Young Love and Broken Promises

That bastard, the liar that broke my heart and all the promises he made... My ex boyfriend. His name was Eli. In all honesty, the day I found out his name I should've ran for the hills. His name is basically saying that E (his once upon a time nick name) lies. Anyways let's get to how this story connects to figurative fear.

Our realtionship was crazy in every possible sense. Every time I read of people talking about emotional rollercoasters, memories of him and I flood in like a tsunami. First love is by far the worst love. Due to the fact that we've grown into teenagers being told by numerous amounts of people what love should be, it's quite hard to run when a bee is chasing after you. We allow ourselves to get stung and yes, it hurts like hell but in the long run it'll help you more than ever.

When I met Eli, he was dating another girl, an older girl. It drew me to the conclusion that he must be more mature. Soone after I arrived into REACH (an alternative highschool I attened for a year and a half) him and his girlfriend seperated and we began to "talk". Things moved quickly, too quickly. About three or so weeks in we were dating.

I was flushed, I thought life was perfect and nothing could interfere. Like most "normal" relationships we shared personal things about ourselves. He told me of his issues with his father that was never around and his mothers mental issues and I told him mine. As the relationships time span grew I realized more and more how effing ridiculous this guy was. One day he'd be telling me he loved me and the next he'd be breaking up with me. This went on for about three months or so. I couldn't understand any of it. I felt so lost, yet I wouldn't leave him... Not beacause I felt he didn't deserve the pain it may cause, it was because I didn't want to lose this cute guy I could supposedly share anything with.

Finally school ended and at the time we were no longer together. Typicall boy, he had to go show off and hug all these girls (which he never would do when we were together) that he didn't care about right in front of me. Summer began and every summer morning and night began with me crying over Eli. About two weeks in, he texted me. It wasn't a friendly hello or a how are you type of text he simply asked me "do you hate me?". How much more manipulative could he have been? Of course I didn't hate him, when I love someone I truly love them and when they leave it takes a lot longer than two weeks to move past it.

Fast. forwarding, we ended up getting back together. This time the relationship lasted about a week or so. It did not end well. In a way (in his eyes) I told him I was going to kill myself. We had a long conversation that night and finally I went to sleep. The next morning, being the asshole that he was he texted me asking if I was okay. He could have just let me be and all would've been okay, instead he insited on showing me he cared just not enough to be with me. I continued to tell him that this was the end of us and that he should leave me be. By the time I returned home from work, the cops arrived about five minutes after. Having the last thing said to him be "leave me alone forever", he took that as I was going to kill myself so he called the cops thinking all would be solved... Little did he know, I just wanted him to leave me alone and stop playing games with me. I was never going to kill myself, especially not over him. Nine hundred dollars later, the ambulance sped me down to the hospital. About eight hours after arriving, after being woken up at the wee hours of the night and so forth, I got to go home.

I cried over and over again. When I got into the car I played "Lean On Me". You may be thinking how this story connects to figuritive fear. Well, after I got to the hospital I knew this would stay with me forever. I felt like broken glass. I felt as though he had shattered me against the wall and forgotten to pick up the pieces so no one would get hurt. I was an unwanted mirror. I thought of myself as the girl on the newspaper or the milk cartons. My perfect self image was ruined. I hated him. I hated him for not loving me the way I believed I loved him. He'll never get the thank you but I appreciate the experience. I've gotten my first love and I've lost my first love. Not like my father dying at nine years old was enough to make me strong for life, this added to empowerment.

Whether it took me two weeks to get over it or three hundred and sixty-five days (which it did), I learned life lessons from the experience. I grew to be independent, to be happy even when alone. It was worry some being afraid of whether or not my shattered glass pieces would mend themselves back together but I always remembered they were glass. They shined bright like diamonds and though they may be broken, they were sharp and stern. My pieces were ready to kill.