He missed my senior homecoming dance because of initiation for his pledging frat.
I remember sometimes at the end of the weekend I would have him hug me while I cried asking him not to go back.
I was immature and suffered from acute attachment issues as a result of a previous relationship.
It would make me turn sour.
I would bitch to him alot.
I had an abusive relationship with my closest friend.
I was struggling with my ongoing depression.
I felt as though he was leaving me.
I subconsciously blamed him for leaving me.
For us not being able to connect and grow more as he was always so far.
He recently told me this first year “sucked ass”.
There were good time too.
He courted me to dinner and furniture window shopping on our first valentines day, and gave me lovely dozen roses. (I still even have one sitting drying in a coke bottle vase in my room)
But there were also really bad times like when he missed the winter dance “hoopcoming”.
I called him afterwards sobbing and yelling about being mistreated and alone and how I never had a date for a highschool dance.
He promised prom.
I know one night I made him so mad he punched his minifridge.
I think it was that night.
When covid hit that spring, I was actually kinda relieved about it.
It meant he would be home, right down the street from me.
We hung out every day.
Watching movies.
I would make him lunch.
We’d go to haze nature preserve and hammok.
A month into covid I cracked hard.
I stopped taking my antidepressants, convincing myself I wasn’t going to improve unless I was actually improving and not doing the same habitual thing that big pharm wants me to.
I went back and forth about taking my meds constantly.
My therapist always would ask me if they're working, then why would I stop taking them?
Well at the beginning of the pandemic my therapist wasn't there. One day missed turned into a week. The withdrawals nearly killed me. I stopped eating. I stopped sleeping. I lost 20 pounds in less than a week. I spouted off thinking I caused the pandemic due to my arrangement of rocks in the intentions of having my boyfriend with me. I convinced my self that I could feel the stress of the human race dying. Mentally I felt like I was everywhere, lost between the living and the dead. In a complete psychotic mindset drove me into almost a week long cleaning frenze with no sleep. I felt like I was matching colors to real world events and people. And wanted to gather my chaos into organization. I went through my whole house and tried to sort all the pens and pencils. I went through my whole collection of items I had in my possession. Getting rid of things in a completely psychotic manner of what I felt I should discard to clear my karama somehow. I felt so torn. I felt like if I breathed or thought too much or consumed too much the world might crumble around me. I broke. I even actually managed to give myself a UTI as well and went to the doctors. They also discovered I had all three strains of mono. From the intense stress my body had been in, I had brought out pancreatic pain. In a scattered state of mind, I pushed my boyfriend away. We went and got Five Guys curbside and I broke up with him. I said I couldn’t see him anymore. That he was driving me more crazy. I said I couldn’t handle our relationship. He cried. I shed one tear and completely numb and yet in pain. He took me home. I went on mourning our relationship and still restlessly cleaning. I felt great physical pain as well. My back started having spasms from the overworked underfed muscles. My dad gave me a small massage and my mom bought me some bath salts. My eyes hurt from the sun, and my parents bought me sunglasses. I called him sobbing and lying in the grass in front of a bakery my parents dragged me to. I felt emotionally pained, and physically pained. Songs felt like they were prying my brain open on a silver platter. I wanted back the person who I felt I could be vulnerable with. I got pulled out slightly as I finished cleaning and returned back to Jackson.
I started meeting with my therapist over video call again and we made a list of things that would help me naturally cope with depression if I was refusing my meds. The rest of the summer flew by. Between my babysitting job and jackson I kept myself busy. In august I started taking my meds again, to stay on track with school. As managing major depression is a lot easier on medicine. Jackson didn’t return to school upon academic dismissal for a year from his university. He hadn’t managed to make up the courses he failed his first semester of school. Between handling our drama, getting sick, and his lack of motivation he had lost his privilege to go to college. He worked for a family friend as a farm hand. We continued to see each other almost every day. We would go to the gym together. Eat breakfast, sometimes he’d come over during his lunch breaks. It has been nice. The days kinda blend together now. We still would fight. Again I would get jealous of his nights with his parents. We would argue about ridiculous things, mainly over text. I would always bring up that he failed out of college. But we would never fight in person. We would have to resolve it, But once we were together it would be like wow okay texting can make us become extremely cruel. We had these two really bad consecutive fights. He basically had to set me down and tell me if I kept it up he would leave and wouldn’t come back. We fought again in another few weeks. Then we had to re-evaluate, we had a very insightful conversation about working together and being empathic. After that and a few heart to hearts with myself, I finally was able to find myself able to avoid picking fights. Something about Jackson is that he grew up with his dad in the navy. They would move around alot. At a time they lived in a secluded historic cottage in England. Jackson would go and play in the woods by himself. He would build forts, and track animals and play soldier. When we first were getting acquainted my foolish idyllic imaginative self asked him what he has always wanted to be. He said he wanted to be a Marine. Another thing about Jackson is that he used to street fight. He started lifting consistently around 13, found himself some deviant friends and to say the least rolled with the punches. I’m not entirely sure what removed him from his delinquent youth, but he still continued to work out of a personal commitment and standard for himself. His senior year, He tried to join up- but ended down the path for college. (thank goodness because then we would have never had dated after he graduated school) Again in the spring when covid had hit, he reconnected with the marine recruiter. It took an insane amount of time for much of anything to happen. By thanksgiving they were finally collecting all his paper work. He had to jump through hoop after hoop. He had broken his foot back in middle school so he had to go get it cleared by a doctor and have him fill out a documented form. The recruiter came back a week later saying her needed the doctor’s note as well. We spent new years with his boys.