Fall of 92

Fall of 1992. I was 24 years old. I was in grad school and had gotten my drug use under control, but the self loathing hadn't resolved by a long shot. Obviously, or I never would have stayed with Kent as long as I did.

He seemed perfect, and I believed I didn't deserve perfection. I became a clinging vine. He was smart, handsome, sophisticated, everything I believed I wasn't. At first he seemed like the nicest guy in the world. That was before the verbal onslaught on our six month anniversary that left me in tears and nearly suicidal. I remember begging him for foregiveness. For what? For existing, really.

I remember dancing to this song with him and thinking I'd found true love. That was before all the verbal abuse started six months into the relationship, and the cheating started a week before our first anniversary. I ended up sticking with him for five years, believing that losing him meant losing everything. Instead, I lost myself. In spite of earning my masters' degree, I still felt like a complete failure.