I googled “ I regret losing my virginity” in an attempt to find some sort of comfort or asylum. I found this forum and it seems as though this could be a way to help heal the wounds I tore open by being so stupid. Many of the stories have helped me, so I think I'll share.
I was, and am, 16 years old. Far, far too young. I thought I knew everything at the time, and now I realize just how wrong I was. So very, very wrong.
I was eight when I met him- an interesting, odd, kind boy. He was my brother’s best friend; they’re incredibly alike in so many ways. I grew up with him from that age on since he was constantly at my house, going on family vacations with us- he was just a part of the family and I remember him in many of my memories. I had never really taken an interest in him as something more than just a second big brother- he was six years older and that was forbidden.
But when I was 15 years old, he started acting strange around me. Kind of like he was nervous that he was going to do something wrong or maybe say something wrong. We had always been so comfortable around each other that I noticed the tension immediately- it was foreign in our innocent relationship. Automatically, I knew that things had changed and that he had taken an interest in me. And after realizing how he felt, I recognize that I felt the same kind of feelings for him.
After he drunkenly confessed his feelings for me, he was sure he couldn’t admit it without liquid courage, I told him that I felt the same way and- to my surprise- he told me that he had felt that way for a long time.
He was in the military at the time so I saw him rarely. Usually just a few times a year amounting to maybe three weeks total. While he was stationed elsewhere and was serving in Iraq, we were constantly sending text messages and emails, talking on the phone and Skype, even for up to 10 hours a day into the early hours of the morning. We started unofficially “dating” nine months before he came home after I broke up with my boyfriend at the time of almost a year. That break-up was hard for me, but for the first time, I felt like I was in the right relationship.
I counted the days until he came home for Christmas for nine months- I hated the waiting game, but I knew that he was worth waiting for. We talked about marriage and children far sooner than anyone should, but I truly believe that we were in love with each other- I don’t doubt that he loved me.
Well the waiting certainly didn’t help-- at all. When he got home, all I wanted was to be in his arms and on his mouth and well, you know. He stayed with my family for three weeks and from the day he got there to the day that he left, we were constantly having sex whenever we got the chance. Although he initiated it on the first day, I am not clear of any blame. I allowed it, never said no and ended up initiating a lot of it myself. I didn't do it because it felt like what I wanted to do. I did it because I thought it was what I was supposed to do. I mean, I was going to marry this man, right? I figured that was how relationships went and it was about time that I gave him something. Pathetic of me to give it up so easily.
It was silly because a lot of times we had to wait until everyone was asleep and I found myself falling asleep during a lot of it- not because it wasn’t good, but just because I was so exhausted.
Now, when I think back on it, it just makes me want to break down in tears. Even writing this I’m leaning away from the computer in the hopes of not destroying it with my waterworks. It was so wrong in so many ways. Not only was I in and out of consciousness for most of it, but that didn’t make a difference to him. I would wake up and things would still be going on. It was mechanical and just… just not right. There was no emotional attachment connected along with it- he wouldn’t even look me in the eyes- another thing that starts up the tears.
We broke up three months after he left. I was the one who did it. By then, all of the qualities that were masked by my “in love-ness” were evident. He was controlling, manipulative and entirely wrong for me- even though he seemed so right in so many ways. In retrospect, I see that the whole sex thing was all about control; he wanted me to feel more promised to him. I believe that he thought he owned me and sex was just another way to have more of a hold on me. I consider myself a highly headstrong person, and he changed me into a compliant and submissive partner that was just not me.
I decided I needed to be done with his emotionally abusive tendencies. So I told him we were over. After threatening me, attempting to guilt trip me and then just cursing, I realized even more so that he was not “the one” as I thought he was. Throughout our break up conversation, he wasn’t listening to me since he didn’t want to hear what I had to say. After that was through, he tried to be nice and send friendly text messages, but when I didn’t agree to get back together, he would turn malicious.
Eventually, when he knew he wasn’t getting his way with me, he started using my friends to keep tabs on me. After doing so, he would then call me to yell about how mad he was at the places I had been going or the people I had been with. When he no longer “owned me”.
I can’t explain to anyone how much I regret what I did. Even just thinking about it creates a heavy feeling in my stomach and makes me want to vomit. I get teary and, honestly, pathetic.
I feel broken and like I’m damaged goods. In an attempt to help myself, I began dating the wonderful boy I was with before my mistake. It feels as though we picked up where we left off- he’s the best to talk and listen to. But now, even though I have this great guy going for me, I feel as though I’m this disgusting, wretched thing- even though he tells me that it doesn’t tarnish his opinion of me. I guess more than anything, the problem is that my opinion of myself is what’s tarnished. It sucks to look in the mirror and see what I think is a *****.
When this new boy cuddles with me and kisses me, I can’t help but think “well I’ve done all this before” and then I get all sick to my stomach again. So now I have intimacy issues on top of my damaged self-esteem.
I apologize, I’m ranting. I hope that time will heal these wounds, but maybe writing about it will jump-start the progress. Plus, maybe this can convince someone not to make the same mistake I did.
It’s something worth waiting for.