It’s 6:41 AM and I’ve been up for three hours. An old friend reached out, and it has lingered on my mind since.
I’ve only ever been in love once.
Actually, I’ve only ever experienced any sort of romantic attraction once.
This friend—let’s call him P—was my first romantically. He was my first crush (that was fun going through that at 19). He was my first love. He was my first heartbreak.
It was over before it could really start. We met at my dad’s birthday, and we just clicked. We talked about anything and everything for hours, and by the end of the night, he had asked me out. I looked a hot mess—I was in a Camp Crimson SGL shirt, shorts, socks, and sandals in true camp counselor fashion—and he still liked me anyway.
When I met him, it was the first time I got it. When kids at school used to talk about crushes and dating, I lied to fit in. I would pick a random kid and decide if I “liked” them or not and would call it a crush. Looking back, it’s wild that I thought that was how people got crushes, but I didn’t know any better. I never saw myself with someone. I mean I knew I wanted a relationship someday, but I never pictured anyone specific. But when I met him and then later fell in love, I got it. I finally knew the warmth and butterflies everyone was talking about. I finally felt the anticipation of waiting for responses and the next meeting and clumsily having conversations when you thought too hard about it. I finally understood the rush you felt when you thought about how happy they made you and how much you wanted to give them in return. I finally knew what it felt like to have your breath taken away and to truly want it.
But it wasn’t my happily ever after. He ended up not being kind to me. It started off small with him not responding and last-minute canceling our date. Then, he started to ignore me completely when he saw me (I had blocked him at this point so he couldn’t snap me). He evolved to being hot and cold with me. He would show the smallest glimpse of who he was and the warmth he had, and then shut me out in the cold. He kept me there for the longest, and now if his girlfriend is around, it’s like I’m not even a person. The more he hurt me, I deeper I fell, and now I’m haunted by the what-ifs. What if he didn’t cancel? What if I didn’t live out of state? Would it have worked? What if he didn’t have a messy past that came back to haunt him?
What if I never met him? Would I prefer the numb detached view I had before and wonder what’s wrong with not liking people like that or do I want to keep the brief warmth of love I felt and wonder if this is all I will ever have?
I’m scared of never loving again. He was my first, and I’m 21. Will there be another and will it hurt as badly as it did the first time? Is this it for me? It feels like it is. Everyone tells me to just give it time and I’ll love again, but it’s three years of actively searching and healing with no results. Not even the faintest hint of a crush or romantic attraction.
Love is bittersweet, and while I’m glad he got the sweet side, I don’t know if I can escape the bitterness.