My sister is 11 years older and, with such an age difference, was my role-model to me when I was a little girl.  Studying her every move, I would watch closely and intently at the way she put on her make-up and fixed her hair, teaching me how to do so on myself.   Being so much older, she was in her teenage years while I was a little, and she did what most teenagers did- stay away from the family and hang out with friends.  And she had a lot of friends.  She would go out, and when saying good bye to me in our bedroom (after I sat and studied her get ready) I would resentfully not say good-bye, hoping this would keep her from leaving. But my plan consistently failed, and after kissing me goodnight, she turned to gallop down the stairs and out the door, not letting anything stop her from her plans.  This left me crying in my pillow- feeling abandoned and unloved.  As a little kid, I didn’t grasp the whole object permanence factor, and no one ever sat down to console me, to hold me and explain that she would return soon.  Instead, I would cry for hours, so loud until my throat was hoarse, hoping to catch my mom or dad's attention and consolation.  But instead I was left with dry eyes and a wet pillow, my throat sore and sad. 

Worse than the night outs, my sister would go work down the shore each summer, leaving me once again, no one to sit me down and tell me it would be ok.  As a little kid I needed to hear that, as the candy store I once lived in began to fall apart, as different feelings began to surface in my life (as it does to every child) but the sugar from parental security was missing, and my candy store grew sour, and I felt afraid.  I remember looking out the window as my sister’s car drove away- heading to the shore while tears streamed down my chubby cheeks. 

My mom tried to help, or rather "shut you up" as she would suggest to me that I write to her and stop crying, as it gave her a headache.  So I did just that-wiping my tears and taking my markers to draw stick figures of her and I, writing in my 7 year old handwriting pleading and begging for her to come back.  Still, I never received that reassurance that someone leaving your life for a short time does not mean it would be forever, and any explanation given to my young soul, was smothered with annoyance, causing me to me miss the whole point of their attempt to console me.   After my pleading letter was finished, I would give it to my mother in the kitchen, asking her to mail it to my sisters shore address which she left.  My mother would take the letter and tell me she would, put I would watch what she would do with that letter which I put so much effort into- the letter which detailed my feelings and pleas.  I would pretend to concentrate of another letter or drawing, and wait to see what my mother did next with my strong feelings scribbled on paper.  And when I would peek out of the corner of my eye, I would see her throw my feelings away in the trash, dismissing my concerns and sadness, neglecting to console her child's fears and pain that rose from the separation of her beloved sister.  Instead, my feelings were dismissed and ignored, causing my young self to feel guilty of having such unworthy feelings, feeding my separation anxiety and fear of abandonment, which could have been eased with some reassurance and parental security.    

As I grew older and started college, the age difference between my sister and I became less obvious, and I began to hang out with her down the shore, partying with her and her boyfriend and their friends- who were all at least 15 years older than I.  The males didn’t mind having a young, svelte blonde in a tiny bikini hang around their beach house, becoming aroused at the sight of me drinking or doing drugs, as my innocence and virginity were still obvious as my inhibitions slipped with each drink or line they fed me.   I also have been told that I have an old soul, connecting easily with people a bit older than myself, finding people my age too immature for me to relate to.  In addition, I was also my sisters sister, sealing the trust the females of the group needed in order to befriend me, and soon I was just the "young one" in the house, gaining respect as my tolerance for partying grew bigger and bigger, impressing everyone of my ability to consume the most and hang the longest.  My sister’s friends embraced me, even though I was only 18 years old and no one minded showing me the ropes through substance use, and I began experimenting with ways to escape my pain.  They even enjoyed my presence, my youth rejuvenating, yet not threatening.

This life of partying was new to me, as I never drank or did drugs in high school; rand instead channeled my addictive behavior through my development of an eating disorder.  Too fearful to try alcohol or drugs, I became addicted to starvation and purging in 10th grade, becoming addicted to the high of the feeling of control I thought I felt through engaging in such behavior.  I relished in the attention I received for being "so thin", enjoyed the jealous looks I got from the cheerleaders, and finally felt as though my feelings could be heard, my pain so evident in the bones protruding and loose clothes. 

But the summer I turned 18, I tried new ways to deal with my pain, as the anorexia and bulimia just didn’t cut it.  I began seeing a therapist, and quickly gained the weight I needed to look somewhat healthy, as it became evident that my eating disorder was a secondary symptom of another issue.  I began experiment with both drugs and alcohol, enjoying the rush of numbness I felt, freeing me of my insecurities and sadness.  I felt cool, hanging out with my sister and her friends, minimizing the drug use, as it was OK if I did it with my sister- plus drug use was always present in my household growing up, my mother smoking pot and inhaling nitrous while my dad drank until passing out.  Growing up, I knew drugs were bad, and was able to develop a different set of morals than my parents displayed by their drug use.  But, 18 years old, those set of morals was questioned by the pain I felt inside, and I quickly dismissed the set of standards I held myself before.    The drugs made me less shy and I felt ok to be me, causing my eating disorder to take the back burner to my drug use.  Plus- the amount of coke and meth and ecstasy that I would do each weekend, made it impossible to eat food- causing my jeans to still hang from my pointy hips and collar bones remained prominent.    

The drug use soon leaked into my other social groups too, as I quickly made friends with the two young girls working with me in the juice bar that a local gym had in their facility.  The owner of the juice bar lived in Jamaica, leaving three young, pretty 18 year old blondes to run the place, and after working there for only a month, I finally felt like I found my own clique and group to fit in.  We stole money from the drawer, claiming them as our tips- giving us plenty of money to buy our ecstasy pills or coke for the weekend.  We fixed our hair straight and long, wearing skimpy outfits and work out clothes.  My two friends began to hook up with different guys at the gym, although I held back.  Feeling fat and ugly for most of my high school years, I was a prude, and felt sex was gross, as I was convinced my body was repulsive.  As rumors quickly flew about whose sleeping with who, it was clear I was of a different breed, and although the guys fantasized I engaged in threesomes with my two friends, my virginity was apparent, and I appeared almost angelic and untouchable- especially compared to the track record my two friends soon developed.  We did flirt with the hot, twenty-something men in the gym, the ones who did steroids and knew the people who worked the door at the most popular clubs in the city.  Our flirting and trashy workout outfits got us invited out with them and each weekend I felt like a movie star, as I held hands with my handsome "friends", passing the people standing in line.  The guys would wear tight shirts, their muscles perfect and noticeable, and I felt flattered they would actually want to hang out with someone like me.  The guy holding my hand would shake the bouncers hand at the door, prompting me to smile and kiss the bouncer on the cheek, as he unhooked the red rope, letting us in the VIP entrance free of cover and Id.  Having snorted a line or swallowed a pill shortly before while in the car, I would feel high and confident, dancing across the floor over to the bar, straightening my posture and pushing more cleavage out my low cut short, knowing that guys were checking my thin physique out.  My eating disorder climaxed at this stage in life- the drugs caused my appetite to diminish and I began over-exercising rather than purging. My arms were toned and I almost had a 6 pack, my bra was padded and because I still was a prude, no one knew I was only a B cup.  Looking back at pictures, I don’t look too thin- as my body is naturally big boned and one would not be able to tell how much I was hurting my body.  I did not look too thin, and unless you look closely- I look like a healthy young woman.  But if you took notice to my darkened eyes with dilated pupils- you see the darkness which my dark circles created under my eyes, reflecting all the pain I had inside.  My hair was highlighted blonde and I blew it out straight, the lack of nutrients not yet noticeable in my hair or teeth.   I almost felt good at the time, and started to believe what people at the gym said about me, that I was "hot" and desired, as it was known I didn’t sleep around (yet).  I ended each day in my bedroom which my mom redecorated, my parents sleeping down the hall, my family intact.  And right before I drifted off to sleep, I would say to myself how these were the best years of my life.  

While working at the juice bar and partying with the beautiful people, I felt good and carefree.  Felt understood and got. As my friends who I partied with shared the same feelings I did, using drugs to numb their fears and becoming outgoing when the euphoria hit after ingested the drugs.   I began dating a guy popular around the gym and clubs, a guy who knew everyone and everyone knew him, and I quickly became his accessory, venturing out clubbing with him, hanging on his arm like a piece of static.  He got me in all the clubs despite being underage with a lousy fake ID, and he had drugs to share and connections to meet up with.  We went to parties before clubs, followed by after hours at some empty warehouse in the ghetto, the abandoned building coming to life after 2:00am, when the DJ and nitrous tanks arrived.  Our nights bled into mornings, and even though the sun would be out when our night was finally over, I didn’t feel the effects the drugs had on my emotional state, and I would go home just as content as I was when going out.  My new partner took care of me when I would throw up from a night of partying, carrying me into his bedroom to pass out and then recover the next day.  Living with his mom, he would get her to make us lunch, him some sandwich with meat, and me tomatoes on rye bread, knowing I was on a "diet".  I had a night full of parties with a safe place to crash and a dotting mother who made lunch as I wanted, not forcing me to eat something fattening!  I had it made. 

We officially began dating once we hooked up which took place at a friends house party.  We ate a lot of xanax that night and ended up in the Jacuzzi, and the last I remember was the hot water and steam causing me to fall asleep, which required my partner to wake me up before my face went under water.  Having enough of watching me almost drown, my partner panicked that he gave me too many pills, and my state of relaxation was ended by the cold water from the shower, as he pulled me out of the tub, placing my naked body in the shower to wake me up.  I yelled in horror, but my eyes remained closed and my partner helped me back to an empty bedroom, which happened to be a little boy (who was at his aunts while his mom threw this party).   Waking up with a foggy headache and no clothes, I blinked twice as I realized I was sleeping in a bed the shape of a race car, and was naked next to my clubbing friend.  I felt something uncomfortable underneath me and I pulled a GI Joe out from under me, noticing the figurines we both slept on.  We didn’t have sex that night- as we concluded that we were both too messed up on xanax to get ourselves in positions to have sex- but we weren’t totally sure as either of us remembered.  But this began the series of nights we got fucked up together and went back to his place to sleep, him now in the bed rather the couch.  He held each other after our brains hurt from doing drugs all night, fulfilling the horney desires some drugs brought on.  Eventually causing a drug-induced love, even though we weren’t officially intimate together.  I was 18 years old, and still a virgin.  I gave my virginity up on his basement floor, after a night of drinking.  And as he lowered his body on top of mine, I only just realized we were having sex when he pulled out, having already came in the condom.  And just like that, I was no longer a virgin, and for a moment I was disappointed, as it was so quick and I didn’t feel anything at all.  But I felt happy as that scared little girl I used to be was slowly fading, and I was turning into a popular, fun seeking person with a great group of friends.  

I grew distant from the friends from high school, as I no longer was the person I used to be, refusing to hang out unless it was at a club, which my high school friends refused to go to.  I slowly cut myself out of their lives, and my drug experimentation became obvious, starting a number of rumors about me which caused my neighborhood to talk about how I was turning into a "rebel" and "druggie".  I like the rumors, as it made me sound fun, and I related druggie with being thin, convincing myself that it was a good rumor as it meant I was thin- no druggies were fat!! 

My drug induced relationship became very unhealthy- my eating disorder and self hatred evident and his aggression and mental illness present.  He fed my insecurities and low self worth and lied to me about anything and everything, causing me to distrust him and others, but instead of ending it, I questioned myself and reality, and believed I could fix him and make this relationship right.  I attached myself to him and the lifestyle.  As time passed, our arguments worsened and fights grew violent.  Causing the cops to be called many times, causing me to lie to my dad about how my car windshield broke-too ashamed to admit that, I kicked it in during a drunken dispute, pr crashing my car because I swerved while driving and yelling at him on Thanksgiving Eve one year.   

But he was my first love and I depended on him in a codependent way, forgiving and believing his persistent empty promises and lies.  My parents silently watched this saga, accepting him back in their home after each fight, never asking why I didn’t break it off.  This went on for years, our relationship being off and on for a long period off time.  The juice bar closed after a couple years, causing us three girls to go our separate ways, thus ending the club scene.  Many of the hot clubs shut down due to all the drug activity and we began going out to bars and after-hours at bars instead of buildings.    We were almost twenty one and having fake ID's we ventured out to new hip bars.  The drug use lessened, as I started to feel really depressed and sad, causing me to see a psychiatrist to "regulate my mood".  Never mentioning my drug use, I was diagnosed with Major Depression and Generalized Anxiety and an Eating Disorder Not Specified (I felt this diagnoses was a let down- I was such a failure, I failed at even getting a real eating disorder!).  I tried ending it with my boyfriend but couldn’t take the loneliness I felt without him, and didn’t leave him until one night I met an attractive tall blonde.
 
We met at a new bar in the Northeast, different from my usual nights spent in the city, and he was with a friend of mines friend.  He greeted me with an attitude filled with arrogance, and I immediately felt attracted to his cool behavior, and I made it a goal to get him to take me home.  No longer a virgin, I was less shy with guys and brought one night stands home to my parents.  I enjoyed sex and my sexuality and wanted to feel his lips on mine.  By the end of the night we exchanged numbers and after leaving the bar, he text messaged me to see if I wanted to go to a diner.  Wanting to cut out the bullshit, I invited him to have left over chinese food at my place, allowing me to get straight to the part I cared about and enjoyed.  The night ended with us making out on my parents kitchen floor, my mind on his body touching mine, not even caring if my parents woke up.  And after the sun began to rise, ending out make out session, he promised to call and drove off leaving me with thoughts of him and distant memories of my on again off again boyfriend.  I easily ended that relationship and jumped into an enmeshed one with this new guy, only the dysfunction proved to be worse and aggression and abuse turned out to be worse. 

little girl inside you grows, she realizes that there is much more to life than that safe, happy candy store and the innocence she rendered as a young girl quickly fades, as she learns of deception and hurt.  

My sister is 11 years older and, with such an age difference, was my role-model to me when I was a little girl.  Studying her every move, I would watch closely and intently at the way she put on her make-up and fixed her hair, teaching me how to do so on myself.   Being so much older, she was in her teenage years while I was a little, and she did what most teenagers did- stay away from the family and hang out with friends.  And she had a lot of friends.  She would go out, and when saying good bye to me in our bedroom (after I sat and studied her get ready) I would resentfully not say good-bye, hoping this would keep her from leaving. But my plan consistently failed, and after kissing me goodnight, she turned to gallop down the stairs and out the door, not letting anything stop her from her plans.  This left me crying in my pillow- feeling abandoned and unloved.  As a little kid, I didn’t grasp the whole object permanence factor, and no one ever sat down to console me, to hold me and explain that she would return soon.  Instead, I would cry for hours, so loud until my throat was hoarse, hoping to catch my mom or dad's attention and consolation.  But instead I was left with dry eyes and a wet pillow, my throat sore and sad. 

Worse than the night outs, my sister would go work down the shore each summer, leaving me once again, no one to sit me down and tell me it would be ok.  As a little kid I needed to hear that, as the candy store I once lived in began to fall apart, as different feelings began to surface in my life (as it does to every child) but the sugar from parental security was missing, and my candy store grew sour, and I felt afraid.  I remember looking out the window as my sister’s car drove away- heading to the shore while tears streamed down my chubby cheeks. 

My mom tried to help, or rather "shut you up" as she would suggest to me that I write to her and stop crying, as it gave her a headache.  So I did just that-wiping my tears and taking my markers to draw stick figures of her and I, writing in my 7 year old handwriting pleading and begging for her to come back.  Still, I never received that reassurance that someone leaving your life for a short time does not mean it would be forever, and any explanation given to my young soul, was smothered with annoyance, causing me to me miss the whole point of their attempt to console me.   After my pleading letter was finished, I would give it to my mother in the kitchen, asking her to mail it to my sisters shore address which she left.  My mother would take the letter and tell me she would, put I would watch what she would do with that letter which I put so much effort into- the letter which detailed my feelings and pleas.  I would pretend to concentrate of another letter or drawing, and wait to see what my mother did next with my strong feelings scribbled on paper.  And when I would peek out of the corner of my eye, I would see her throw my feelings away in the trash, dismissing my concerns and sadness, neglecting to console her child's fears and pain that rose from the separation of her beloved sister.  Instead, my feelings were dismissed and ignored, causing my young self to feel guilty of having such unworthy feelings, feeding my separation anxiety and fear of abandonment, which could have been eased with some reassurance and parental security.    

As I grew older and started college, the age difference between my sister and I became less obvious, and I began to hang out with her down the shore, partying with her and her boyfriend and their friends- who were all at least 15 years older than I.  The males didn’t mind having a young, svelte blonde in a tiny bikini hang around their beach house, becoming aroused at the sight of me drinking or doing drugs, as my innocence and virginity were still obvious as my inhibitions slipped with each drink or line they fed me.   I also have been told that I have an old soul, connecting easily with people a bit older than myself, finding people my age too immature for me to relate to.  In addition, I was also my sisters sister, sealing the trust the females of the group needed in order to befriend me, and soon I was just the "young one" in the house, gaining respect as my tolerance for partying grew bigger and bigger, impressing everyone of my ability to consume the most and hang the longest.  My sister’s friends embraced me, even though I was only 18 years old and no one minded showing me the ropes through substance use, and I began experimenting with ways to escape my pain.  They even enjoyed my presence, my youth rejuvenating, yet not threatening.

This life of partying was new to me, as I never drank or did drugs in high school; rand instead channeled my addictive behavior through my development of an eating disorder.  Too fearful to try alcohol or drugs, I became addicted to starvation and purging in 10th grade, becoming addicted to the high of the feeling of control I thought I felt through engaging in such behavior.  I relished in the attention I received for being "so thin", enjoyed the jealous looks I got from the cheerleaders, and finally felt as though my feelings could be heard, my pain so evident in the bones protruding and loose clothes. 

But the summer I turned 18, I tried new ways to deal with my pain, as the anorexia and bulimia just didn’t cut it.  I began seeing a therapist, and quickly gained the weight I needed to look somewhat healthy, as it became evident that my eating disorder was a secondary symptom of another issue.  I began experiment with both drugs and alcohol, enjoying the rush of numbness I felt, freeing me of my insecurities and sadness.  I felt cool, hanging out with my sister and her friends, minimizing the drug use, as it was OK if I did it with my sister- plus drug use was always present in my household growing up, my mother smoking pot and inhaling nitrous while my dad drank until passing out.  Growing up, I knew drugs were bad, and was able to develop a different set of morals than my parents displayed by their drug use.  But, 18 years old, those set of morals was questioned by the pain I felt inside, and I quickly dismissed the set of standards I held myself before.    The drugs made me less shy and I felt ok to be me, causing my eating disorder to take the back burner to my drug use.  Plus- the amount of coke and meth and ecstasy that I would do each weekend, made it impossible to eat food- causing my jeans to still hang from my pointy hips and collar bones remained prominent.    

The drug use soon leaked into my other social groups too, as I quickly made friends with the two young girls working with me in the juice bar that a local gym had in their facility.  The owner of the juice bar lived in Jamaica, leaving three young, pretty 18 year old blondes to run the place, and after working there for only a month, I finally felt like I found my own clique and group to fit in.  We stole money from the drawer, claiming them as our tips- giving us plenty of money to buy our ecstasy pills or coke for the weekend.  We fixed our hair straight and long, wearing skimpy outfits and work out clothes.  My two friends began to hook up with different guys at the gym, although I held back.  Feeling fat and ugly for most of my high school years, I was a prude, and felt sex was gross, as I was convinced my body was repulsive.  As rumors quickly flew about whose sleeping with who, it was clear I was of a different breed, and although the guys fantasized I engaged in threesomes with my two friends, my virginity was apparent, and I appeared almost angelic and untouchable- especially compared to the track record my two friends soon developed.  We did flirt with the hot, twenty-something men in the gym, the ones who did steroids and knew the people who worked the door at the most popular clubs in the city.  Our flirting and trashy workout outfits got us invited out with them and each weekend I felt like a movie star, as I held hands with my handsome "friends", passing the people standing in line.  The guys would wear tight shirts, their muscles perfect and noticeable, and I felt flattered they would actually want to hang out with someone like me.  The guy holding my hand would shake the bouncers hand at the door, prompting me to smile and kiss the bouncer on the cheek, as he unhooked the red rope, letting us in the VIP entrance free of cover and Id.  Having snorted a line or swallowed a pill shortly before while in the car, I would feel high and confident, dancing across the floor over to the bar, straightening my posture and pushing more cleavage out my low cut short, knowing that guys were checking my thin physique out.  My eating disorder climaxed at this stage in life- the drugs caused my appetite to diminish and I began over-exercising rather than purging. My arms were toned and I almost had a 6 pack, my bra was padded and because I still was a prude, no one knew I was only a B cup.  Looking back at pictures, I don’t look too thin- as my body is naturally big boned and one would not be able to tell how much I was hurting my body.  I did not look too thin, and unless you look closely- I look like a healthy young woman.  But if you took notice to my darkened eyes with dilated pupils- you see the darkness which my dark circles created under my eyes, reflecting all the pain I had inside.  My hair was highlighted blonde and I blew it out straight, the lack of nutrients not yet noticeable in my hair or teeth.   I almost felt good at the time, and started to believe what people at the gym said about me, that I was "hot" and desired, as it was known I didn’t sleep around (yet).  I ended each day in my bedroom which my mom redecorated, my parents sleeping down the hall, my family intact.  And right before I drifted off to sleep, I would say to myself how these were the best years of my life.  

While working at the juice bar and partying with the beautiful people, I felt good and carefree.  Felt understood and got. As my friends who I partied with shared the same feelings I did, using drugs to numb their fears and becoming outgoing when the euphoria hit after ingested the drugs.   I began dating a guy popular around the gym and clubs, a guy who knew everyone and everyone knew him, and I quickly became his accessory, venturing out clubbing with him, hanging on his arm like a piece of static.  He got me in all the clubs despite being underage with a lousy fake ID, and he had drugs to share and connections to meet up with.  We went to parties before clubs, followed by after hours at some empty warehouse in the ghetto, the abandoned building coming to life after 2:00am, when the DJ and nitrous tanks arrived.  Our nights bled into mornings, and even though the sun would be out when our night was finally over, I didn’t feel the effects the drugs had on my emotional state, and I would go home just as content as I was when going out.  My new partner took care of me when I would throw up from a night of partying, carrying me into his bedroom to pass out and then recover the next day.  Living with his mom, he would get her to make us lunch, him some sandwich with meat, and me tomatoes on rye bread, knowing I was on a "diet".  I had a night full of parties with a safe place to crash and a dotting mother who made lunch as I wanted, not forcing me to eat something fattening!  I had it made. 

We officially began dating once we hooked up which took place at a friends house party.  We ate a lot of xanax that night and ended up in the Jacuzzi, and the last I remember was the hot water and steam causing me to fall asleep, which required my partner to wake me up before my face went under water.  Having enough of watching me almost drown, my partner panicked that he gave me too many pills, and my state of relaxation was ended by the cold water from the shower, as he pulled me out of the tub, placing my naked body in the shower to wake me up.  I yelled in horror, but my eyes remained closed and my partner helped me back to an empty bedroom, which happened to be a little boy (who was at his aunts while his mom threw this party).   Waking up with a foggy headache and no clothes, I blinked twice as I realized I was sleeping in a bed the shape of a race car, and was naked next to my clubbing friend.  I felt something uncomfortable underneath me and I pulled a GI Joe out from under me, noticing the figurines we both slept on.  We didn’t have sex that night- as we concluded that we were both too messed up on xanax to get ourselves in positions to have sex- but we weren’t totally sure as either of us remembered.  But this began the series of nights we got fucked up together and went back to his place to sleep, him now in the bed rather the couch.  He held each other after our brains hurt from doing drugs all night, fulfilling the horney desires some drugs brought on.  Eventually causing a drug-induced love, even though we weren’t officially intimate together.  I was 18 years old, and still a virgin.  I gave my virginity up on his basement floor, after a night of drinking.  And as he lowered his body on top of mine, I only just realized we were having sex when he pulled out, having already came in the condom.  And just like that, I was no longer a virgin, and for a moment I was disappointed, as it was so quick and I didn’t feel anything at all.  But I felt happy as that scared little girl I used to be was slowly fading, and I was turning into a popular, fun seeking person with a great group of friends.  

I grew distant from the friends from high school, as I no longer was the person I used to be, refusing to hang out unless it was at a club, which my high school friends refused to go to.  I slowly cut myself out of their lives, and my drug experimentation became obvious, starting a number of rumors about me which caused my neighborhood to talk about how I was turning into a "rebel" and "druggie".  I like the rumors, as it made me sound fun, and I related druggie with being thin, convincing myself that it was a good rumor as it meant I was thin- no druggies were fat!! 

My drug induced relationship became very unhealthy- my eating disorder and self hatred evident and his aggression and mental illness present.  He fed my insecurities and low self worth and lied to me about anything and everything, causing me to distrust him and others, but instead of ending it, I questioned myself and reality, and believed I could fix him and make this relationship right.  I attached myself to him and the lifestyle.  As time passed, our arguments worsened and fights grew violent.  Causing the cops to be called many times, causing me to lie to my dad about how my car windshield broke-too ashamed to admit that, I kicked it in during a drunken dispute, pr crashing my car because I swerved while driving and yelling at him on Thanksgiving Eve one year.   

But he was my first love and I depended on him in a codependent way, forgiving and believing his persistent empty promises and lies.  My parents silently watched this saga, accepting him back in their home after each fight, never asking why I didn’t break it off.  This went on for years, our relationship being off and on for a long period off time.  The juice bar closed after a couple years, causing us three girls to go our separate ways, thus ending the club scene.  Many of the hot clubs shut down due to all the drug activity and we began going out to bars and after-hours at bars instead of buildings.    We were almost twenty one and having fake ID's we ventured out to new hip bars.  The drug use lessened, as I started to feel really depressed and sad, causing me to see a psychiatrist to "regulate my mood".  Never mentioning my drug use, I was diagnosed with Major Depression and Generalized Anxiety and an Eating Disorder Not Specified (I felt this diagnoses was a let down- I was such a failure, I failed at even getting a real eating disorder!).  I tried ending it with my boyfriend but couldn’t take the loneliness I felt without him, and didn’t leave him until one night I met an attractive tall blonde.
 
We met at a new bar in the Northeast, different from my usual nights spent in the city, and he was with a friend of mines friend.  He greeted me with an attitude filled with arrogance, and I immediately felt attracted to his cool behavior, and I made it a goal to get him to take me home.  No longer a virgin, I was less shy with guys and brought one night stands home to my parents.  I enjoyed sex and my sexuality and wanted to feel his lips on mine.  By the end of the night we exchanged numbers and after leaving the bar, he text messaged me to see if I wanted to go to a diner.  Wanting to cut out the bullshit, I invited him to have left over chinese food at my place, allowing me to get straight to the part I cared about and enjoyed.  The night ended with us making out on my parents kitchen floor, my mind on his body touching mine, not even caring if my parents woke up.  And after the sun began to rise, ending out make out session, he promised to call and drove off leaving me with thoughts of him and distant memories of my on again off again boyfriend.  I easily ended that relationship and jumped into an enmeshed one with this new guy, only the dysfunction proved to be worse and aggression and abuse turned out to be worse.