I was seventeen and he was my first real boyfriend, not a crush, I was in LURVE and he seemed to think I was pretty nice too. It lasted three whole months, I couldn’t get enough of him and I think I hounded him into a feeling of desperation to end it all.
He was essentially a nice boy, didn’t have the heart to tell me it was over. Instead, he just got nastier and more offhand. I was confused, I had given him everything and yet he didn’t seem to want it anymore. After afternoons of passionate kissing on the river foreshore and deep and meaningful conversations in the university coffee shop, he was nowhere to be found. He had his own problems too of course, drugs and alcohol seemed to feature heavily and he was pretty unhappy with his parents. He was heading for failure and was taking me with him.
We went to a party, it was a cold, wet night and what started out as a small gathering of about 20 people, got gatecrashed by over a hundred teenage boys out to wreak havoc. Unsurprisingly, the neighbours in the exclusive beachside suburb were not happy and the police were called. My best friend and I skipped, but not before HE told me it was over.
My friend and I walked the streets in the wee small hours, me howling and she telling me he wasn’t worth it. My heart was broken and I thought my life was over; it took months for me to accept that there was no resurrecting that relationship and in that time I drank a lot of beer, wagged a lot of lectures and failed my first year of university too. The devastation and rawness of the experience is something that is forever held in one tiny corner of my heart.
I did survive, because I fell in love again…he married someone else; I can’t say more because he reads this blog and it was all a long time ago.
In 4 days time, my partner and I celebrate 26 years of marriage, we have two lovely children and a tumultuous life together.
My first boyfriend is an alcoholic and lives in a squat, I’m glad I recovered from that heartache!