The First Real Boyfriend?

John Thibodeau was his name and he, my friends, was the the first stepping stone of my spiraling. I was 16 and he was 18 (about to graduate from high school). He was a flirt that chased all the girls and known throughout school as a typical man whore. He had asked me out on numerous occasions and I’d just smile and walk away. I was kind of flattered at the time, but I knew my mother would never approve.  See John wore the tight around the waist, loose at the button, cut up jeans with high top sneakers unlaced and practically falling off. He had long black hair and played the part as a wild  UN-tamable rebel with little regard to authority, rules, and respect.

After awhile of pondering and wondering if he could actually like me, I gave in and said I’d go out with him. My thought process was telling me that if nothing else, this would piss my dad off royally. Which it did! John was the person that got me to open up and to express myself, to not let others control me, and to fight back when warranted. He even took my virginity and taught me that arguments can be resolved by “putting out”. The more he changed me the more my dad hated him, resulting in the more my dad hated him the more I wanted John around at that time. Especially when he introduced me to the world of liquid courage (Old Milwaukee Best). Dad eventually stopped calling and stopped coming around and that’s when John and I broke up. I was 17 for no known reason really except that I didn’t love him we were done. He literally showed up at my house to pick me up one day and I had my mother send him away. Trust me, she wasn’t heart broken about the job I asked her to do.  That was it! I never answered a call from him again and for some unknown reasons I think he truly loved me. He did leave many begging messages and tried stocking my house. Unfortunately, I had no feelings for him except thankful for helping me to complete my transformation of becoming a stronger individual.

My drinking with friends soared and curfews were broken on a nightly basis. I got to the point that I hated to be sober and I hated being alone. I drove my mother crazy for a little while until she kicked me out. She tried to send me to my dad’s to straighten me out, that didn’t work so well. So, I moved into an apartment right below my mothers place with an alcoholic named Jason. My mother was not okay with this, but the way I was at this time, I left her with no choices.

To Be Continued…

 

 

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