This story may sound familiar to you. It is the sad story of an unhealthy relationship, a relationship each and every one of you has experienced at some point in your life.

My senior year of high school, all I could think about was one thing. It was all anybody asked me about. They all wanted to know who I was going to date next year. They wanted to know what she looked like, where she came from, what she was interested in, etc. I wasn’t really sure who I wanted to date, so I got to work checking out as many girls as I could. My parents brought me to girl after girl, showing me pretty ones with lots of spirit, ugly ones who were good at soccer, and young ones that looked clean but didn’t have the best reputations.

            Then that day came when I saw her for the first time: Brenda Crawford. She was just what I was looking for. She had the looks, she had the personality, she was good at sports. There was something regal about her, something pristine that bespoke a majestic kind of nature; she was filthy rich. It was clear she spent an absurd amount of money on her appearance, and it paid off.

Brenda was just what I needed in my life, and I decided to make her mine. I went back home to sit on my decision for a while, to make sure I’d made the right choice. She haunted my dreams. Anyone I told about her congratulated me, and someone always seemed to know someone else who had dated her. Apparently she really got around. I visited Brenda a few times over the course of the year to get to know her better – I learned about who she was, I learned about her past (she had more than one father…don’t ask), and I learned about the girl that was going to come to define my life for the next four years. 

            Then, the big day came. I’d never felt anything like it, like the excitement I felt for her. Brenda and I were in love. So we did what any young couple who thinks it’s going to last does: we moved in together. She became my days and nights. She was a part of everything about me; she was what I called home, she was the air I breathed. I couldn’t get enough of her. We started hanging out all the time, and I gradually talked to my friends from home less and less, and I stopped seeing my parents altogether.

            It evened out though, because then I got to meet Brenda’s friends; she had thousands of them. Some of them were pretty nice, but a lot of them did that thing where they made eye contact with me, and I would start to say hello, and then they’d look away as if they didn’t recognize me. Also, some of them needed to wear more clothing when they went to the gym. Other than that though, they seemed like great people.

I started eating dinners Brenda cooked, I started signing her name to my emails, I only joined clubs she approved of, and I got so infatuated with this girl that I even started wearing her clothing. The first few months were a blur. All I remember were crazy hookups, late nights, and skipping class. And Brenda was there for it all.

            Then, things started getting tough. All of a sudden, it got to be a lot more work. Mid-October rolled around and things really started kicking in. I found myself staying up late and waking up early, working my ass off to so that I could keep the relationship going.

Sometimes I wondered if I’d made the right decision, if I wouldn’t be happy elsewhere.

            So I started drinking. And I hid it from Brenda. I drank my weight in the finest cheap vodka the world could offer, vodka that I smuggled into our home in backpacks or old water bottles, hid under my bed, and didn’t dare put in my refrigerator.

            Soon, though, Brenda found me out, and boy was she mad. She yelled at me, made me go to a bunch of meetings about drinking, and even threatened to kick me out of the house. Those were dark days. After that, I couldn’t even have a casual beer with friends without looking over my shoulder.

            When I talked to my friends from home, it sounded like they were having a lot more fun than I was. Everything was “the time of their lives” this and “omgosh” that. Sometimes, I thought about what it would be like if I had their girlfriends. Just for a second, I would picture it. I even thought about acting on these fantasies once or twice, if only just for the weekend. Brenda just had too many rules she expected me to follow. It’s like she never wanted me to have any fun.

This went on for another four years. We’d date, break up for weeks or even months at a time and have literally no contact, and then we’d see each other and fall right back in love before falling into the same old routine again. It was madness, but we were young and in love. What did we care what the world thought? Then the sad day came when we parted ways for the final time, both of us tearful that it didn’t work out. Our last night together, I got severely drunk and stayed up all night with her. And then she was gone. The relationship became nothing but a memory.

            I visit Brenda on occasion, just to see how she’s doing from time to time. She still writes to me monthly, asking for money and donations and the like. It’s gotten pretty annoying. One day, things took a turn for the weird. I was sitting at the kitchen table paying bills or using aftershave or some other adult thing when in comes my son; “Dad. I think I’m in love. I’ve been talking to this girl. Her name’s Brenda Crawford.”