Moving on to another year is always anti-climactic to me. It's as though it's supposed to be a rebirth of some sort. My New Year's Eve lasted three months.

I had been with her for 8 months and had been believing that things were going great. Then, one day, I realized that it really wasn't. I didn't have the courage to break up with her before, when issues arose; I finally ended the relationship.

It was like a death. It occurred to me that if she had died while we had been dating, I would have loved her forever. After the relationship ended, I could never love her again.

It could have been easier if I have played the part of the asshole and let her dump me. But then I'd be lying to her too, she didn't need my charity; at least, that's what I told myself. "At least I could let her retain her dignity."

After a few months of thinking about love and what I really wanted from a relationship. I told myself I would put it all on hold for a while. The very next day, I fell for someone; I fell like a feather that refuses to fall straight down.

She is fond of saying, "Never was there a day as fine as this." She made my heart smile.

On that fine day, I celebrated my own New Year's.

Jason {jshim@hotpop.com}  1 Jan 2002

the alarm clock's harsh buzz, much like a semi backing up, startled me. it was 4:30am on august 18th, 2001. a very early saturday morning. today, i leave the nest.

i rose out of bed and showered, then sleepily started loading bags into my car, my mother's car, my friend's car. bags i had packed the night before, the week before... and we were on our way.

not a week beforehand, i was fuming and ready to "get out of this house for good", escape to "college" and start "living on my own". i was fed up with my parents, fed up with their rules, fed up with high school and all other things a newly-turned 18 year old could be.

we drove the three and a half hours up to orlando, florida. pulled into the parking lot, and were unloaded and unpacked within an hour. i had a dorm room. on campus. at college. away from all authority.

and as my parents pulled away, i thought about groceries and bills and finances, and registering for classes, buying books....

by the time two weeks had passed, freedom had lost its glamour and i realized how much bigger the world is than you and your problems.

in august, i finally reconciled with my family.

victoria {vahah@aol.com}  2 Jan 2002

2001 was a year in which I really learned the danger of wishing on the monkey's paw: I hoped to weave a spell of escape, sought to flee a trap that had me terrified and seemed to constrict every movement I hoped to make. I sought to escape the spider, even though I loved the spider. And... I have escaped, only too late did I realize the price of my freedom was the life of the spider. Maybe I had been trapped, or maybe...maybe it was the other way around, and it was I who had trapped the spider, and by escaping, I doomed something I had professed to love.

Faust {omarravenhurst@usa.net}  13 Jan 2002

Just a few weeks before August, started the most favorite month of last year. It was a bit after I lost my first boyfriend I had ever had sex with. The days were gloomy, and I seeked assurance of my beauty and greatness online.

I went to a pretty lame site, one that labled you either "hot" or "not". Well, I found someone who you would need three or four clicks on "hot" to really say just how attractive he was. We both soon started talking nightly, but we were both just friends. Of course it turned into more than that.

August 2nd, 2001 I had the best sex of my life. The day started with him having a grin he couldn't whipe off his face as he entered my house. We hugged, and his body felt like it was meant to be pressed against mine. We both sat down on the couch, when I asked the most bold question of all,

"Want to smell my armpit?"

He giggled and refused until I peer pressured him into smelling it. I was wearing my Dove deoderant. Damn, that smells good, he said. You could just feel the sexual tension in the air.

"You want to play Simpsons Trivia?"

He agreed with delight as we took turn asking each other questions. Of course I got the level 5, while he was stuck with 2 since I have been a viewer of the show since the age of 6. He just wanted to impress me since I liked the show so much. However, he was such a fan of the cartoon, he didn't know that Bart's shirt was red.

But I digress, soon I was showing him my CD's as he laid with his 5'11, 175 lb body of pure muscle and that grin that would've put the Grinch to shame. He eyed me as he got up to go to the bathroom. I argued with myself in the back of my head; You just met him, shut the hell up, no you shut up you fag. When he came back of course I was now lying on the bed.

He rested his chest against my back, then moved back maybe unsure of what exactly I wanted. He soon started the game of seduction, saying how my body was hour-glass like, tickling his fingers all over my back. Soon that tickling became barely touching and I couldn't take it. I then fought with my brain whether or not I should tell him what I was feeling. How about showing him instead?

So, I lifted up his hand and poked one of his fingers in my mouth and sucked like it was a fat, juicy, sausage.

He was mine.

We did the diddy, which seemed to stop time itself, and afterword, we took a pastel green shower.

After that day, we must've seen each other 6 or 7 times, each time sexxing it up like Britney and Justin (OBVIOUSLY they ARE). He was beautiful, he was understanding, and most of all, he was never my boyfriend. Which is something hard to do when having sex.. I had to remind myself not to pant an "I love you.." during each encounter.

My year was great. Lost my virginity, but found out what sex REALLY was soon after.

Jenny {jenny@ynnej.com}  2 Feb 2002

relapse. i hadn't had an actual breakdown in almost five years. i remember it was triggered by a fight with my girlfriend at the time. we fought constantly. it was a relationship that never should've been. but that's not the point. we yelled and screamed and threw things, and then i stopped. i got dizzy. weak and strong. thick. everything. i stopped. i couldn't breathe. she decided to go to the cigarette place down the street. i remember fear.

ever since i was thirteen, i've had a small, blue box. i made this box myself. inside this box, i've always kept small, sharp razors. the kind you get when you take apart a disposable shaver. i used to carefully break open the shaver, carefully remove the two thin blades, and carefully cover one end of each blade with wire insulation to create a handle. this was one of my favorite things about cutting.

i hadn't used my box in years. a few months beforehand, while moving into my girlfriend's apartment, i came across my tiny blue box. i was going to throw it out, but decided to keep it. i hid it. at the time i told myself it was sentimentality, but i knew it was really "just in case".

by the time my girlfriend came home, i'd locked myself in the bathroom, bleeding and naked. i was on the phone with my exboyfriend, who'd just called to say hi. i was crying so hard, i could barely talk. i remember her becoming furious when she figured out who i was on the phone with. she broke down the door and tried to take the phone out of my hands. i remember screaming, "i'm on the phone! don't fucking touch me! you don't know me! you can't fix me! get the fuck away from me!" or something to that effect. she pulled me up and made me look in the mirror. made me look at what i'd done to myself. made me look at the cuts that started at my shoulders and continued down my arms to my wrists. made me look at the lines of blood that traced my ribs and spelled "doomed" underneath my breasts.

i examined my wounds, nothing too deep, and cleaned them. slowly, calmly, methodically. i walked into the kitchen, and poured myself a drink. she tried to stop me at first, but she knew better. instead she turned the t.v. on and cried. i remember drinking until my breathing slowed down, and i stopped shaking and bleeding. i got dressed and drank more. i picked up my box from the bathroom floor, and took it with me into the kitchen. i remember thinking about its purpose and my life and wondering if i'd ever be okay. and i started crying again. i drank some more and hyperventilated until i passed out.

at some point my exboyfriend showed up. he'd driven over one hundred miles, almost two hours, to come and get me and take me away for awhile. i don't know how he convinced my girlfriend, but she packed some of my clothes and let him take me to the desert. i eventually woke up, tried to explain what had happened, apologized. he took care of me for a few days then drove me back home.

me and my girlfriend officially broke up a few months ago. i have a new boyfriend now. not the ex. we still talk, but things were never really the same after august.

i worry about me. my boyfriend knows about most of all my bad parts. he's seen the scars. i know they worry him too. i never want him to see that part of me, but i'm still afraid that she'll always be somewhere inside of me, waiting for that trigger. waiting to use the box.

it's almost the new year. here's to me.

idalia {thickbaby26@aol.com}  28 Dec 2002

{ add your experience }