When I was sixteen my boyfriend and best friend at the time told me he loved me, that I was His best friend, that he was IN love with me but that he couldn't be with me. I was dumped and I was devastated. If someone who loved me so very much couldn't be with me, what chance did I have with anyone else!?
I now believe that he thought he could do better. I had many friends at secondary school but I wasn't considered the coolest girl in town. And surely, when you're sixteen having the coolest girlfriend is like, totally the most important thing, like ever. Duh! That title belonged to a good friend of mine. Let's call her The Simple Bitch (all will become clear). Every single boy in my strict Catholic educational building was unconditionally in love with The Simple Bitch. She did not wear short skirts and was not a slut. She was the typical girl next door. If you look at my post about being A K-K-K-Katie Girl, then this girl was most definitely A Simple Girl. No one stood a chance against her.
I must say though, seeing as she was meant to be a very good friend of mine (we spent every Sunday together for months during the Spring and Summer of our GCSE year. Shopping, walks on the beach, meals out and everything in between. We called them our "Lesbian Sundays" and I adored them), kissing my first love and best friend, who had broken my heart for the first time only the week before, was not A Simple Girl move. It was a bloody bitchy move. Hence "The Simple Bitch"!! If that was the salt in my wound, then hearing it via a drunken apology from my ex and not The Simple Bitch was like bathing the pain in vinegar, curry sauce and chilli. Constantly. It hurt. More than I think I let myself realise.
I moved on and dated other boys fairly quickly. *I* asked boys out (who was I back then?). But looking back at that facade of confidence, I'm not sure I was letting myself get over my first love and therefore move on from him. We were still friends for a time, my first love and I, and it seems to me that I could never let myself be truly exposed in the way I had been with him. If someone that loved me in the way he did could hurt me, how much damage could a nobody make!?
Of course, they couldn't. The scale of emotion was not in the same league so the scale of pain wouldn't be either. But subconsciously I wasn't willing to take that risk. Even if I thought I was.
Men since then have come and gone and some have tried to feed me the same old crap. Their words may have been slightly different but the meaning and melody have always been the same. They have merely wanted to get into my pants and then go on the prowl for more pussy. Sorry, to be blunt, but that is the way it is. For many of the male species anyway. Little did they know that I was brought up by an Italian Catholic and you need to be pretty damn special to be with me. Sorry, for wasting your time *triumphant smile*.
However, it is not all the fault of the male population. I'm beginning to think that I, too am to blame. Yes, there have been some arseholes that have tried to worm their way into my heart, but there have also been some stand up men, nice men, sweet men who have liked me. Who have wanted to sweep me off my feet and wrap me up in a mass of flowers and presents. I can't be so unfeeling that not one of them hasn't touched something in this guarded heart of mine. No, some did stir some emotion inside. But it never felt enough. Not to let my guard down more than I did. I have suddenly come to the worrying conclusion that the reason it wasn't enough is because they were Simple Guys. They are the X factor equivalent of the amazing singer that gets booted off in the first few weeks because they don't have "it". The personality is just not quite right. There needs to be more.
Putting ones finger on what that "more" is exactly is more complex than trying to explain Newtons theory of relativity to a small deaf monkey.
So not only do I appear to be a complicated "Katie Girl" but I seem to want a complicated "Katie Guy". How can I possibly be annoyed by The Boy's emotional constipation when perhaps that is what turned my initial attraction into something more? C-c-c-complicated.
He is not the only complicated man that has stirred more than a mere warm affection inside me. The Cute TA (not the inappropriately short shorts wearer of my home town, but the northern beaut that opened my eyes to the benefits of lovey-dovey mush). The Cute TA turned me into a smitten teenager at the age of 27. It was impressive. And revolting. In equal measure. The knowledge I had received a text message from this boy was enough to plant a smile on my face as big as the one found on The Cheshire Cat. His gentle mix of mockery and compliments is something that should be studied. I was powerless. And this before I add my penchant for cricketers with a geeky glint in their eyes. I was quite literally weak at the knees.
So what went wrong with him? Did he turn out to be another Simple Guy? No, of course not. I liked him. He must have had something more. In short, he simply disappeared. And then came back. With the mushiest of flirtations. He was so open I melted all over again. But what's that? Yep, he disappeared one more time. Yes, I did mope around the flat a little but ultimately, he was just a pleasant distraction from The Boy. The Boy that was in my heart. Even then I believe. Damn my devious hidden emotions. However, now The Cute TA has opened my eyes to a whole world of mush that apparently I don't find as revolting as I once thought. Double shit.
All in all, I am a hopeless case. A complicated-unsure-of-what-I-want or how-to-go-about-getting-it girl that only wants complicated-unsure-of-what-they-truly-want men.
Eleven years on from the pain of my first love and I have come full circle back to square one. Where is a terrorist with a bomb to blow up square one when you need one!? Jeeesh!
My relationship (for want of ANY OTHER WORD) with The Boy is complicated. So perhaps that is the true reason I am finding it near on impossible to walk away. Do I really like complicated that much? Surely not. *sighs* Perhaps I feel that we're not finished. He likes me, he tells me and shows me in so many ways. It's I that now want more. Perhaps I know if I walk away I have to start all over again and the thought is too exhausting. Perhaps being with any other non-complicated guy right now would feel like settling. Or maybe, just maybe I'm simply a sucker for pain and I couldn't possibly give myself a fighting chance at a simple life. Should I just give into the torture and build myself a Red Room of Pain. But without my own Christian Grey, who would show me around all things kinky!?
With all this new information to mull over, I'm off to buy enough cake to fill my stomach until Christmas.
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