My First Relationship was the Most Damaging
I was twelve years old when I met Tom at school. He had dimples when he smiled that made my tummy flip. He was one of the popular kids, the boy all the girls fancied… but he didn’t care about them, he cared about me. It was me he always saved a seat for in the school canteen and me who he picked for games. He was my friend.
As time went on he changed schools but we remained in contact, he would knock for me to go out and play or call the house phone and we’d chat nonsense for hours. We played ‘spin the bottle’ and he was my first kiss on the lips, but at the time it meant nothing, we were just friends.
By the time I was fifteen years old he’d had girlfriends and I’d had the odd snog, but it was always him I hung out with. Our parents would joke that we should date, that we were cute together, but maybe we knew each other too well or maybe I didn’t want the daydreaming to stop.
Having a teen crush is an all enveloping delicious thing. Hours were spent staring out of the window at him as he played with his friends in the street outside. Sneaking glances at him from across the playground or hearing the phone ring, and hoping it was him, was my first ever high – and one that no amount of alcohol or one night stands of the future would ever match.
He was what I thought about before I went to sleep every night and the one person I longed to see every day.
After my sixteenth birthday, following one of our daily after school video-game sessions, he walked me home. He always did that. It started off with him just walking me to the end of his road, then to the entrance of my road, then to my house, then to my door where we would sit for hours on end talking. What did we have to talk about for so long? No idea. Nothing interesting I’m sure.
After a while he held my hand, a few weeks later we’d kiss on the cheek, and one day it happened. We kissed. A proper kiss, one where my whole body melted into his and his hands were up by my face and we crossed that line from friends to more.
I skipped home, or maybe I floated, whatever it was I was walking on sunshine. I had a boyfriend, and not only that but he was the one I’d loved forever.
And then we both lived happily ever after and I spent the rest of my life with my soul mate.
No, not really. Life isn’t like that.
What happened next was five years of gradual abuse resulting in the erosion of my soul and the loss of not only my best friend but my last ounce of dignity.
Tom was my first and the worst. I lost my virginity to him and he was gentle, caring and considerate. He had loved me for years before he had kissed me, I trusted him completely. Our love blossomed and it was fun, like any other teenagers finishing their GCSEs and A Levels. The first two years were bliss, we were still best friends but we got to explore sex and life together in a safe environment. But we weren’t children any more, life beckoned and we weren’t mature enough to support each other with what was to come.
In hindsight we should have stopped at two years. That was enough. I should have gone to university and left him behind instead of staying in our home town because I was scared of losing him. I could have gone travelling or moved away, I could have done anything, but I played it safe for him and it was the worst decision of my life.
After a while he became controlling, manipulative and jealous. He ripped up a top I once bought as he said it was too revealing, he’d convince me to stay home with him instead of go out with friends and he never passed by an opportunity to mock my small breasts or the shape of my ears. It was the time before mobile phones and he would arrange to pick me up after work but leave me standing on a street corner for hours, always with the perfect excuse as to why our date was cancelled.
I’d spend my evenings crying, making excuses for him, justifying his selfishness to myself and anyone that would listen. My mother would tell me that crying over a boy wasn’t love, that someone who cares about you doesn’t make you sad. But I wasn’t going to listen to her, who listens to their mother when they are a teenager? And she wasn’t going to get involved, who wants to lose their daughter to a stupid boy? She stood by and waited for it to inevitably self-destruct, but she had a long wait.
Eventually his insecurities turned to substance abuse. He worked as an estate agent and his workmates took cocaine on Friday nights. He had a company car. I thought he was so grown up in his fancy suits and his shiny motor. I was a good girl, I didn’t get involved in all that but I allowed him to let it affect us and my life. Like the time he was high on coke on a night out and I stupidly got in the car with him. We crashed, of course we did. No one was hurt but we’d damaged other vehicles on his road along with his company car. I helped him and his friend abandon the car in a field and played along the next day when we reported it missing to the police. I lied to my parents and his.
My love for him obscured the truth, my love for him was debilitating and all encompassing.
Things only got worse. We weren’t living together but I was at his house every weekend. I had a great job, a promising future, but I had slowly lost my friends. They thought he was an arsehole; they, unlike me, could see the truth. They were not blinded by love.
After five years I wasn’t that carefree girl anymore. I didn’t walk on sunshine around him, I walked on eggshells. We didn’t laugh together or share secrets, he had his own secrets and I ignored them. I swallowed his lies like bitter pills that would make me forget, I ignored every sign of his infidelity and told myself that we were destined to be together. I knew that what we had wasn’t healthy, I just didn’t know who I was without him in my life. Since the age of twelve he was the one I dreamed of, the one I had to have beside me. Who was I and what would I do without him there? The idea of being alone was scarier than anything he could do to me.
He never hit me but he came close a few times. It wasn’t his fists that would hurt me, it was his words. I came away an emptier version of myself, an insecure needy shadow of my former self. I was waiting for the last straw, with no idea of what it would look like, and finally it presented itself on my 21st birthday. We were back in his room after my party and he was all over me, telling me how wonderful I was and eager for sex. I felt beautiful, I had no idea just how high on coke he was and I gave myself over to him – then he bit me. He drew blood. He bit me between my legs and I lay there bleeding clutching my last straw.
I’d finally been presented with our ending.
My friends would ask me later whether I ever regretted wasting five years of my life with someone that quite clearly didn’t deserve me and the answer is always no. I’m glad my first was my worst. I know that the ages of sixteen to twenty one are the best years of your life and I missed out on a lot of fun, I even missed out on a university degree, but I don’t regret it.
I truly believe every person on this planet has at least one bad relationship. If you’re lucky it’s a crap date and you never see them again, if you are really unlucky it’s a lifetime of abuse and a doomed marriage with children and joint finances you can never escape from. For me it was my first taste of love – but it was one I was able to learn from and walk away from.
I never saw him again. Or his mother who had seen me grow from a child to a woman. Or his father or his brothers or his friends. The day I walked away from him I lost a huge part of my life, but I also gained my dignity and my strength. It took a lot of time and a lot of good men to convince me that I was actually a good person. I was beautiful and clever and fun. I was worthy.
So thank you, Tom, you taught me everything I ever needed to learn about love. You taught me that the anticipation and fantasy of love is so much sweeter than the reality, and more than anything you showed me what happens when that love turns sour and you allow your fear to obstruct the path to a wonderful life. Because I really did go on to have a wonderful life without you in it.
I never met another Tom, I knew what they looked like so I was able to avoid them. From that day on the men I dated made me smile, and the day they made me cry I walked. Because I’m not that scared little girl anymore and I’m not blinded by love… I walk straight into relationships now with my head held high and my eyes wide open. Love is great, and when it no longer is, it’s no longer love.
