If you asked me a year ago where I’d be now, I probably wouldn’t have any idea, because I’m not really much of a forward thinker. But it would have been something pretty similar to what I was doing back then; driving to work, the day after my boyfriend’s birthday, deliberating in paranoia if he hung out with his female ‘best friend’ the night before when he left our house to go out with his friends. I was unhappy and stuck and I had morphed into a horrific jealous version of the strong woman I imagined I would be at 24.
I never could imagine, however, that I’d be here. I wouldn’t have been able to guess in my most morbid of daydreams the year preceding would be full of as much pain and heart-break. See about 20 days from now, 1 year ago, my boyfriend broke up with me. And thus began the phase of my life that I like to call ‘That time life pulled the fucking rug out’.
Let me rewind though because that’s how all good stories go.
I haven’t been a silver lining girl ever, well I don’t think I have anyway. I always used to have a weird want for bad things to happen because it justified my teenage angst growing up and I kind of just felt comfortable in sadness. I always understood that from great pain came great understanding of yourself, I felt like I grew from the darkest places. In turn this made me a pretty melancholy and sensitive little flower growing up, and a lot of that has carried me through my early relationships, and my early twenties.
I had my first serious relationship at 15, it was classic and tumultuous and he broke up with me on MSN the day after I allowed him to take my delicate flower. We got back together, obviously, he cheated on me, obviously. Like I said, it was classic and teenage and I went through my emo poetry writing phase writing his name on all of my journals and crying endless tears. This relationship, upon reflection, planted the first seed of what would turn into a beautiful thorny bush of self-doubt and mis-trust in my future endeavours. My second serious relationship proceeded swiftly after a very anti-climactic end of the first.
I was 17, I had lost a fair bit of weight and boys were suddenly interested in me. and I just had no idea what to do. I caught the eyes of 3 boys at once… 3 cool boys who I had met at the same time…because they were all friends…really good friends actually. I somehow managed to go from an awkward heartbroken little weirdo to a fucking player in a matter of weeks. Go figure.
I was hanging out with all of them at once and it was honestly just because, as previously mentioned, I had no fucking idea what to do with myself. Confrontation and I are not friends. I hate that bitch. When she comes knocking on the door my brain actually shuts down. So I avoid it! And I did avoid it in this situation. I just pretended to not know that what I was doing was wrong until 2 of them inevitably got sick of my shit, and I started dating the third one. For the next 3 years.
This relationship too ended in a fiery ruin. To make a long story very short I’ll break down the main parts: I went to Europe for a month when I was 18, kissed a French-Canadian dude, came back, confessed my infidelity, we moved into a house together! He went to a staff party, went home with another girl, he bought me a $400 fossil bag and all was forgiven. I worked nights in a Casino, decided one day that I wanted to move to Melbourne because I was just so over my life and then I booked a one-way flight down two weeks later.
Wait… I haven’t even introduced myself yet.
I’m Hana, and that’s me for today. Till next time.