Jan 11 2009
My Cobain
In 8th grade a boy name Michael joined our class. Chin-length dirty blond hair. Blue eyes. Freckles. Button nose. Quiet. Different. In the advanced classes with me, but never did the work. In math the seats were split down the middle of the room so you faced half your classmates. He would always sit across from me and stare. Eventually he got the nerve to talk. I was intrigued. In my tiny little town there wasn’t a lot of variety, and he was not something I was used to. My family moved around a LOT growing up, so I always knew there was more out there. It was refreshing to find something new. We exchanged phone numbers.
He listened to Korn. I’d not even heard of them before. That was just the beginning of my education. He was emotional, blunt, conflicted, completely and apologetically perverted, bad for me, good for me, and I adored him. All of our long conversations would come back to sex. Where Robert had been harsh and demanding, Michael was as curious as I was with the courtesy to be nervous about offending me. He brought up masturbation. At this point in time I couldn’t even say the word out-loud. I was so embarrassed by the subject I would turn red just thinking of it. That seems strange considering it was my favorite thing to do, but I guess I felt if anyone knew I’d be stoned. Somehow he made me comfortable enough to admit I jilled-off. He wanted to hear me do it. Thus I was initiated into the world of phone sex. It was thrilling! A way to get even closer to the male species but keep my virtue intact. He’d tell me his naughty fantasies while pumping away with his free hand. I’d reply in like. In person we held hands, we kissed. Once he came to visit me at my grandmother’s house. We stayed on the porch swing and whispered about the tension of being so close and so unable to do anything. My nerves made my blood run cold, and even though it was a nice night I was freezing. It was the most intimate I had ever been with a boy. He, on the other hand, was lava. I mumbled something about how warm his hands were. He told me ‘warm hands, cold heart.’ I was startled. I’d never heard it before. I couldn’t understand why you’d say that to the person you were with. He then explained I made him feel like a better person. He had no esteem and was always praising me as being the only good thing in his life. I’d never heard anything remotely similar from anyone before. I felt important for the first time. I felt special.
Just before he dropped out he gave me his Kurt Cobain poster with an exerpt from “Dumb.” Just after he dropped out we moved to Orlando. The poster was one of the first things up on my wall. We wrote long pitiful letters to each other. He sent a picture of the dwarf Dopey he’d drawn and colored for me. I’d be allowed to call him from time to time. Eventually we met other people and drifted apart. I remember being sad it was over. He was my first serious boyfriend. The first time I’d felt cared for. It was not a surprise, however. The distance had been taking its toll and we were only 13 or 14. I was entering high school.
I was about to become a new person.
Years and years later Michael found me on the Internet. His first message was sweet. Wondering if I remembered him, saying he still thought of me, that I was one of the prettiest girls he’d ever dated and he hoped I was well. I wrote back telling him I never forgot him, that I was doing wonderfully. Then it all went downhill. He started telling me he wanted to get back together. I had been his only chance for happiness and he’d let me go. I don’t remember it all exactly, but I still have that email somewhere. I wasn’t sure how to respond. I had told him I was with someone and happy. He was still in our old town and hadn’t done anything at all with himself. We hadn’t spoken in many years and I wasn’t the same person I had been. How could he assume we’d still even get along? When I didn’t reply within a couple of days I got a much nastier letter. It accused me of thinking him below me. How rude I was to ignore him. And by the way, if my best friend was single, because he might try dating her instead. I’m still baffled.
At least for a few years he was a sweet memory of my past. He made me ready for relationships on a serious level.
Ever dated a hopeless case? Someone who was determined to spiral into misery, but you were compelled to try and save?
My first boyfriend seemed like a hopeless case sometimes. His name was Danny. He was 2 years older than me and we started dating at the end of my 9th grade, right after my birthday. He was my first boyfriend, but I was his ninth girlfried. I’ve admitted to him before that part of the reason I even agreed to go out with him was because he was the first person to ever ask me. No one had ever been interested in me before.
Despite my being his ninth girlfriend, I was still his first everything else. He was just as pure in body as I was in both mind AND body. Problem was that all of these past experiences had burned him pretty bad. He was ridiculously jealous and insecure! Our first fight was about my gay best friend (who I’d known longer and was GAY). But Danny was intimidated by him. Danny saw his as a “threat”. Danny couldn’t handle the person I was becoming, when I started having more confidence in myself and being more outgoing. That just made him even MORE insecure. He came to me one day feeling all guilty and worried because his coworkers wanted to go out to Hooters with him. I could not believe how paranoid he was! I’d never exactly been the pinnacle of self esteem either, but I knew this was out of hand.
When I started gaining confidence in myself, I tried having him hang out more with me and my friends to try and change him. To prove to him he shouldn’t be so worried. That didn’t work too well. He would still be terrified if I was hanging out with friends away from him. When I went to college, he was terrified because he “knew what happened at college and spring break” and all this. I was so sick of being accused of things I hadn’t done that I DID start cheating on him. I know it’s still wrong, and even this explanation doesn’t justify it, but that was how I felt.
As bad as this sounds, it wasn’t all bad. He really was overall a great guy, and I knew that he worried so much because he cared so much. We were together for four years. But despite my realizing we were drifting apart, I couldn’t make myself do anything about it. No one else had ever wanted me before him. What if no one did after him? Who was I if I wasn’t “Danny’s girlfriend”? That last sentiment both scared me away and toward him. He was really good to me, and I was afraid I’d never find something that good again. But he was driving me crazy, and I no longer wanted to be with him. I was terribly conflicted.
He finally broke up with me right after I got down to Florida. He had apparently found out (and I still don’t know how) that I had cheated on him. He was completely devastated and I had never heard him so angry before. He didn’t talk to me for almost 3 years. In recent months, he’s decided to befriend me again. It’s still a little weird for both of us. He started by sending me an email saying that he’s finally moved on enough to talk to me and that he’s sorry for the way everything was. Now we talk rather often. Mostly text messages. He really has grown a lot and I’m proud of him. I don’t know how that jealousy still is, but I don’t have to worry about it anymore. At first, he would get really upset when I would so much as mention “my boyfriend” to him in any form. The other day, he was saying something about this new girl he’s interested in, and I called him out on it. He said he’s ok with it all now that we’ve been talking more because he just wants me to be happy. But I know it still bothers him. I can tell.
So that’s my hopeless case. He seems to have grown up a lot though and gotten much more confident in himself, which is good since my efforts to improve him didn’t seem to help while we were together. It looks like my hopeless case wasn’t quite so hopeless after all.
I think I only date hopeless cases. As far as men are concerned anyway. Almost all of the girls I’ve dated have been awesome. As they say in Fight Club “We are a generation of men raised by our mothers” All of my exes have had no self-confidence. First there was Obsessive-couldn’t-live-without-me. Then there was Pitiful-Romantic-couldn’t-live-without-me. Then Manipulative-evil-I-need-to-mess-with-you. Then You-are-my-destiny-cant-you-see-that. Then Antichrist Superstar. Then the 28 year old child.
The current is great just … raised by his mother.