when I was four, my sister told me that boys had a disease. she called it "cooties", and repeatedly told me that if I ever touched a boy, I too would get this horrible disease.
when I was six, I kissed an eight year old boy on the playground at school. I didn't think I had the "cooties" disease because I felt fine afterwards, though I ran away crying and screaming because the boy started laughing at me.
when I was ten, there was a boy in my math class who sat right behind me. he had glasses and was probably the biggest nerd I ever met, but boy did I have butterflies every time he walked into the room. talking to him was hard, because I thought he didn't like me back. I told him I thought he was cute, and he told me he had a girlfriend.
three weeks after that, he told me he broke up with his girlfriend to be with me. but because I was stubborn and my pride was bigger than I was, I told him I had moved on.
when I was 11 and in the 6th grade, my choir class went on a field trip to the amusement park. while waiting in line for a ride, a boy slapped me across the face. I fell, and banged my head on the railing so hard I nearly passed out. I sat there crying, and one of my best friends at the time, a 7th grade boy, picked me up and carried me like a bride to my choir teacher. in that moment i believed in fairy tales and thought that he was my prince, that he would always be my prince, and I would always be his princess. he was my very first boyfriend.
in 7th grade, he started talking to his friends more than he talked to me. he thought he was better than everyone just because he was an 8th grader.
he broke up with me. he said the whole thing was a dare, and that I was too fat to have a boyfriend.
in 8th grade, I moved across country and began at a new school. it only took a few days for me to develop a crush on a boy in my english class. he was beautiful. blue eyed, blonde hair that made you want to run your fingers through it and–to the point, he was perfect. which was probably the reason he had a girlfriend.
I cut myself for the first time in November of 8th grade. it was something a lot of people did, it was something a lot of people seemed to be proud of and flaunted it around like a prize. I kept it to myself, until I couldn't any longer. I told the perfect boy I thought I had loved, and he ignored it. I can't blame him, I seemed like a desperate crazy person. he was right to stop talking to me.
in March of 8th grade came therapy. for depression, for anorexia, the usual teenage sob story. I was getting better, or so my parents thought, and the day they took me out of therapy was the day I cut myself again.
the perfect boy was single again and I thought I had a chance, but the day I made a move, his new girlfriend arrived. I was hurt, but not shocked.
in 9th grade, there was a boy in almost all of my classes. popular. druggie. sex addict. the usual douche bag that many girls fell for. as a freshman; I was innocent. I still had the belief that sex was for marriage and alcohol was poison to the adolescent mind. I rarely cussed, I was quiet and did my schoolwork.
but the boy, changed that. he rubbed his hand on my thighs under the desk and held me on his lap at lunch and in p.e class. he promised to be my first kiss; he promised this everyday until the last day of school, when I learned of his girlfriend. the girlfriend he had since long before the day he met me.
10th grade was the worst. but the most helpful. I had learned the most that year, though it hurt and I was sure the pain would never end.
