The One That Got Away

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is part of my love story. How I went from being a ghost to being visible to this guy. Hurt him and now he hates me. He was my everything.

Submitted: September 02, 2016

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Submitted: September 02, 2016

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My Story Part 1

 

 High school at this point was getting a little complicated. You see I was in my junior year of high school and I had been involved in boyfriend drama, friend fights, failing, depression, and being overall clueless about what I was doing. It wasn’t until I started thinking about someone I’ve had a crush on since middle school! It was like I had known him my whole life and I knew much about him but I really didn’t know him or he knew that I existed. Does that make sense? I knew about him because of all the things I had heard about him over the years through his friends and teachers. But I have also never spoken to him, therefore he has no clue who I am. But also the more I kept hearing about him the more in love I was becoming with him. I had built up this perfect biography for this guy I had never spoken to.

I wasn’t a popular kid, my friends have always consisted of book nerds, good kids, top grades, and not very pretty. In class, I was never social unless it was with my friends, in which case I could get loud. I was shy my whole life up until high school. I had a boyfriend and my afterschool activity consisted of dance.

He, on the other hand, was nerdy, popular, a jock, top of his class, social and an extreme gentleman.

You see, we were complete opposites but yet he was my perfect guy. During my second half of my junior year I was going to finally, after so many years, have class with him! I loved being in that classroom being able to look at him and admire him from a closer view. This must have been the closest I have ever been to him. Throughout the rest of the school year I would look at him and very slowly I saw him go sadder. I wanted to talk to him but I couldn’t. Maybe I was making this up in my head, but I felt like I needed to be there for him for some reason. I wanted to show him that there was someone out there that cared, like if he needed to know. And so I found a way to talk to him.

I had created my second Myspace account.

My name was Caroline Natalie Davis and I was a gorgeous girl from New York City with a Father and a Mother working in the medical field as surgeons. Caroline was spoiled but had the sweetest heart. She loved to party, had been heartbroken a couple times and her best friend was this guy that was completely in love with her. She was very smart and loved to sing and dance. She also had a rebel side, she did drugs and slept with different guys. She was a disaster!

After creating the account I went ahead and decided to send him a friend request and waited to talk to him.  He accepted.

Caroline explained that she knew most of the guys from his football team and noticed through a picture that he was also in the school’s team. So she decided to add him on her Myspace account. She told him that she went to his schools opponent high school. And she had already graduated. She was 2 years older than him.

His story to her was:

He secretly listened to Taylor Swift, loved romantic movies, lived with his mom, had 1 sister and was in love with 2 girls. One girl went to his high school and the second girl went to Caroline’s school. She was younger than him. The first girl was this popular, nerdy, sweet cheerleader. He admired her. The second one was this troubled younger girl that loved taking advantage of him. She played with him but he would let her. He wanted her.

Weeks passed and they kept messaging through Myspace. He was falling in love with her. She explained her life, her heartbreaks and how she loved living in New York (where she was born) and that she was a disaster when it came to drugs.

Caroline mirrored me with a different face.

The more we talked the more I felt complete. I loved listening from how his day had been to slowly admitting feelings for each other.  I knew that I wanted him and that I loved him more than I thought. He gave me a feeling I’ve never felt again. It was magical. I wanted to talk to him, kiss him, hug him, hear his voice, protect him, make love to him and support him (I still wish I could). But then again, he still didn’t know who I was. I walked through school looking at him and wishing he could yell out my name because he was my boyfriend.  I will go days without replying to his messages and hurt him every time I wouldn’t. But with tears in my eyes after a couple of months of talking and falling in love, I decided to never reply to one of his emails again. At this point we had gone from Myspace to emailing. I had deleted the Myspace account because of other excuses I had. We had argued like couples do and had regretted it minutes later. We were acting like normal couples. And so I continued to punish myself by not replying to his emails because I had realize I could devastate him and maybe it was already too late. I would read his emails telling me he was heartbroken, that he hated me, and that I would please explain why I had played with him. Tears would run down my face with an ache in my chest that made my stomach sink.

As I was going through life trying survive high school I took in a hobby that was a bit painful. I would cut myself. I had scars on my thighs, my wrists, and my stomach. I remember clearly one day being so shattered after reading one of his emails and I ran to my room, shut the door and made myself bleed for hours. You can call it whatever you want. People take it as an act of immaturity, childishness, crazy, and unhealthy which you could say it could be all those things but it consumed me. It was something I was aware was not healthy but I couldn’t stop, I didn’t want to stop. I was addicted to cutting myself.

 

 

I consume myself in drugs, men and depression. I’ve been scared for a very long time now. Call me psychotic I don’t care. I love to help people, I love volunteering at the soup kitchen telling every person that comes in to love life, but yet wishing I wasn’t living. I wish my life wasn’t like this, I pictured it differently and now more than ever I feel tremendously weak.


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