As easy as it is to choose the person this post is to be about is as hard as it is for me to write it.
G, my first “love”, father of my son who was born two months before my seventeenth birthday, the single best and worst thing that ever happened to me.
I met him at the age of fifteen, you know that age right? Round about the time you are certain you know everything. I fell hard for this charming tattooed older guy (five years older for the record) who played me like a violin.
I gave him everything I had at fifteen, my heart, my adoration and my body as often as he wanted it. Only now, looking back do I realise just how not ready I was for that relationship. It began the year after my Dad had died, I was vulnerable, he knew a sucker when he saw one. A year into the drug and alcolhol hazed sex fest that was our relationship, I was pregnant.
I have no idea how I got through school in standard eight, I have no idea how I stayed alive through all I was doing to myself and I do not doubt for a moment that had I not fallen pregnant I would have ended up dead in a ditch somewhere.
Anyhoo. Our realtionshipt on past the birth of my beautiful blue eyed baby boy, through my being kicked out of my mother’s house at seventeen, with my four month old son in tow. Through his lying cheating and tenency to smack me around when he’d had enough.
I let him convince me that I did not deserve any better, that no one else would ever love a “fat slut” like me. He accused me of cheating when he was the one screwing around. He threatened to take my son. He made me want to die so much so that one night out of sheer desperation I took every tablet I could find in the house with a bottle of tequila, clearly it didn’t work, I was just extremely sick for about a week.
Many years on, many battle scars later, we had the last fight we ever had. He had wanted my brother’s ex girlfriend’s number. I knew he had a thing for her so pretended I didn’t have it. He was drunk. He got angry.
He had me pinned to the kitchen floor, my hands held down with his knees, a knife at my throat. His eyes were cold. All I saw was cold hatred. The tears streamed atthe thought of my children growing up without me. I believed I was about to die and closed my eyes ready to feel that final blow.
In the darkness, a little voice, choked and tearful, “Leave my mommy alone!” My monster had some to my rescue. I could see his heart break as those beautiful blue eyes took in the scene in front of him. Within those crystal pools, so many unanswerable questions. That. Made my mind up for me. Once and for all.
The next day I kicked him out, and have been moving forward since.
I do not regret this relationship, it made me who I am today. I only wish I had grown up sooner and saved my son the hurt. To this day, he freaks out completely if anyone raises their voice to me. That is all I would take back.