I spent my 21^st birthday getting engaged at an Olive Garden.

I still laugh when I say that out loud. I’m not saying the Olive Garden is a bad place, I happen to be quiet a fan of their bread, salad and Alfredo…. But maybe it’s not the most romantic place to propose?  Hindsight also leads me to believe that the leprechaun I was with chose my twenty first birthday to solidify our relationship (we were already living with one another) so that when I started venturing out to bars I would have a ring on my finger and a “fiancé” at home.  He didn’t even buy the ring.  It was my mother’s, a gift to me on my 18^th birthday that he had swiped and had “resized”. 

I said yes. I said yes, in a busy Olive Garden on my 21^st birthday, mainly because I didn’t know how to say no.  Mostly because I figured we already lived together and that was the “next step” and absolutely because I never knew how to say no, and I definitely didn’t know how to be alone and did not believe in myself enough to take care of myself.  Our relationship never got better, or worse from that moment on.  It was toxic and exhausting from the beginning and that trend carried through until it finally imploded.

We lived with one another for a while longer until one night the physical violence got too scary for me.  We were arguing, I was trying to convince him how much I loved him, how worthy he was of love or some assine shit like that, and he chocked me.  I went to hug him and he chocked me.  I remember it so vividly because I was in such disbelief and shock because in my mind I was trying to be kind and he was trying to kill me.  I left that night.  I vividly remember going to the gas station on my way to my mom’s house and the clerk looking at me strangely and telling me to “be careful out there”.  I didn’t realize until later that I had marks all over my neck and face. I’m sure I was quiet the sight to see.

I felt relief that night.  Relief that the relationship was over.  Relief that the ups and downs, manipulations and all the baggage and brutality was over.  Peace.  I didn’t know where I was going to live, or how, but I did know I was done being bullied by that dude.  I wish I would have held on to that feeling and mindset.  If I could teach people one thing, it would be that if you feel relief when something is ending, it is to not go back, ever.  The going back after the initial relief of leaving will always fuck you up more than leaving the first time. Always.