How I Willingly Let Myself Be Led On

I was eighteen.

He was twenty one.

I was young and naïve, constantly fighting with my insecurities and barely existent self-esteem. I considered myself average, painfully average. Average height, average intelligence, average attractiveness, average all around.

He was seemingly kind. Caring and charming, he lured me in. Having been a wallflower for most of my life, I wasn't used to the attention he gave me. It became something I craved.

As I gradually peeled back his layers, each one revealed worse and worse things. At his core, he was an egotistical narcissist. Clearly used to always getting what he wanted. Someone I wouldn't ever want to ever be around.

But it was too late by that point.

I had hopelessly fallen for him.

I jumped through hoops for him. Always being there when he needed someone. Always willing to drop whatever I was doing to spend time with him. Always agreeable and did whatever he wanted me to.

Sometimes he was kind and caring. He'd say sweet things about me, comfort me, provide the physical connection I wanted. Other times he'd be cold and inconsiderate. Acted like he was embarrassed to be associated with me.

I was being manipulated.

Yet, even being fully aware of that, I let myself be pulled back in every single time. Every single damn time. I'd constantly tell myself, this is the last time, but I would never listen. Each time became the new last time.

I was young and inexperienced. Put into unfamiliar territory with no one to go to for advice. I was a girl simply infatuated with a boy.

I was a plaything to him. He was a narcissist and it fed into his ego. I tried to get away, I really did, but I just couldn't. He dangled what I wanted in front of me, like a rabbit and a carrot on a stick.

Because he was in control.

And he knew it.

In the end, he cut me out. Quite an unsatisfying and frankly, humiliating result on my end. I still don't understand what happened. No warning or explanation, no matter how persistent I tried being. I'm never going to find out, and it took me a while to accept that.

We gradually removed each other from our lives - at least, the way millennials do. Deleting and blocking. He simply became a memory. A lesson. A mistake of my past.

I knew he was unphased by it. Girls constantly entered and left his life, he didn't care. I was just one more and definitely wouldn't be the last. It made me angry, knowing how much it hurt me, while life went on as normal for him.

If I could go back and talk to my eighteen year old self, there are so many things I wish I could say to her. Although it all boils down to one key point.

Stay the hell away from him.

It's not worth the heartbreak he puts you through. The humiliation and regret.

***

I reached out once, a year after we'd stopped talking. New information had been brought to light about things he'd done to me behind my back. I called him out on his behaviour, to which he simply dismissed.

It's nearly been five years since then. I'm doing well. I've grown up and matured, I hope he's done so as well.

Why am I thinking about this now?

He reached out to me the other day. Asked if I wanted to go out. A tsunami of old emotions came crashing back. I found myself curled up into a ball under my covers.

I debated my answer. All of a sudden, I was that same eighteen year old girl again. I hated myself for feeling like that.

In the end, I simply ignored his message.

I'm perfectly content with never speaking to him again.