Let’s set the scene: I’m in high school, and left in the wake of yet another terrible relationship.
The relationship had been a special kind of toxic, the kind that should’ve heralded a warning: that this was the type of guy I would keep on attracting until I could actually find some self-worth. I’d been treated like dirt, cheated on, and unceremoniously dumped. He’d eventually return and I’d take him back, because it’s amazing how far you can bend over backwards when you don’t have a spine to stop you. He’d dump me again, this time with a pocket full of insults instead of another girl waiting in the wings.
Let’s set a more specific scene: I’m in the car with my mom, sitting both passenger side and in the wake of the final break-up, venting about the newest set of verbal sparring — the terrible things he’d said about me, the things I’d said to friends in response, the anger and repulsion felt towards a guy I once thought I’d loved.
I look over and my mom is smiling amusedly.
“Oh, you two will get married someday.” Continue reading