I have written about this more eloquently in recent years, but I’d like you to see how, when I was a mental immature 25-year-old, I reflected on this incident, which happened when I was 14.
Here’s my diary entry from 3/12/96.
In IT GH2 asked me if I wanted to go out with H.C. I said yes, but she’s going to have to ask me herself. So she asked me out. I said I’d think about it, as I was amazingly shocked. 5 mins later, GH said, “have you made your mind up yet?” I told her I’d been messed around a lot and needed convincing well. G.H counted down from 10 and when she’d finished, she said, “Right, you’ve missed your chance”. HC, at this time, was right behind me. I turned and said, “yes.” I sighed. I had finally cracked it. I am now going out with HC. (I can’t F*CKING believe it!) Then GH2 said, well are you going to invite her to your house now? I didn’t completely agree with that, so I said to GH2, “I think it would be a good idea to start the relationship in school and work our way out.”
Now read an entry from 6/12/96.
Before Science H.C said, “Do you want my number?” I said, “I think I’ve already got it.” I took out my homework diary on the last few pages and said, “Is it no. 8?”… “No, that’s my old one. This is my new one.” She wrote a number on the side of the page. “Ring me up tonight.” “Okay.” Later in the lesson she said she was going to GH2’s house and the phone number was GH2’s. I was to ask for GH2 and then she would get HC. I got home and didn’t ring cause I knew that they wouldn’t be in yet- GH2 lives in Manchester. Mum came home so I couldn’t ring then- I don’t want her to know about it. I went out to the hospital to see Granddad and to get some shopping including new school shoes. I got home and realised HC would have left GH2’s house by that time. I hope to all the gods (including HC) that she doesn’t dump me tomorrow.
So let’s get this straight. 2 attractive girls wind up childish insecure moron. They play a trick on him. He tests them vigorously, but still falls for it. He learns: Women are bullshitters. Be wary.
The next day GH2 told me that HC had waited at her house till 10pm for me to ring, then got a bus home. I’d been dumped in front of HC and the whole science class.
After this incident I felt lower than I ever had done in my life. To date. As adults, a struggle in life can be handled by glamourising the situations we get into to make us look like some kind of celebrity- maybe we have drug problems, mental problems, relationship problems: they all damage us but it’s better sometimes to show off life’s hardships and how we deal with them than just to be ashamed of them and hide them from the world. Thank god for blogging, on that note. At that moment, I couldn’t glamourise anything. I was in a world of shit.
Diary entry- 9/12/96
At lunch on Friday I went to the library where I could find a big book and hide my head in it. I settled for “The Complete Works of Shakespeare”, where I looked in the index for “The Taming of the Shrew”, which I knew was about what I as trying to do. I read a sentence, reading for words, not really plot, thinking about what had just happened.
I remember this incident like it was yesterday. Taming of the Shrew, for those aren’t familiar, is about a guy dating a “strong and fiery woman” (Wikipedia) and can’t really handle her. I picked the book partly because of it’s very vague connection to my situation and partly because it was the biggest book in the library. I could prop it up and hide behind it. I was short enough. And I cried.
A lot of people from my year were in the library that day. I remember usually I found it hard to get people to notice me- I’d pissed that many people off that most people avoided me like the plague. But there’s something about a teenage boy with stupidly long hair crying behind an oversized Shakespeare book that attracts attention. Hence after this moment there were even more reasons for people to take the piss.
Somebody was going to ask. Not everyone in that school was a cunt, just the majority of them. Some were nice people. Without JP’s intervention, I’d probably be a raging misogynist. Or maybe I am. She guessed I’d been dumped, and comforted me. She told me a) I could still be friends with HC (no), and b) girls like that aren’t worth wasting time with (yes). This made me aware that not all girls are the same. Some are not bullshitters, piss-takers or backstabbers. I now have a good number of female friends who I care a lot about.
This is the worst experience I had of being fucked about and lied to by a girl. Although there were plenty of other incidents through school that generally stop me achieving what I want today.
For a long time after I left fifth form I blamed myself for the way I acted and for the problems it led to. I am now 25. I can’t count any of the girls I have “dated” as girlfriends. I’m still a virgin. I live with my parents. I’ve got 2 part-time jobs. I’m dealing with a serious lack of understanding from anyone I know. Until I was about 18, any time a girl came onto me (which wasn’t very often anyway) I’d think it was a joke. The amount of opportunities I missed because of this presumption defies belief. To this day I still feel like I’m having the piss taken out of me if a girl comes onto me. That’s why I’ve not lost my virginity or stayed with a girl for more than a month. I’ve finally pushed myself to write this after dating an amazing woman and fucking it up spectacularly. I’m still amazed how I can accidentally attract one of the best looking girls in Oldham (better than it sounds, for those of you who have only heard of the place) and go from her being really interested in me and really disappointed if I can’t see her, through to telling me she doesn’t want to be with me any more.
Yes, I would sensor swear words in my own diary when I was the only person I planned to read it. JP is now married with a child. No idea what HC or GH2 are going. And I don’t care. During writing this, I started to read up on dating advice. As I read more, I learned a little about what I was doing wrong and my attitude to women- and mostly to myself- started to change. By the time I’d finished this diatribe, I was already embarrassed by how immature I’d been during the writing of it.