On How Not to Have a Kid

Dear John,

Well, this is the story you were waiting for, really. It's your story.

Chris and I were young, very young. I was 16 when we started dating, he was 19. I didn't see him often, since he was most of the way across the country from me when we were in school, and 200 miles away when we weren't. I'll spare you the gory details, but basically, I can guarantee you that I got pregnant during the week before my college graduation.

When you're young, you're going to think that unprotected sex sounds like the greatest thing since sliced bread. I never lied to Chris about my lack of preparation, but we'd decided earlier in our relationship to stop using protection anyway, for that exact reason. And for that exact reason, I will tell you, never EVER take a girl's word that she is on the pill or otherwise protected, and use protection anyway. You're protecting yourself as much as her, and there are a lot of things out there that you just plain damn don't want to experience firsthand.

But I digress. We were both clean, and we made a bad decision.

So … I'd been home for a few weeks, and I expected my period, and it just … didn't happen. And I knew. I just knew I was pregnant.

I don't remember how far along I was when I told Chris. It can't have been long. I told him I was fine. I told him I would “take care of it”.

I told him that every week, when we talked, or when I saw him.

Truth? I was scared shitless. I didn't know who to talk to about it. I didn't know how to talk about it. I didn't have anyone I felt I could tell. I knew Mom and Dad would be pissed, and I was afraid they'd throw me out or something.

So I didn't say anything. To anyone.

Over the summer, I got what I think was a UTI. I called the doctor's office, and the nurse asked if I was pregnant. I was terrified, but I asked why, and she said she might need to test if I was, because it might be something else. I lied and said I wasn't. (This is probably part of why your teeth are so bad, by the way.)

I didn't even really gain weight, as far as I could tell. My body changed so that all my weight was in the front. I got to the point where I only had two pairs of pants that I could put on anymore. Good thing overalls were “in” at that point, because they're a lot more flexible than other pants!

I was about 6 weeks behind Aunt Amy, by my estimation. So, through the month of October and part of November, I lived with Aunt Amy and Uncle Skip, helped them get settled in their new house, chased after Sean, and absorbed as many of Aunt Amy's pregnancy practices as I could. I watched how she ate, what she did, what she took, and I tried to emulate, to the best of my ability, at least.

By Christmas, I was getting too big to do much. I think you were doing most of the moving for me, honestly. I'd put a pillow over my stomach every time you decided to stretch out, because you would make one side of my stomach stick out by a few inches. You'd get the hiccups and I'd hide in the bathroom. You'd step on my bladder – or worse! – and, well, that was fun.

I spent most of the winter hiding at home. I didn't go out, I didn't help Mom, I didn't really do much of anything. On top of being pregnant and constantly telling Chris I would “do something about it”, I didn't have a job, or a car, or school prospects, so except for the time I spent with Uncle Skip and Aunt Amy, I was just stuck at home. I didn't even have much of the money I earned from that, since I used some for Christmas, and my sister stole some of it for her Christmas.

Truth be told, I spent most of that time denying you were there, denying you were happening, denying anything like this could ever happen to me. I was smart – brilliant, even; how could I have been so stupid as to get pregnant? I kept thinking if I just willed it, it wouldn't be anymore.

But at the same time, my body kind of took over. I guess it was instinct - I knew what I was supposed to do to make sure you were healthy, and I just did it. Whether or not I wanted to be, I was probably healthier then than I was up until that point. I don't know why that happened, but I'm glad it did.

So when the last day of February rolled around, I was uncomfortably huge, and I started having back problems. Like, shooting back pains. I don't know what I thought – maybe I thought you'd started stepping on the nerves coming out of my spine or something. All I knew was it hurt. It didn't seem to have a pattern to it, it just felt kind of like I was being kicked in the kidneys. I sat in a warm bath for a while, but that didn't help. For some reason, I got myself convinced it was gas pain, but that wasn't it either. Eventually all my moaning and groaning kept Mom awake for too long, and they didn't know what to do, so they took me to the emergency room.

Even there, I lied to the nurses at first. They struggled, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong. When I could barely move, I finally confessed. The nurses all said “oh, thank God, at least we know what's going on!” (Moral: don't lie to the nurse or the doctor. They're there to help, and if you lie, they don't know how to treat you.) They put me up on the bed...

And then Mom came in. That was enough to do me in – I started crying. (Another moral: there's no worse feeling in the world than knowing you've disappointed your parents.) And then, of course, the hard work came...

You were born at 1:55 in the morning. I'd only gone into labor around 9PM, so I'm guessing you were kind of in a hurry to get out. Then again, by my math, you were also about two weeks late; maybe you're just a champion procrastinator! More than likely, though, you just didn't want to come out until you were good and ready.

And ready you were! Over 10 pounds, over 20 inches long, cried right away but then calmed down right away. Kind of stomped on out of me, too – I lost so much blood that I was gray for two weeks. You ate like a champ, and you were the most alert newborn they'd ever seen at the hospital. You were trying to hold your own head up at three days old – you always had to sit up, too, so you could see everything that was going on. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

As I mentioned, you were born a little before 2. Mom held you before I even got to. I took one look at you, and I knew as much as I wanted to, I couldn't keep you. Mom said if I wasn't keeping you, she was... and that was that. I had to go in for some surgery, and I got out around 6 to be transferred to the regular children's hospital. You'd been moved already, since you were just fine. And by that point, they had a crib, a mattress, and three buckets of clothes. A car seat and a stroller were also on their way.

Like I said, our family sticks together.

In other news, your first snowstorm was later that afternoon. Thundersnow, even. You liked it.

I'll spare you all the minute details of the hospital stay and all that. One important part, though – I didn't tell Chris about you until I got home. Not that there was much he could have done – though he did come out for his spring break a few weeks later – but it certainly wasn't what he was expecting, given all I'd been telling him.

From the moment I knew I was pregnant, I held everything inside. Even afterward, I was terrified of how I felt. I loved you, and that was scary. At the same time, I knew that I would never be in your life the way I wanted to be, and that hurt more than anything I've ever experienced. I wanted so much to be the one raising you, the one being the most important person in the world to you, the one you needed more than anyone else. At the same time, I knew I could never give you the life you deserved, and that by being with my parents, you were getting the best life you could possibly have. I knew you would grow up well and happy and loved, because you were getting exactly what I got. It was so much more important to me that you have a good life than it was that I got to be your mom, so I suffered silently. (Well, for the most part, I did; when I moved to North Jersey for graduate school, I called Mom and cried a couple of times, including once on a pay phone down the street.)

For a long time, I never knew how to talk about it. You were such a great kid, and you were the best thing that happened to me, and I couldn't even accept it, because giving you a good life was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It was killing me that I regretted having you, because you were so sweet and so special and so perfect. I didn't want you to ever think that I wasn't thrilled to be a part of your life, because you are more important to me than anything, and you are the most amazing person I have ever met. At the same time, I regretted every bit of the circumstances surrounding your conception and birth, all of the things I did (or didn't do) that led me to have you.

Two years ago, a few of my college friends and I did an alumnae event at my college where we basically just sat and talked to the current students – the first attempt at creating an alumnae support program for students, since the program is so specialized. One of the things that came up was about sex, protection, and having someone to turn to when the things we don't want to happen... happen. I told the girls about how I went through my entire pregnancy alone, because I was afraid that no one would understand and I was afraid to even say anything at all. I told them that they needed to know that there was someone out there who would understand, no matter what happened to them, because no one should ever have to feel that alone and that scared.

I think that was a big turning point for me. I'd never really spoken about my experiences that openly – even though it was only a 30-second point about the project we were trying to initiate. It took me more than a year after that to come to terms with the fact that I could regret the circumstances but not regret you in the slightest. I realize now that I can't change the past. What's done is done, and I have to work with what I've got.

The good part about that is, what I've got (being you, of course) is pretty damn amazing. I realize now that by accepting my past, and learning from it, I can actually enjoy the present. Which means, I get to enjoy you all the more!

The point of all this, in case you missed it, is that you need to know that you will always, always, always have someone to come to if you need anything. I never want you to feel as alone or scared as I did while pregnant with you. You know you can always come to me for anything you might need, and if you don't want to come to me, there are other people in our family and among your friends on whom you can rely. It's easy to forget that when you're in a sticky situation; it is my hope that by knowing the story of how you came to be, that maybe you'll remember that you always have me to listen and help with the compassion and love that I wish I'd known I had.

Love,

 JRM

On Learning

Dear John,

I don't want you to think that the intent of this project is for me to live your life for you. I know I've outright said as much, but I want to expound upon that long enough for you to understand where I'm coming from and what I hope this project will be for you.

Everyone learns differently. As a teacher, I learned that the hard way. Finding a way to make information accessible is something most teachers struggle with through their entire career. And that's just in school! Imagine what it's like to learn in any sort of informal setting – like at home, or your own life experiences.

Every teenager I've ever met, myself included, thinks they've got it all figured out. I would not be surprised at all if the same thing happens to you. Don't feel bad if it does – it's perfectly normal. I consider it a rite of passage to not figure out until you're at least 25 how much of an idiot you were at 12.

The reality is that the world will always be both bigger and smaller than you can possibly imagine.

Bigger, because there will always be other cultures, other people, other places, other experiences that can shape who you are. You cannot possibly experience everything, and therefore, there is always the chance that you will experience something that will change your perspective. This is not something to be feared; rather, this is something to be embraced.

Smaller, because you will always encounter people who can relate to the experiences you've had, and with whose experiences you can relate. Maybe you know the same people; maybe you went to the same places or the same events. You can form a bond over any of these things. Sometimes, though, it's not the same experiences or the same kinds of stories that bond you to other people, it's finding out that you've made the same life decisions through entirely different means.

An example: We spent Christmas Eve with Chris' family this year. I love going there; imagine if you took our family and shrunk all of it down to 1/3 size, but kept all of the energy and idiosyncrasy and close ties. (Someday I'll finally get around to having you see for yourself. I think you'd love it as much as I do.) Sometimes, at big gatherings, I like to just sit back and watch (or listen), because I love observing how people interact with each other. I also like it because it gives me time to process, which is why I like to call it my downtime.

At one point while I was having my downtime, Chris' cousin Tommy was talking about a book he was reading, in which a guy lived with one of the tribes of the Amazon (I think) and had some incredible encounters with nature while there, and how so much of that is borne of a different way of thinking, of responding to the world around us. I don't remember the whole story at this point, but I remember being interested enough to stop observing and start really focusing on listening to what he had to say. We wound up moving into a quieter room so we could talk more easily, and he told me a story about a person who'd been born to an African tribe, kidnapped and raised in a Western lifestyle, finally returned and re-initiated into his tribe through a series of ordeals, only to be told he needed to go back out and tell his story to Western cultures again. Tommy had heard the man speak (or something to that effect) and had found his story very powerful and enlightening.

We talked some more, about teaching philosophies and learning mechanisms; I told some of my stories from teaching sex ed (including all the requisite innuendo), and about things I'd learned from training people at work, and that sort of thing (all of which you'll hear more about later, I promise), and Tommy told me more about some of the experiences he's had, especially while doing some of his primitive-skills training and teaching.

What's the point of all this? Tommy and I could not possibly have come from different backgrounds, especially sociologically speaking. There is a reason why people from different regions of the U.S. say that going to other places is like going to another world, after all. Going from a small family farm in a small and decidedly lower-to-middle-class town in practically-rural New Jersey to, well, basically anywhere in Nassau County (Long Island) is kind of a huge cultural difference as it is. But growing up “farm” leads to a whole set of experiences that can't really be had any other way, and since I don't know any other way of growing up, I can't really describe it. However, I know from the stories we've shared that my experiences have been very local-centric and rather mainstream in this regard, whereas Tommy's experiences are much more geographically and culturally widespread, and rather off the beaten path.

The point is that although Tommy and I have such fundamentally different backgrounds and our own collection of experiences that have only rarely crossed paths, we've managed to come to the same conclusions about teaching, and about learning. The point of listening to the teachings of others is not to live vicariously through them, or to obey without questioning. The point of listening to the teachings of others is to hear what they've experienced, and then decide for yourself what you're going to do with it. You can follow in their footsteps; you can go in an opposite direction; or you can do any combination thereof.

It is your life to be lived; I simply offer these stories as a guide when you feel you need it. As the great Morpheus said, I can only show you the door; you are the one that has to walk through it.

Love,

JRM

On Friends as Family (Part 2 of 2)

(Note: This is Part 2 of a post.  Part 1 can be found here.)

Example 2:

I started working at Roche in October 2002. I was a very slow starter in terms of warming up to people there, especially since they didn't really seem to have a plan for me when I first started. I just kind of floated around for about a month, until I finally got placed in one of the groups that did testing for the manufacturing team. Our testing site was about 50 miles away from the manufacturing site, so the rest of our department was all located at the other site. As a result, we were a very tight-knit little group, relying on each other for everything because we were all we had, and we became resilient and remarkably effective because of that.

Our manager, Pam, was a very strong advocate for getting to know the rest of the manufacturing team that we now worked with. She organized a little field trip up to the manufacturing site, where we met with people, talked about how processes worked, and tried to figure out how we fit into the scheme of it all. I admit I don't remember very much of the trip, but I did meet an awful lot of people that day. Hell, I still wasn't real clear on who the people in my own group were, let alone the 30 or 40 other people I met. But apparently I made an impression on at least a few of them...

Fast forward a couple of years. I'd been reorganized again, and I was absolutely miserable. I'd been taken away from the rest of my little group, ostensibly so that I could learn more about new processes and take on new responsibilities – but what actually happened was that everything I'd built up so far had been taken away from me, and I was expected to start from scratch. Obviously, I didn't respond well to that prospect, and I was doing anything I could to get away from that situation, without much success, so I was starting to self-destruct. One day, I got an email from one of my former coworkers in the manufacturing team – he'd recommended me for an open position they had, doing projects for their group. I put in my application right away, of course, and was almost immediately accepted.

Transition into the new position was tough. The woman who was training me retired before my transition finished, so I had to do everything I could to get information and support when I needed it. More often than not, I ended up going to the person who recommended me for the job.

Somehow, I was still the same slow starter, at least socially, when I moved into the new position. But as I started to get more comfortable in my work, I started to open up a bit. Once again, more often than not, I ended up with the same person.

John.

It started slowly, like most friendships do as adults. As you grow up, you'll be less willing to trust people automatically, at least past a certain level. So it started with him showing infinite patience and support for my work. I had a LOT of questions, and he always made time to help me. He'd stop by once in a while just to chat, or I'd go over to ask him a question and end up staying for half an hour or more. I started finding myself listening to him in a way I hadn't done in a long time – there was always something to learn if I listened long enough. So, I did.

I'm embarrassed to say it took me a while to realize that I'd probably learned to listen to him because he was so damned good at it himself. He'd remember things I'd mentioned in passing. He'd notice when I needed help or support or a friendly face, often before I'd even gotten a chance to ask. As I started paying attention, I noticed the care that he put into all of his work, and the respect he has for the needs of those around him. (Those who know him might be surprised by that statement, to which I simply say, look closer.) More times than I care to admit, I've found myself in a difficult situation – whether work or personal – and I've always been able to turn to him for the support, understanding, and insight I've needed. And never once has he ever asked for anything in return.

Of course, this has come to mean that I will always do the same for him.

In a lot of ways, I think I recognized a lot of the same qualities in John that I see in myself. Listening to his insights is like seeing into my own soul. Like Molly, he believes in doing what's right and what's best for everyone. He's good, and caring, and generous, and self-sacrificing to a fault – in a lot of other ways, I think he's the kind of person I aspire to be. What continually amazes me about John is that he sees so much of the hidden parts of people, which often gives him a deeper faith in other people than they have in themselves. For all that we got a slow start, it didn't take long for him to become one of the most important people in my life. I'll be forever grateful that he stuck his neck out for me, because it gave me the opportunity to know him.

Example 3:

There aren't a lot of people who can say that they made a friend via what might be construed as sexual harassment. I'm proud to say I'm one of the few.

It was 2001. Chris had joined an internet community and was making friends. I'd joined, but not really participated, so I didn't really know people. Some of Chris' friends had a housewarming party just after New Year's, and we decided to go. There were a LOT of people there, and I was kind of overwhelmed. Chris went up to the loft to play guitar with a friend, and I sat on the couch downstairs by myself and just watched. After a while, a guy came over, introduced himself, and struck up a conversation with me. A couple minutes later, a female friend of the guy came up to us, informed me that the guy was gay and didn't like boobs, and convinced me that the best thing to do about this was to bump into him repeatedly with our chests. Well, given how bored I'd been, this sounded like a stellar idea to me.

Afterward she introduced herself as Jess. We talked for a while, had a good time, and hit it off pretty well. A few weeks later, she had a going-away party for her boyfriend Matt, up in Rhode Island where they were in college together. Matt was spending a semester in France, and she wanted to give him a surprise sendoff. She invited a bunch of people from the internet community, including me and Chris. (I guess the boobs made an impression, so to speak?) Chris and I had always talked about how the farthest north we'd been was New York City, so this seemed like an ideal opportunity to rectify that.
We had a grand old time at the party (as did the rest of the folks). We wound up staying with Matt and Jess overnight, getting to know them a lot more, and … this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Since then, we've traveled together, visited each other, been in each other's weddings. There's been laughter, tears, fighting, making up, you name it. Even though we're so far away, we've been through so much of life together – through phone calls, email, online chatting, visiting for weekends or longer...
I remember a couple of occasions where I'd get a phone call at a random hour of the night (usually not too terribly late, but random enough). She'd be upset over something Matt had said, and she'd tell me about it, and I'd help her see where he was coming from (even if she didn't agree). It's almost uncanny – she thinks so much like Chris, and I think so much like Matt, that each of us can help the other figure out how to deal with any difficult situations.
At the same time, whenever I'm frustrated, or am thinking something stupid, or just need to vent, Jess is one of the people on whom I rely most. She's so often the voice of sanity for me. She's not afraid to tell me that I'm being stupid, or tell me I'm wrong, or just that maybe I'm not seeing the whole picture. And I know that she'll be honest with me, tell me what I need to know and not what I want to hear. And I know that when she needs it, I'll do the same for her, because we both know that it's coming from a place of love. Jess loves openly, honestly, and deeply, and I am eternally grateful for her choosing to share that with me.



I'm going to let you draw your own conclusions from these stories.
Love,
JRM

On Friends as Family (Part 1 of 2)

(Note: this letter is so long, I split it.  Part 2 tomorrow.)

Dear John,

You might wonder why I've chosen to include friends with the rest of my family. Then again, you might understand, given Uncle August and Aunt Chris, Uncle Jerry and Aunt Joanne, … you get the point. Your family consists of the people you carry in your heart, blood-related or not.

I'm sure you wonder how you're going to know that a friend will be the type you can consider family. The truth is, it differs in every situation, but ultimately, adopted family meets the same requirements as blood family – they love you for who you are, at your best and your worst, and you feel the same about them. It's been said that in a sticky situation, a friend will help you, but a true friend helps you hide the bodies. I'll offer a few examples, and maybe you can see how to figure it out on your own.

Example 1:

The first month or so I was away at college, I didn't know anyone, so I hung out with my roommate, the girls next door, and a couple of other girls down the hall from us. We'd have lunch together, hang out on weekends, that sort of thing; but I never felt like I fit with them. Some of them were rather fond of picking on one of the other girls on our floor; I don't remember what they would say, but I must have found it a bit far-fetched or something – she actually remembers better than I do. In her words, I “decided to see what all the fuss was about”. And so, in October 1994, a friendship was born between me and Molly.

To call Molly brusque was generous. Molly liked to argue, and she was very knowledgeable – a formidable combination. Inexplicably, or perhaps perfectly naturally, I took to her like a duck to water. We talked about everything, learned about everything, did everything together for the rest of the year, with her even moving in during the “Big Room Swap” in March 1995. A lot of people didn't understand why I would want to take her in, given that I could have gotten a single room out of the deal. (I think about 15 people switched rooms; if I hadn't taken her in, it would have stopped about 8 of the moves.) But Molly was the best friend I'd ever had – why would I not want to get to spend MORE time with her?

Sophomore year, we lived together again. Everything started out OK – we were sophomores, and the new girls looked to us for support and experience – something which I think we both enjoyed more than we let on (although we clearly enjoyed it at least a bit). But something spiraled out of control that year ... ok, fine, it was me. I found the Internet, and, well, let's just say things were not cool in our little world. For about 6 months, I saw Molly for an average of about 20 minutes a day – our class schedules didn't overlap very much, and I spent most of my free time glued to a computer, talking to my first “boyfriend”. (More on him later.) When I finally broke up with him after 5 awful months, I took it VERY hard. Probably a lot harder than I needed to, in fact, given the situation that precipitated the breakup. (Girls do that – you've been warned.) I didn't appreciate how she responded to the situation – which was basically that this was all a long time coming, and she wanted her damn friend back already – and I got mad, because I wanted to wallow in my misery and be pitied and have people tell me what an ass my ex was. As it happened, this was room selection time for the coming year; another friend of ours, Amanda, asked me to move in with her for the next year, since I was clearly getting along better with her than I was with Molly (meaning I was getting what I wanted), and I agreed.

I'm pretty sure I broke Molly's heart a little bit by doing that. I admit it was a cold move. There was an awful lot of personal convenience involved in me moving in with Amanda. She and I had almost all of the same classes, so we split books; she was supportive of my horrible Internet addiction, so I didn't have to worry about arguing about it; and I was one of her first friends in the program, too, so I was pleased to have her around. And frankly, I was a little tired of the arguing – you'd think it was a hobby, since that's what Molly and I did most.

So junior year, I didn't get to see very much of Molly. I was lazy and addicted to the Internet, and most of the time, she was all the way across campus in art classes or in her own dorm on the opposite edge of campus from mine. By the end of fall semester, Amanda and I were sick of each other. We only had a couple of classes together spring semester, and she started spending more time with other friends so she didn't have to be around all the time. Toward the end of the year, when room selection time came around again, Amanda announced that she would be rooming with another friend, and I agreed that that was a good idea. Around the same time, Molly and I … I don't remember who called who, because I think we were both thinking the same thing. We met up, and walked around campus for awhile, and decided that we wanted to live together again, and frankly, had probably made a mistake not staying together in the first place. We agreed to limit the arguing as much as possible, and senior year, we got a pretty ridiculously awesome room together.

After graduation, I kind of lost touch with a lot of my college friends. I was pregnant, then in graduate school, then trying to get a job. Molly was training to join the Army, then in the Army, then getting married, then trying to get a job. Yet somehow, every time we reconnected, it would be as though nothing had changed. We could still talk to each other about anything, share anything, do absolutely anything together, and it would be as though the last time we'd seen each other was yesterday.

I missed Molly's wedding. I was in graduate school and could barely afford my apartment plus expenses, let alone plane fare to Texas. It still breaks my heart that I couldn't be there for one of the most important days of her life. So of course, I made up for it by asking her to be my matron of honor – which was her fifth trip down the aisle in that role.

The thing I value most about Molly is that Molly believes in doing what's right. Not what's easiest, not what's the most fun or exciting, but what's best for everyone involved. She's a deeply caring and loving person, and I'm proud to say that she's my friend. She and I have been through an awful lot together, from losing family to getting married. I'm glad that I've had her on my side for all of it – even (and especially) when I couldn't recognize that she was on my side.

On Learning to Trust: Part I

(note: there will be at least two parts to this topic.  Topics may or may not be posted sequentially.)

Dear John,

As you get older, you're going to learn that trust is a little harder to come by than it is when you're young. I know, you probably find that hard to believe even now – it's easy to be burned, even early in your life. I think that as we grow up, each of us adapts to the way we see the world, and most of us begin to withhold trust until it is earned, rather than giving trust until it is lost, based on our own experiences.

I can't tell you how to know when someone is worthy of your trust. I can tell you that not everyone will be, and inevitably, you will encounter people who will betray your trust. What matters is learning to find people you can trust, and recovering from those times when it is lost.

Through most of grade school, I didn't have many friends. I tended to wind up with best friends who would move away the year after I became friends with them – I'm pretty sure that happened to me at least 4 times. It's kind of hard to get close to someone when they keep up and leaving on you, you know? So when 8^th grade rolled around, and there was a new kid in my class, I said, what the hell? Besides, the new kid sat one seat in front of me diagonally, so it was easy enough to start up a conversation during homeroom.

Of course, J was a little different than my other friends. First off, he was kinder, and much more respectful than I was used to. In fact, I'm not entirely sure he knew what to do with us crude, vulgar Northeast Coast folks (he was from the Southwest). But he gave us a chance, and some of us gave him a chance. He would hang out with us in homeroom and lunch, that sort of thing.

As we got to know each other, we became good friends. I think he was the first boy that my parents actually accepted was my friend, in fact. He'd call the house and we'd talk for hours. We'd pass notes in school, since we had a lot of the same classes. Of course, he was also really cute, and a couple of my friends developed crushes on him. Eventually, I pretty much fell for him too. (Not that I was about to tell him about it.)

When I went to college the next year, we stayed in touch for a while. I'd send him letters, he'd send me letters, we'd even talk on the phone once in a while – although I couldn't really afford it, since we had a tendency to talk for 3-4 hours at a clip. But it was clear we still cared about each other, and that was all that mattered. And yes, I still had a big crush on him. I fail to recall if I let him in on that secret, although it was possible I had, or at least that I had planned on it.

And then my birthday came around, and he sent me a big package. Inside were a few gifts, and a long letter. About 4 pages into the letter, he told me if I lost some weight he might be interested in going out with me. (Note: Do. NOT. EVER. Say that to a girl.) Of course, two pages later, he said my sister had asked him to a dance, and he was really looking forward to going out with her.

Wait, what?

He'd just said he might be willing to go out with me... and then he said he wants to go out with my SISTER? Oh, HELL, no.

From then on, my friends and I called him the Evil Bastard. (Thank you, Molly, for that moniker.) I refused to talk to him if he called, I avoided him if I saw him out, I didn't answer his letters. I basically cut him out of my life. I even burned or destroyed everything he'd ever given me (which is why I don't remember a lot of it).

It took me 15 years to get over that. I'd begun experiencing some regret over losing his friendship, and then my sister found him on Facebook. I thought about it for a few days and decided I'd try to connect with him. I finally did, and we talked a few times. Eventually, I even apologized to him for how I treated him, which he didn't even remember – probably because I never told him how I felt about what he did.

Amazingly enough, I didn't learn from that mistake. Oh, I stopped trusting my sister, to be sure, but honestly, that was a mistake on my part. She didn't know how I felt about him, and even if she had, it wouldn't have been fair of me to expect her to not act on her own feelings, given that I was unlikely to have my own opportunity. Sure, I realize that now, 16 years after everything happened, but at the time, I felt betrayed on both sides.

Of course, that didn't stop me from giving my heart to someone who truly didn't deserve it, which is the kind of thing I wish I realized sooner.

My first boyfriend, who you'll hear more about later … I can't even call him by his real name, because you'd be confused. For safety's sake, we'll call him Useless. I was still only 14, he was … well, he was much older. Old enough that we both should have known better, but of course I didn't, and I lied to him to get him to go out with me in the first place. (Give me a little credit – I was pretty good at playing someone 5 years older than I was – especially given that my situation made it pretty damn easy. In retrospect, though, that was probably still too young for him, but that's a separate issue.) Because I was so young, there were a lot of things I wasn't really willing to do, although I came awfully close one time... but anyway. This was during the height of my internet addiction, and I'm sure that my relationship with him was a huge factor in that addiction. I spent more time online with him than I did in class or even asleep.

The thing is, meeting and talking to someone online means they can show only that part of themselves that they choose to show to a given audience. I was too naïve to think anything other than what he told me – even when other people told me elsewise. I went home for a school holiday, and when I came back one of our mutual online friends asked if we'd broken up. I asked why, and he said Useless had publicly been awfully cozy with someone else.

That should have been a sign.

I confronted him, and he denied it. That should have been another sign.

Stupid me, I believed him. I believed that he was a good person at heart, and even if he needed to work something out, that as long as I was understanding and compassionate, he would stay with me and eventually be who I wanted him to be.

A word of advice – if you don't like someone's behavior, you don't have to expose yourself to that person, no matter what their position in your life. I wish I'd understood what that meant at the time, because I was so completely wrapped up in this tragic saga, I had no idea that I could have just walked away. So I stayed. He cleaned up his act for a while, but every once in a while, he'd try to pressure me into something I didn't want to do (basically, he wanted me to share him. I was 14, and I was not about to let that happen with my first boyfriend). I always said no, or that I'd consider it but not right now, but he was persistent. I should have taken that as yet another sign. It happened a second time a few months later; he slipped and sent a private message in the wrong window.

And it happened a third time a couple of months after that. I don't even remember what happened, but I think the other woman came to me and told me he'd been seeing her for a while. I was, of course, devastated. He'd kept telling me it wouldn't happen again. She and I talked it over, I didn't blame her at all, and we actually became friends. But Useless? I'd finally had it. I'd spent 5 months of my life throwing myself at him, and he persisted in breaking my heart. I couldn't handle it anymore, so I told him I didn't want to speak to him again, ever. I gave him back a lot of his stuff; he kept most of mine. (Bastard.)

I heard several stories about him after we broke up. He'd threatened suicide; he had a gay relationship for a while; he was still trolling the internet for susceptible women. About 6 months later he asked if I wanted to get back together with him. I told him there was someone else, because I'd been through a couple of better relationships by then, and I knew I wanted nothing to do with that hot mess anymore.

I don't think I really realized how that affected me for a long time. I'd given so much of my young heart, and each time it was like the floor dropped out from under me. For a long time since then, I braced myself for that to happen in my relationships. I waited for the other shoe to drop. I couldn't trust what my partner told me, because I was constantly waiting to catch him in a lie.

For the first several years of my relationship with Chris, I didn't believe that he loved me. I didn't believe it was possible, because I'd felt so undesirable for so long. I'd been rejected so many times.

It's amazing what self-esteem can do for your faith in other people.

For a long time I'd based my regard for myself on how others felt about me. I wanted to make them happy because if I made them happy, maybe they'd like me. Now, I'd given my heart a couple of times, and had it thoroughly broken each time. I wasn't about to trust that it wasn't going to happen again, and I kept trying to brace myself for the inevitable.

What I didn't realize is that I was pushing Chris away that whole time. I almost lost him because I was afraid of losing him. Thankfully, he was smart enough to realize it and hang in there, because once I finally figured out what I was doing, I stopped, and here we are.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that you are going to make mistakes when it comes to who you trust. And the mistakes will be in both directions – you'll trust people you shouldn't, and you won't trust people you should. Eventually, you'll figure it out. When you do, take a step back, reflect on it, and learn from it. You won't always get it right, but maybe you won't always get it wrong, either.

Love,

JRM