Dear Everyone

Dear First Kiss (final words)

A/N: Less formal, but more all encompassing reflection. 

Written on October 9, 2024

Dear Everyone,

I think I hit my breakthrough with processing everything that happened between me and the guy I had a situationship with. Various poems, paintings, drawings, and journal entries later, but I made it!

It all boils down to letdown in expectations, fear of intimacy, guilt, romantic meaning, and firsts.

 You build up something forever, so when it happens, no matter how messy it all is, you try to find the beauty in it and be optimistic. In reality, though, things aren't black and white. Sometimes your first seems like the dream and the beginning of a potential "forever," but hidden in your unconscious is the fact that he got you drunk and despite saying you want to take things slow, his hands wind up under your shirt. 

You think it's okay, because, I'm 20, everyone does this, but in reality you know it isn't. You know that if you were fully sober, if this was out in public and not in your room, you would decline. You know if this was anyone else you would say no. But he's made you think this is real and tangible so you give in. After all, this is the beginning of "forever." We would've done this at some point, right? 

So next day he's so fucking comfortable atop your bed. And you tell him "no" but he keeps going, so you tell him no again, more stern this time. He stops. But he keeps going elsewhere. And you think that's sweet. 

God, he's just a man, but he was able to push instincts aside for me! You tell yourself this even though you know a real man would never put you in that position in the first place. 

But you've never had someone desire you, so it's okay, he apologized. Once again, he said it's something real. 

He talks about his exes, making it seem like he was the "good ex" and they really mean nothing to him in the end. In fact, he actually left them because he knew being with them was only hurting them in the long run. He cared for them, so he set them free. But not you. No. You'll be his everything. And all the while his hand is under your shirt, under your bra, atop your skin, above your heart. 

Before you know it the silence comes and the texts dwindle and your feeling that this is real and tangible and so fucking clear starts to become shaky. Before you know it you can't take it anymore and you ask for clarity. Within a few hours it's all over and all you're left with are the fragments of your heart and the reminder of his hands all over your skin.

 How could you ever let something like this happen to you? How could you let someone use your body? But wait, I consented, right? I almost passed out drunk the first night, fucking out of my mind laughing and talking shit, but I was of sound mind. At least I think.

 And the second night, he brought some more alcohol over because he just wanted me to open up and be adventurous, and just talk, right? 

I don't want him to be the bad guy. I don't want to make him out to be someone who took advantage of me and made me regret ever giving up parts of myself and eradicate me of my hope.

And you know what?  

He doesn't have to be.

 He could be grey. 

He could be someone who wasn't using me on purpose, but that's what it ended up feeling like. That's what people around me tell me it looked like. That's what my friends said after I read his texts and my face fell flat. 

I don't want my first to be a monster, a bad story, a villain, a regret. I want that fairytale, that romcom, that picture perfect ideal. But life isn't any of those things; not me for, not for anyone. 

So I listen to songs, think and hope he'll come back to right his wrongs, to make it worthwhile that he touched my body despite my fears and not feeling ready.

I get so in my head about, well, what even is "ready?" All I know is, looking deeply inside, I know I wasn't. But now it's over, and the next time it won't hurt as much. 

Sometimes I get in the mindset of just wanting to end all my firsts so that nothing holds meaning. If it's just a task or something I'm checking off, none of it even matters. 

But I like meaning. 

I want meaning.

 I am a psychology major after all- and all I want is to understand the human condition. Understand my conditions. Theorize why I am the way I am. What did I attribute meaning to?

If I take away all this meaning, if I reduce this boy to just a moment in time- do I take away the pain?

The truth is no, I don't. Because it was still a connection. It was still something of meaning. I was a girl who felt adored one moment and minimized the next. It was whiplash. I gave it my best shot and he didn't even try. And that's not okay with me.
But I AM OKAY.
I can reevaluate my feelings toward romance, give as much or as little meaning as I want moving forward. This isn't the end all, be all, even if at moments it hurts to look back and relive those moments of bliss- even if it was intoxicated bliss. I felt something, and I choose to give that feeling meaning or not.
I choose to give it meaning. And I choose to take away it's meaning at any point.
It happened. And now it's passed.
Here I am. And there it goes. Riding the trolley from my apartment back to where it came from.

So dear first kiss,

You happened. We happened. It was here and now it's gone. 

When you didn't kiss me before you got on that trolley, I couldn't help but feel my stomach drop. When I realized your hand was under my bra and I had to fix it as we got up, I couldn't help but feel like I was just a warm body. When you took the top off my peach flavored alcoholic drink, I couldn't help but feel you wanted me toasted. When you stopped reaching out first after nights of drunken love texts I couldn't help but feel you were angry because I didn't give you sex. When you were fine not talking to me for a day I couldn't help but feel I was nothing but a girl you made out with on her bed. When you told me you were sorry you couldn't give me what I needed, I felt it was a cop out because you're actually a piece of shit coward pretending to be a mature man.

When I told you I would have given you the entirety of my heart, outlined every reason why I thought you could be special, promised to give you every single thing you could desire, admit my insecurities and still be brave enough to love- when I did all that and all you could do is say "sorry," well- I knew this would be a story to tell the ages. 

This may not be the last mention of you, but for sure it's the end of me hoping for you. Here the love was. And here the love for my life and myself stays. But any feelings for you... 

Well,

 There it goes.