Entry 15: Boys

From a young age, I'd been obsessed with romantic love, having grown up on classic fairy tales where the prince always rescued the princess. In life however, I hadn't witnessed many fairy tales, which included my owns parent's relationship. Though my Mom was as much of a romantic as me, her life had been far from a fairy tale, as she found herself a house wife, and married to a man who'd become so busy with work and church, that he'd had little time for her. Marriage is forever, the church reminded her. So, she continued to take care of Dad like a hotel guest, ensuring he had clean clothes, a tidy living space and warm meals. Yet, when night time arrived, she retreated to her own bedroom, avoiding his touch at all costs.

Instead of this deterring me from seeking love myself, I was desperate for it, and it didn't help that my own relationship with my father hadn't been overly close. I'd craved a bond, but the only time he really attempted to draw close to me, was when the bible was involved, with no real comradery in-between.

As much as I sought positive interactions with boys, I hadn't had very many of them growing up. In elementary school, most had attempted to beat me up on the playground because I'd been different, due to my religious upbringing. It wasn't until I turned 13 years old, that boys began taking notice of me in a positive way. The braces were off, my hair was long and blonde, and I was now allowed to wear a little bit of makeup. Technically, I wasn't supposed to have any romantic interactions with boys until I was old enough to get married, and then it had to be someone from the church. But, I'd already caught the eye of a guy in my science class named Brian, and it wasn't long before we were playing footsies under my desk. I figured that as long as it was only our feet touching, it technically wasn't a sin, and so it continued for a month or two. But then one lunch hour, he attempted to hold my hand as we were walking together in the school field. "No," I shouted, running away from him as fast as I could. I'd been scared that someone from the church might have seen us, and my parents would find out.

After that interaction, Brian immediately turned violent, body checking me in the hallways, and even ramming one of the doors into me over and over, as I attempted to pull away from his grasp. But, I hadn't been able to tell anyone, as it would have given away my secret, and so I endured the abuse, and lived in fear for weeks on end. Eventually his hate for me diminished, when he began dating another girl from school, who'd been happy to hold his hand in public.

At 17, I began seeing a boy from church, who's only aspiration was to live at home and pump gas part-time at a gas station. With the church discouraging higher education, this was often the by-product. He was a little bit rebellious, which I liked, but also controlling and manipulative, which left me uneasy. When we broke up a couple of months later, he showed up at my door with a note. "Here, this is for you," he said, handing it to me before driving away. The first line read, "Your blood is so cold, that it wouldn't even warm up if you laid in the sun." It dropped from my fingers as I shuddered in fear at his hateful words.

At 19, I got married to a 20 year old boy from the church who seemed nice enough at first, but then again, we'd only dated for nine months before going down the aisle. This romance had failed to feel like a fairy tale right from the beginning, as I questioned whether I was truly in love or not, but it had provided the escape I needed from my dysfunctional home life. I hadn't analyzed whether we were compatible, whether we had the same hopes and aspirations, or whether he was even emotionally safe. All I knew was that he was handsome, nice, and wanted to spend his life with me, and so I became his wife. But then one day my prince turned into a fire breathing dragon instead, as I began acutely aware of a temper that never went away, with it constantly simmering below the surface. I had no idea where it stemmed from, only that I attempted to avoid it at all costs, as I continually walked on cracked egg shells.

Now, here I was just as stuck as my mother, and just as miserable, as I found myself taking care of him like a hotel guest, ensuring he had clean clothes, a tidy living space and warm meals on the table. Marriage is forever, the church reminded me, and so for the next 10 years I stayed and suffered with this boy, until one day I couldn't take it anymore.

As I exited the front door with my bag in hand, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever find a boy I truly loved, and one that wouldn't hurt me. And as much as I wanted to believe there was still a prince out there who'd one day rescue me, I didn't have time to wait for him any longer. And so, I drove away into the sunset alone, as my life slowly disappeared in the rearview mirror.