That's Not How Your First Love Is Supposed to Go

That's not how your first love is supposed to go.

That is what everyone had said to me when I first opened up about the shit-show I thought was love. And after a series of denial and self-hatred I soon came to say it too.

That is not how your first love is supposed to go.

I remember all the stories my family and older peers told me about they're first love. The mixture of oozing perfection and utter heartbreak. The moral of it all I guess, was that you never forget your first love.

So I hope to God yours was a good one.

And if it wasn't? I'm so deeply sorry.

But can I ask, did it become all about them?

"Would they be mad?"

"Would they disapprove?"

"What will they think of it?"

But did you want that? Did you approve?

Did you walk on your tip toes around them? Afraid if you stomped around too hard they would lash out. And this time, use more than just they're words.

It got controlling.

Manipulative.

Physical.

And at times, sexual.

You were craving sugar, but instead was met with fistfulls of salt forced down your throat left for you to choke up. And you choked, didn't you?

They had stripped off your wings. There was no escaping for you, was there? All of a sudden you depended on them. They made sure you would not leave. Could not leave.

And then they had enough of you. Suddenly you weren't worth playing around with anymore.

This was when it first hit you. That very first wave of pain, that washed over you at lapses, starting with kissing the very tips of your toes. Then suddenly you were drowning.

The pit in you stomach growing. The unrecognizable being staring back at you in the mirror. The daily sobs that left your body on the bathroom floor.

You thought this was the heartbreak they were talking about?

Then you met the second wave. This one, didn't just drown you. It ended what little life you had left, did it not?

The bubbling anxiety that flustered in your fragile bones. The start off looking over your shoulders. Scanning for potential dangerous people in the area. The panic. The beginning of shaky hands and nausea.

Then nightmares. Little bits and pieces of a story so horrific that would lurk inside you until you were the most vulnerable, asleep.

The crippling insomnia that kept you up from the time your parents went to bed at night, till the time they left for work in the morning.

The depression that dragged around on your ankles like boulders. They never let go of your poor ankles, did they?

And then that one day came. When yourself in the mirror made you so sick that you could't stand it. You never knew you could hate yourself this much.

Was this still the heartbreak you thought it was?

This was not you. But it is now.

That person who was you, is gone. And you can't help but feel as if that person is dead. Your fully aware you can't get yourself back.

This is trauma.

Trauma is you.

This was not what you wanted out of love.

That wasn't how it was supposed to play out.

That's not the heartbreak you were hoping for.

That's not how you love someone.

That's not how your first love is supposed to go.