People Watching Is Painful

I found out the reason why I like to be alone. It’s because I can’t bear to see people happy because I know I will never have that. The only time I was ever truly happy was when I was in love. But that is long gone now. He doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore. It hurts. We had so much. I had liked him for almost for three years before I confessed to him that the secret admirer note that he got in sixth grade was from me. I remember that day so perfectly. He thought it was a joke. How could anyone care about him? I did. I cared about him so much. We both weren’t popular, on the low end. He went around getting people to write his name so he could match the handwriting. Luckily I had made my handwriting appear different, so he didn’t even suspect me. No one did. But after I told him two years later, he suddenly started taking an interest in me.

At the next dance, every slow song he would ask for me. And whenever I danced with someone else, I would look over and find him in the corner sulking. I would send him a smile and he would smile back, letting him know that I only wanted to dance with him. Less than a week later he asked me out. Of course I said yes, I was undeniably ecstatic. But there were problems I had to deal with. I had to end two relationships that I had started months before. The one with a man in Minnesota I had never even seen, and the “beneficial” relationship with two other guys at school. One of them, though, I truly cared about. I didn’t want to break his heart because I knew he liked me. I tried to remain friends with him, but my new beau wouldn’t have anything to do with it. He would send him death glares behind my back.

Everything moved very quickly with us. Most likely it was just teen angst. I’m pretty sure the first time we kissed was in the chapel bathroom. Which also just so happened to be the time that he had to slip on the condom. The look he gave me before I almost lost my virginity, I will never forget it. It was full of more emotion than I ever thought possible. Passion. Anxiousness. Worry. Arousement. Lust. Guilt. Ashame. Need. Gratefulness. Nervousness. Love. I don’t know what was going through his mind at the time (I can only imagine). I loved the kisses he would steal from me when no one was looking. I loved sleeping on his shoulder in the buses on field trips. I loved him. I don’t care if people say middle school relationships are pointless. Everything about us was real. Everyone in our grade, even the teachers, recognized and acknowledged how perfect we were for each other.

But what ruined it? What could possibly break a love so true?

His mother.

His parents were strict, as were most parents of smart kids at our school. I had never actually met her, but she pretty much interrogated him about me. And he told her everything he knew, which was a lot. He can’t lie to his parents. Apparently, she didn’t like that I had a history as an “online prostitute” and that I’m not mentally/emotionally stable and forced him to break up with me. Whether or not he felt any remorse, I will never know. He sure as hell didn’t show it. He hasn’t said a word directly to me since. Which was probably her plan. If she only knew how many panic attacks I got from all of that, how suicidal I was. I must have been a bad influence to her son. Or I wasn’t good enough for him. She probably still thinks I’m a slutty piece of trash that can’t keep her life in order.

Only recently have I figured out why he broke up with me. I had to pretty much pull it out of one of our friends. Before when I would ask him he would be annoyed and tell me to leave him alone. I told him I deserved to know because of how far I let him go so quickly with me. He would continue to blow me off. So, I became a glitch in his life, a slip up. The forbidden few months that we had never happened. And the fact that he can pretend like we don’t even know each other after we had practically reached the ultimate point of no return crippled the last bit of strength and hope I had for us ever even being friends again.

I can’t look at him. It’s just too much. And I had to be so close to him every day because we had the same friends. We sat at the same lunch table. We were in the same science lab group. Everywhere I went, he was there. Every school dance that I’m forced to go to because I’m “antisocial” (according to my parents), my heart breaks even more. Normally by the end I’m in the bathroom wiping away at the lines of mascara. It’s a routine now. Clockwork.

He gets to move on. He gets to have a life while I’m stuck in a hellish heartbroken world I got trapped in somehow. I want to be able to move on, I really do, but my conscious won’t let me. All I want is to hear him say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I told her.” But he doesn’t care. He acts like he hates, while his friends claim he doesn’t. But they’re my friends too. They’re just trying to make me feel better. Make sure I don’t end it all in an overdramatic attempt to escape. But they can’t understand what’s going through my mind. I wish they did though. Only then would someone be able to help me.

I am desolate.