Why My Space Is Evil
Because at some point you may decide to track down your first true love. And when you do you will discover that his page is filled with pictures of, and messages from, a lot of really hot chicks. Stripper-hot chicks. Shit.
I haven't blogged much about this particular relationship. It's a tough one to talk about. Being the late bloomer that I am, I didn't fall in love until I was 23. The ex was a few years older, and being a So-Cal preppy party boy, unlike anyone I had ever really met. Initially, I didn't like him. But that eventually changed and I fell. Quite hard in fact. We were both poor and somewhat directionless, and our relationship consisted of being poor, him having multiple life traumas, and me always there to support him through them. I loved him for his affectionate nature and slightly twisted sense of humor. I loved that on the surface you saw a twenty-something Abercrombie acolyte, but beneath it lay a myriad of self conflictions, insecurities, and a very strong sense of irony. I loved that he could love a rebellious east-coast hippy girl. It shouldn't have worked and yet it did. At least for a while. It ended when his commitment issues got the better of him. I cried for a solid month, my friends supplying me with a steady supply of Jack Daniels and cigarettes. Then I threw myself into a series of rebound relationships that I didn't recognize as such until years later. From my experience with him I gained self confidence and the wisdom to recognize co-dependency. And a re-newed love for classic rock.
Years later, I know it's good that it ended. He had problems much too large for me to solve, which shouldn't have been my job anyway. I had to branch out and forge adult friendships without the crutch of a relationship to prop me up. We remain on good terms, emailing every now and then. He finally seems to have his life in order, having traded in unsatisfying DC jobs for law school in California. I am happy for him, yet seeing his new life plastered across My Space so different from the one we shared together is a bit sad. Things change, people change, we move on.
I can appreciate my own good qualities for what they are. Indeed, they're me so I might as well work them. But damn. I did NOT need to see my ex/first true love being licked/rubbed up against by 26 year olds (really, you're 33 aren't they a little young for you?) who look like aspiring porn stars but who are actually law students.
Silver lining: He has gained weight, judging from the facial pudge. And, judging from the photos of him holding empty jello shot containers, he is probably no more mature now than he was when we dated 8 years ago. Once a frat boy, always a frat boy it seems. Le sigh.