Where am I?
The Pit of Despair. Don't even think about trying to escape.
--The Princess Bride
When I was sixteen and had been dating Louie for about a year, his parents put him in some residential mental facility called The Retreat for about a month and then when he got out, withdrew him from the school where we went together and put him in a new one, away from me. This was, appropriately enough, around March, the beginning of spring.
I remember not long after Louie went in, my friend Stork--our friend, actually, Louie's and mine, although I don't know how good a friend he was to Louie since we started having sex not long after Louie's and my final breakup--telling me that I was so much better without Louie. He said when I was with him, I was fat and dreary, and when I was without him, I was cute and happy. It's true that I lost a little bit of weight, about ten pounds (without even trying! An amazing side effect of breakups throughout my life), and cut my hair, both of which likely contributed to the cuteness, but I think the main thing contributing to the positive change in me was the loss of Louie.
I'm not going to pretend I didn't love him because oh my God, did I love him, and I won't act like I'm glad he was gone because I seriously felt like I was a character in a tragedy after his parents shipped him away, but somehow, despite the sadness and despair I felt, I found a way to be happy--happier, certainly, than when I was with him and found out every other week he'd cheated on me or heard his parents or sister had said something awful about me or learned that he'd done some drug I didn't want him to do; happier than when we'd fight for hours about something absolutely insignificant and then make up for just as long; happier than when I was stressed twenty-four hours of every day of my entire life.
(Go figure, right?)
Anyway, the point is, when Louie disappeared, albeit temporarily (because any parents who think they can keep teenagers apart who don't want to be that way are stupid with a capital S), I felt like I'd never feel good again, but without even trying and without even realizing I was getting happier, I did until one day I was just a happy person. Being forced to step away from my crazy situation enabled me to find happiness I didn't even know I didn't have.
And the best part? Or at least the most significant?
It wasn't even because of some other boy or any external force that I found the happy that I did.
It was entirely me.
Sometimes, I just love how life works.
The Pit of Despair. Don't even think about trying to escape.
--The Princess Bride
When I was sixteen and had been dating Louie for about a year, his parents put him in some residential mental facility called The Retreat for about a month and then when he got out, withdrew him from the school where we went together and put him in a new one, away from me. This was, appropriately enough, around March, the beginning of spring.
I remember not long after Louie went in, my friend Stork--our friend, actually, Louie's and mine, although I don't know how good a friend he was to Louie since we started having sex not long after Louie's and my final breakup--telling me that I was so much better without Louie. He said when I was with him, I was fat and dreary, and when I was without him, I was cute and happy. It's true that I lost a little bit of weight, about ten pounds (without even trying! An amazing side effect of breakups throughout my life), and cut my hair, both of which likely contributed to the cuteness, but I think the main thing contributing to the positive change in me was the loss of Louie.
I'm not going to pretend I didn't love him because oh my God, did I love him, and I won't act like I'm glad he was gone because I seriously felt like I was a character in a tragedy after his parents shipped him away, but somehow, despite the sadness and despair I felt, I found a way to be happy--happier, certainly, than when I was with him and found out every other week he'd cheated on me or heard his parents or sister had said something awful about me or learned that he'd done some drug I didn't want him to do; happier than when we'd fight for hours about something absolutely insignificant and then make up for just as long; happier than when I was stressed twenty-four hours of every day of my entire life.
(Go figure, right?)
Anyway, the point is, when Louie disappeared, albeit temporarily (because any parents who think they can keep teenagers apart who don't want to be that way are stupid with a capital S), I felt like I'd never feel good again, but without even trying and without even realizing I was getting happier, I did until one day I was just a happy person. Being forced to step away from my crazy situation enabled me to find happiness I didn't even know I didn't have.
And the best part? Or at least the most significant?
It wasn't even because of some other boy or any external force that I found the happy that I did.
It was entirely me.
Sometimes, I just love how life works.
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