1/10 — My 20s: A Decade of Learning
So how did I even get here? I guess we should start right at the beginning.
My 20th birthday.
*TW: This article includes topics such as but not limited to abortion, depression, anxiety, and trauma.
2010
My birthday comes around labor day every year and this year was no different, in fact it was ON labor day. How lucky was I to be turning 20 while starting my third year of college during syllabus week AND on a long weekend? My birthday was going to be the shit.
Hold up, since I have a late-ish birthday, let’s preface this with the first nine months leading up to that day. Before you say, “YoU wEre TeChNiCaLlY NiNtEeeeeEEEnn!” Fuck you, this is my article and my life, I can write what I want, and no ones forcing you to read.
But I digress.
2010 was exciting for everyone. We were in a new decade for the first time since Y2K, we had our first black president, Lady Gaga and Owl City were at the top of the charts and for me, it meant new beginnings. I ended 2009 by coming out to myself and a very select few of my friends. It was also the time I happened to get my very first DSLR, a Canon Rebel XSi.
2010 was the beginning of two types of relationships that helped define who I am today.
In short, she and I were a lot of each other’s firsts. At the time, no one had ever looked at me the way she did nor had spoken to me as she did. She was smooth, caring, loving, spontaneous, and of course, the only person who could get under my skin and irk me the way she did. Unfortunately, most of our relationship was hidden from the world because believe it or not, being gay was still not as accepted in 2010 as it is today, however, if I’m being honest, hiding this huge secret from everyone made our relationship that much more exhilarating. We’d meet up in secret, explore areas where no one could find us and she’d encourage me to do photography as much as possible (those early pictures were super ugly but hey, we all gotta start somewhere!) We created a secret world that was just for us, like a club that only we knew the passwords to. But like a lot of good things, there was a much darker side. Our relationship was quick to move and we fought more than we made up. So, yeah, we spent a lot of 2010 breaking up and making up, and by the time my birthday rolled around, I found myself single.
Single and looking for a hand to hold.
Like I said, I was entering my third year of college by the time my birthday season had come about. This was the year I opted to live alone. For the very first time, I had my own apartment and no roommates. My very own space.
I absolutely loved it.
But like most humans, I got lonely from time to time and I for sure didn’t want to spend my 20th birthday weekend alone, so I had invited Efraim, my college best friend, and a few of our other friends over to hang out. Those friends had access to someone 21+ which meant, yes, they were getting alcohol for my birthday. Hennessy to be exact.
I barely had experience with drinking hard alcohol and yet, here I was turning 20 and thinking I could finish the entire bottle.
I did.
Buuuuut it came back up not too long after. The next day, I was super hung over. My friends had long gone and my head was pounding. All I wanted was a hug. I was vulnerable.
To anyone reading this. Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT, do what I did next.
I called my ex. Nope, not my ex-girlfriend whom I had previously broke up with. My ex-boyfriend I had dated the year prior. Why I did this is a complete and utter mystery, but as I’ve learned, you can’t undo what’s already done.
Anyway, long story short — he came over for my “birthday” and gave me a birthday gift that would soon turn into trauma for years to follow.
Fast forward a bit and I immediately knew something in my body was not right. I was tired to the point where I missed classes and called off for work. I noticed that my nipples hurt and I had to pee all the time.
Please be my period. Please.
Next thing I knew I was looking down at a dollar tree pregnancy test that read POSITIVE.
I honestly don’t remember exactly what I did right after, but I know I cried myself to sleep and woke up hoping it was a dream, but there it was, the little white stick with two little lines. Positive.
You know what’s worse than getting a positive pregnancy test while freshly 20, single and alone in a dark, first floor apartment?
Having the secondary factor involved in the pregnancy deny its existence, call you a liar and proceed to uphold that stance all the way past your abortion.
Yeah, you can say 20 was off to a really rough start.
Between the time I had found out I was pregnant and my procedure, I can’t honestly say that I clearly remember much except for the darkness and heaviness that this caused me. Every day I would cry an unmeasurable amount of tears and the only thing I could feel is the amount of guilt for ultimately choosing the path of abortion.
This guilt that stemmed from growing up in the Catholic church, and it was the same Catholic church that failed to properly teach me about my body, my options, and my mental health. Needless to say, I had a lot of unlearning to do if I was ever going to heal properly.
After my abortion, I tried to live life as if nothing happened. I returned to school the next day and returned to work as if nothing happened. I didn’t tell my professors or my managers that I needed a day off because honestly, being home inside my head was worse than the physical pain I endured from sitting in class or standing for an 8 hour shift.
The next few months were dark and super clouded. I tried rekindling my relationship with my ex-girlfriend but failed miserably because I didn’t have the nerve to actually tell her what happened. I’d often take out my frustrations and pain out on her and ultimately ended the relationship for the time being.
So much of this time is a huge blur to me and I can remember is the huge cloud of darkness that would engulf me every single day and the emotional weight I was carrying. Til this day, I have never felt that kind of pain, loneliness or sadness.
I thought I was going to end 2010 completely lost, depressed, and alone, but just as the darkness became unbearable, a small glimmer of hope came.
I had started working at the library cafe at the beginning of the semester, this was my second job on top of working at Quickly and going to school. Why? I don’t know, I liked to work. Anyway, there was this guy — tall, skinny, and had just the cutest smile and sweetest presence. I remember hoping that our shifts would align so I could finally talk to him and lone behold, it finally happened.
Somehow we got to talking, then to flirting and eventually, since I lived across the street, I became bold and asked him to come over to hang out. (Who is she, amirite?) He ended up coming over and we talked for hours. I finally felt comfortable enough to tell him what I had literally just gone through and to my surprise, he didn’t run away or stop talking to me forever like I had expected. Instead, he listened to every single word I had to say, he took it in and then hugged me and told me that I was one of the the strongest people he’s ever met.
Until then, I had never had anyone listen or understand me the way he did, but truth be told I was vulnerable and he knew it.
He said all the right things and he knew it.
He made me smile for the first time and he knew it.
At the time, I thought starting a new relationship with this person was my only was to be happy again. So I did. I entered a new relationship without being ready for a new relationship.
I’m probably not the first to say this and definitely not the last but hey, don’t fucking do that. If you’re hurting and completely vulnerable, don’t hide it and latch on to the first thing that makes you smile. Fucking stay in your feelings and allow yourself to hurt. A new relationship can absolutely act as a bandaid, but believe me, it won’t fix a wound.
But that’s for next time. See you in 2011.
