least used a condom for both of them. I made mistakes, though.