pain

I Am The Type of Girl You Will Tell Your Wife About, To Make Her Feel Better About Lusting After Another

Photo by Andreea Retinschi

Photo by Andreea Retinschi

I am the wrong girl.
The one you will tell your girlfriends and wives about
to make them feel better for having loved or lusted after another.

“She was the wrong girl. And in a way I’m glad that I met her so I could see just how right you are.”
I am the wrong girl.
Fifteen. Doe eyed. Selfish. Spoilt.
You bring me my favorite things before school starts,
and spoil me endlessly with your love, and devotion and heart.
You love me. I can see it in your eyes.
I love you too.
We plan a life together.
We want to get married at eighteen, travel around Europe and have four kids.
But I am selfish, and young and I want to know what else the world has to offer besides the one of our own we created with all of our late night conversations, schoolyard kisses and heartfelt confessions.
So I leave my best friend behind at seventeen with a broken heart and wish you all the best.
I start cutting again the day before we break up,
and continue to do so even more afterward.
I am the wrong girl.
Seventeen. Angry. Depressed. Suicidal.
In the span of half a year I do everything I said I would never do. I become everything I said I would never become. But then I meet you.
You are shy and sweet. Tall and handsome.
We are both clumsy and awkward around each other.
You make me feel innocent again.
I think that maybe I love you.
I’m not sure, but I say it anyway.
But we are like night, and day- too different to collide into a sunrise.
“It’s better if we just stay friends.” I say out of nowhere.
Then I just stop speaking to you altogether.
I am the wrong girl.
Seventeen. Utterly confused. Covered in scars. Covered in pain.
You are my first girlfriend.
I’ve never had a girlfriend before and I’m not completely sure if it feels right.
You are young, and beautiful with warm hazel eyes just like autumn.
You are in just as much pain as I am,
or more.

I promise you I won’t hurt you. I chase you relentlessly because you are afraid I will bring you only pain like everything else in your life.
And then I break all of my promises.
I find God and suddenly I am struck with guilt that the thought of being with another girl is wrong.
I leave you in a state I would never wish to leave another human being in again.
I am the wrong girl.
Eighteen. Only just finding my feet in the world, but happy finally.
You are older, and kinder than me.
You are strong in the places I am weak.
You do everything right.
You treat me as though I am worthy; with flowers, and romantic dates and words that make my heart flutter.
You trace your fingers over the scars on my arms, and tell me I’m beautiful.
I see myself marrying you, and having children.
But just like everything else-
I’m too afraid of commitment.
I am selfish still.
In a moment of weakness I kiss another.
I realize that although I love you, I am not in love with you and I will never be able to look at you the same.
I know I’m in the wrong but,
I push away my guilt and cast you aside like you are nothing to me.
I cut myself with one long slash for the pain I have caused you.
I am the wrong girl.
Nineteen. Confused. Messy.
I kissed you, when I already belonged to another.
I don’t love you, but I tell you I do.
You don’t love me, but you tell me you do.
We just lust.
For what we can not have,
Until we can.
And then it all happens quickly,
And is over with quickly.
It’s mutual for the first time.
We are done.
I am consumed with the feeling of constantly being a failure,
So I take as many pills as I can swallow and pray that I won’t wake up.
I do.
And I have a hospital band around my wrist.
I am the wrong girl.
Nineteen. Doing good and trying to stay on the path.
I meet you,
And you chase me.
I don’t want you at first,
But once you have me you have me and I am infatuated.
We are both passionate,
But we argue in every moment.

I don’t care because I am so infatuated with you, and your cheeky smile.
But you know,
That I am the wrong girl.
You end it.
I have never been broken up with before.
I don’t take it well.
I cry, and shake all over for weeks to come at the thought of being rejected.
I have a break down worse than I’ve experienced before,
I am inconsolable.
“Finally, I am getting what I deserve.”
I am the wrong girl.
Twenty. Happy. In love with life. I am at peace, and madly in love with God. Everything is changing. I am learning not to be so selfish anymore.
I’m not looking for anybody to fill the void, which is now non-existent.
And then I meet you, and I fall in love within a week.
Madly, deeply, completely.
My heart cries out, “this is the one”.
I forget to breathe when I am with you.
My heart beats too fast,
Or not at all.
I tell you my legs are ugly,
so you kiss each and every scar up and down them and make me feel lovely.
I am so in love with you in each and every moment.
But I am afraid.
I am afraid of commitment, and I am afraid to lose you.
I lose you anyway.
My heart aches more than it ever has before.
Every waking moment is painful.
I recall the friends I’d told, “finally I believe in love” and wonder what they think now.
I realize that besides my first love, you were the only other I had risked the heartache to actually making a commitment for.
I regret it.
My hands are left tainted with your touch,
“How can I ever hold another’s again?”
I am the wrong girl.
I am the one who broke your heart, or wasn’t good enough to stay in it at all.
I am the one who taught you lessons on what to look for in the right girl.
I am the one you will tell your wife someday, “I almost married the wrong girl.”
I don’t know if I will ever be the right girl.
And I don’t know if I want to find out.
Maybe, I will always be the wrong girl.

Submitted to ArtParasites by Rachel Lavinia