I’ve Never Been in Love, because My Definition of Love was Wrong

A goodbye to the pain I confused for love

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

“Give him a kiss goodbye.” I do not know this man. He is a relative. An older relative. I do not want to kiss him goodbye. I look up. Do I have to?

Yes. I have to.

I make it quick.

“You’re a very nice girl.”

Nice. Nice and understanding.

There I am, alone. My parents ask if I’m gay. I’m not gay. I’m so depressed that I don’t notice boys. I don’t really touch myself. I throw a pad down there when it bleeds. I push my breasts down in the shower. I don’t want them.

Be nice. Be invisible.

Nobody likes visible girls.

I starve myself but nobody notices, because thinner girls exist.

They managed to take up less space, and so they are beautiful.

Is love supposed to feel like wire in your throat?

I have a boyfriend now. I think I’ve had an orgasm? He thinks I’ve had an orgasm.

It doesn’t feel good to me.

I go on the pill because he wants to be able to climax inside of me, and I still don’t let him. Then I stop having sex with him altogether.