Chapter 1 – the love stories

I moved up to Johannesburg from Cape Town when I was 16. My folks split up when I was 5 or 6, and my pops moved to Joeys. My brother moved up there when I was 13… and I followed at the tender age of 16. About 6 months before I had come up to visit my dad, and met this boy. He was a bit egotistical for me… so I left JOeys and didn’t give him another thought.

And then I moved. This guy was always around us. He was one of my brother’s friends. And then, then he kissed me. And he became my boyfriend. Everything was great for the first 6 months. You see, there was this next door neighbour, and I seem to have a sixth sense about things (sometimes), and well, I had the impression that this boyf and the neighbour girl were attracted to each other. And one day, he came to my house and simply broke-up with me. With no explanation. So I wrote him a letter saying “I hope you have fun with her”. Turns out I was right.

He came crawling back about 2 weeks later, apologising profusely, and telling me that he had in fact kissed her, and couldn’t bear telling me, so he broke up with me… and then proceeded to see more of her. I’m not sure what happened between the two of them (or why it really ended – i.e. did she tell him she wasn’t interested anymore?), but he was back. Now, if I’d been a stronger person, I would have told him to fuck off (sorry, no other words). But I was only 16. I didn’t have many friends, and I certainly didn’t have anyone I could really talk to.

So I got back together with him. A man I didn’t trust. I dated him for another 18months and at the end of matric (grade 12), I moved back down to Cape Town to start college. After 2 months in CT, I returned to Joeys, and moved in with the him. I was 18, living with him, and had to find a job. I had no drivers licence. I was dependant on him for everything.  I am no longer dependant on anyone. Mostly. (it seems my current relationship is so different… but that’s for chapter 7 ).

This man of mine, was controlling, angry. He wasn’t a big drinker. He would shout and scream, and I would sit there, quietly ignoring him. I never reacted to him. I blocked him. And that only made him shout louder. It only made him angrier. But I couldn’t listen. I didn’t want to.

I got a job, my drivers licence, a car and I started paying my way. There were a lot of things that happened here. I lived with him from February to November, where I crawled back to my fathers house, with my tail between my legs.

Now, I’m not sure how honest I want to be here, or how open I should be. But basically, we had problems in the bedroom. Everything was really sore for me, so I didn’t want to do anything. He started saying things like “oh, you don’t love me anymore”, “You don’t find me attractive anymore”, things that made me feel less than. I had a medical problem, that I was trying to address, it was something that took time.

He always pushed me (verbally). And sometimes it was just easier to lie back and take it. In pain. I would literally just lie there. And I remember the one night, so vividly, it was so sore, I was crying and asking him to stop… and he just wouldn’t. I don’t know if he heard me, or not. But I managed to get my feet up onto his chest and kicked him with both feet, across the room! He was LIVID.

He was quick to anger. But he never hit me. I think he came close more than once. I remember he tried to hold me back once, with some warning or other (I had said something to him in public which made him feel less than), and I just looked at him, shook his hands off my arms, and walked. He came running after me. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t ever look at me like that again.”

This is where I realised that I could just switch off. When pushed far enough. I withdrew, and this uncaring being surfaced. After the night I mentioned above, the one with the kick, it took me about 2 more months before I got up the nerve to walk out.

I loaded my mini, and moved back in with my dad. Of course this now ex was so apologetic, so sorry bla bla bla… but I was done. Enough was enough. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had felt as though the place where my heart was was so thick with black liquid that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was what he wanted. I was who he wanted. I was everything but me. He had no respect for the me that I had become, I had no respect for the me I was. How could I? When I wasn’t being true to the real me.

I walked out… moved out… moved on. And what I know today, is that I don’t regret the relationship. It was a learning process. I had to go through it to be the person I am today. It is done. If I had stayed, I would probably have been married and had two children before I was 25, and then 1 day, probably at age 28 or so I would have left him. Like his now ex wife did. Yes, after I left, he went back to his ex girlfriend (after nearly 3 years with me), married her and had two children with her… and then she walked out. Leaving the kids with him. No, she’s not quite right in the head… but that’s not his fault. He really did try to make things work with her…

And no… I didn’t learn my lesson here… but more about that tomorrow…