When I was very young and newly on my own I had a boyfriend who I thought was shy. I knew from the abuse he took from his friends he was a virgin. I had no idea he was also, and perhaps mostly hiding a physical defect. I was naive at 18. It never even occurred to me. So when he finally marshaled the courage to have sex with me I was not prepared. 

Right in the middle his penis made a hard right turn (or left turn depending on perspective). Like a double-jointed finger. I couldn’t imagine how it could possibly work. My naïveté was boundless when I was 18. I avoided intercourse and judging by his reaction, what I did instead left him feeling satisfied and happy. It was, after all his first time. There wouldn’t be a second time. 

Somehow from somewhere revulsion snuck in, and I quickly and repeatedly found I couldn’t deal with it. So it was actually worse than being a virgin. It was his worst fear, rejection. I get why he can’t forgive me. I was naive. And stupid. 

Today and for about the last 25 or so years, it would have been no big deal. But at 18, I knew almost nothing about intimacy and love and how the best sex is all about being authentic, and not at all about looking good. 

I smacked down the first man I ever really loved and I still feel the loss to this day. I’m talking about it because it’s true and it defies my ego. Take that ego. 

In actuality I repeated the smacking down and the being smacked down for a lot of years. If it hadn’t been for alcohol it might have run my whole life. But it didn’t. Turned out I was a problem drinker, to say the least. Pretty soon I found AA. And AA was just the medicine I needed to force me to look closely and as honestly as possible at myself. Saved my life. I’m lucky that way.

Still regret lingers on, unbidden but relentless in it’s own way. Oh yes, I have sins to list. An abortion when abortions were illegal. There were abusive self-involved assholes along the way, but at the time I wasn’t capable of intimacy. When I dated a mature man it didn’t last long, and I was lucky the fellow was honest enough to tell me why he wouldn’t see me again.  Looking back on my early adulthood, I see I missed a lot of happiness. 

No one ever told me the truth about life. My parents were wrong in so many big ways, I had no role models. Instead I had negative role models who showed me how not to live. 
Chronological age: 19; emotional age: 12 going on 13. I was dangerous. I created unhappiness. I walked away and started over again and again and the same sorry melodrama played out enough times to finally get my attention. With a little help from my friends.

I was miserable. The greatest day of my life was when I realized I was creating my own unhappiness. I wanted to be treated with respect, but braless as a matter of principle guaranteed being treated like a slut. That was a good day. I was 23 years old but about 16 emotionally. But I woke up and started charting my own course in life. It took a long time. But I made it. 

Progress isn’t all epiphanies. There are more hard climbs than sudden revelations. Like everything in this world, it’s 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. And even though sometimes it seems impossible to keep on, I can say from first-hand experience, never give up. Never ever give up. I suspect it is for this we are here. 

It seems like the darkest, roughest parts of the climb out of my self-made purgatory were the final stages. Then came the epiphany. And the epiphany was the realization that I made it. 

So I share this in the hope it might tip someone off to avoid suffering and choose happiness. Or not.