• Done with Standard Issue

    by  • November 15, 2011 • Acceptance • 1 Comment

    If you had to ask me to describe myself, I’d say I’m a pretty standard issue 21 year old female. I’m a Virgo, like long walks on the beach, being sarcastic, and will admit my hair isn’t naturally this red. I attend a respectable school in the northwest, don’t know what I’m doing when I graduate, and currently have bronchitis. Gotta balance out the good with some lung rattling bad, right?

    That isn’t much to go off of, but I figure the real stuff, the juicy stuff that only a few choice people know is what I should be anonymously telling the world. I’ve submitted a few letters before; one to man I was a mistress to for a year and a half (he was a real winner), one to my mother (I had just learned she had a miscarriage before getting pregnant with me). Hell, there might have been another, but this is my latest one.

    Here’s the good stuff: I’ve kissed 4 males in my life. I was a late bloomer to the whole, being able to romantically attract guys. Shit, my first kiss was when I was 18 and I was freaking out about a recent diagnosis. He kissed me, saying he thought I needed that. Second guy… he was 16, and I was 19 (turning 20 in 1.5 months). We kinda had a thing for a month, and when it ended, I just figured it was a weird impulse thing. Funny enough, a year later, I kissed a 17 year old when I was 20. Not the same kid, but same reasoning.
    The most recent guy? Yeah. He’s what this letter was initially about. It’s not an address to him, more as a reckoning of how I deserve a lot more than I was letting myself accept, and that I’m just fine with that.

    To save the suspense, he’s older by 2 years, a close family friend and a man I’ve trusted for years. Trust is a big thing for me, though I feel hypocritical saying so. I was a mistress before I was anyone’s girlfriend, which is still true. Never been a girlfriend. Fling, other girl, that girl from camp, those were my titles. Ain’t saying I’m proud of them, but that’s what I’ve got. And I want more, I do. I’ve wanted that girlfriend title for years, but late bloomer’s gotta grow into it.

    So, this guy. His life isn’t simple, either. In the Army, a real fresh divorce (married young, lasted only 3 years), and lives a state away from me. I guess you could say I don’t do simple, easy, or normal. But I felt like myself around him, safe, relaxed but energized, teased but adored, and above all else, cared for. He came over for my sister’s birthday BBQ, not knowing half of the party, and felt at ease. Drank a beer, hung out, and took me out for a drive. It was great. He came back a week later, and man.
    That man can kiss. Like he seared himself into my soul, if that could make sense. Of all the guys I’ve smooched, he knew how, when, where, and god he knew the WHY. I would have given it all to him that night… Oh wait, I forgot to mention something that makes me not so standard issue these days.
    I’ve never been a girlfriend, never been in love, and never had sex.

    Processed that one? Yeah, imagine what that must be like. I mean, not that I haven’t wanted to (OH so badly), or had offers from guys to fix my condition, but they weren’t up to snuff. And as for being in love? How could I know what that is? I know people who are in love with others without being in a relationship with them, but I’ve never had that all powerful, overwhelming, concretely known feeling. I would love to be in love with a man that loves me back, but that hasn’t quite happened yet.

    Anyways, back to that guy. Yeah, I moved back to school and he went back to his home. That’s the thing with me, remember? Don’t do simple, normal, or easy, so obviously he doesn’t live in the same state as me. Nor could he be emotionally available, a fresh divorce usually shakes a person up real well. Nor could I let him go. Two months after I moved away, I started wondering if I was in love with him. Could I be? That would be the most foolish thing I’d ever done, if it was true. And trust me, I’ve done some stupid shit before. As fate would have it, my day of love reckoning was also the day he randomly texted me. I was over the moon, but he, as is his tendency, stopped texting me and I slapped myself upside the head.

    One of my friends once told me that she could see me equally happy in life, married or single. “Hey, I’m single. What’s good?” was the slogan she gave me, should I be unwed. And that’s true, to some extent, that I could be happy, independent. I mean, I have been independent for quite some time now, and if life should carry on the way it has been lately… Then in the future I want to own my own bakery, have a good black lab, and a place to call home. Should I be a single woman doing this, that wouldn’t be so bad. Sure, being with someone would be amazing. To love someone, share baggage, and just be together, that’s what everyone wants.

    Maybe that will happen – getting hitched and all that jazz. Maybe it won’t. But gorramit, I’ve made it this far as an independent woman, and sure I’ve made some weird mistakes (16 and a 17 year old? eesh) but at least I’ve learned from them. I learned that my integrity and dignity shouldn’t be compromised by a guy who’s taken, but makes every indication that you’re the one he wants, playing you and his girlfriend for a year and a half. That age is a number for a reason, and jailbait ain’t as funny as you’d think. That if you’ve gone through sexual trauma, DEAL WITH IT. It will come up in your next relationship, and you’ll need to talk about it. And once you do deal with it, you’d be amazed about how sensitive a guy can be to it. Everyone deserves good love, and one day good love will happen, but you need to fight for it. And don’t you dare listen to that creeper who lives down the hall when he says terribly insensitive things about your body, specifically your chest – he’s fucking sick, and you know that your body is good and beautiful, a truth that has taken you a long time to accept and believe.

    I’m 21, never been in love, a virgin, sarcastic, introspective, slightly neurotic, with curves that could knock your socks off, proud, independent, and hoping to remember one thing: standard issue? That’s a fucking joke. No one is standard issue, because life gives everyone experiences that mold them into who they are. And right now, I’d say I’m doing pretty good.

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    One Response to Done with Standard Issue

    1. Emma
      December 22, 2011 at 12:05 am

      All I have to say is thank you. Thank you so much for helping me realize I’m not alone.




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