Love Stinks
By Carly, age 17, Ohio
In the words of the great J. Geils band, "Love Stinks." If you can't comprehend my wit, I suggest you go download a J. Geils album, or at least rent The Wedding Singer. In light of the approaching Valentine's Day, I decided to sit down and write a heartwarming piece about how love conquers all. Let's be honest. That isn't my style or how the real world works. You could call me jaded, but I prefer realist. Experience has built, brick by brick, a wall around my battered heart. Before you label me another angsty teen, hear my story.
I had finally found the love I'd searched for. He was the Holy Grail, glowing and leading me from the overwhelming darkness that surrounded me. As a cynic, I approached the idea of love cautiously. However, my seventeen year old mind and body had other plans, hearts and hormones deceiving my intellect. Nine months passed and I was completely, unexplainable, madly in love. Foolishly the little Berliners in me began to break down the wall. Feeling safe, I gave this boy the most precious gift possessed - my virginity. He reeled me in. In one day flat, it was all over. If this is love, what is hate? He left me gasping and flailing like a helpless fish meeting its demise.
It never ceases to amaze me how blossoming love can transform into irrevocable hatred in a matter of seconds. Obviously a master of timing, this boy has shattered my heart. You won't find his name within this page. Even a brief mention of it twists my stomach with fiery rage. I dwell on the hot tears and agonizing questions of what went wrong as I try to fall asleep each night. I face his exuberant accomplishments or world record six day rebound as my world falls apart.
I know everything will be fine eventually. However, I'm sick of the pit that lingers in my stomach. I'm sick of being afraid of what song will come on the radio next. I'd like to fast forward even just a month. I want to be okay, but until then I'll put Alanis in my iPod, surround myself with friends, and muffle the noise coming from the rest of the world.
Valentine's Day brings sarcastic bitterness for me. Does Hallmark make a card that says, Sorry, I took your virginity and threw you away like a piece of trash? I highly doubt it. I cannot and will not apologize for any fanciful bubbles I burst. Welcome to the real world, ladies and gentlemen.
If anything, I can thank my ex for opening my eyes a bit. The scars I bear have eternally changed me. I'm not going to move to a cave. I'm not going to become a lesbian. I'm not going to die, but Valentine's Day is going to hurt. Love isn't about cutesy cards, chocolates, or flowers. Love is dealing with the hurt that tags along like a venomous leech. The journey makes the destination worthwhile. All I know is that the world keeps spinning and I need to keep myself from getting dizzy. I will take life a day at a time, or even second by second if I have to. I'm just clinging to the idea that hopefully tomorrow will suck less.
