Pearcey, Pearce, Pikey, Richard (I’m the only person that ever got away with calling him by his proper name!)… What can I say about my first love?
Like most people I met my first love in secondary school. He used to hang out with his best mate and a few other goth/rock/metal types around the railings outside the Psychology bunker. I was in year 10 when I met him, after being the “girlfriend” of a couple of his classmates – Kev and Ian. At that age, for me, not much happened other than a few awkward kisses, some hand holding and the declaration that we were “going out”.
I was firmly in the “I think I’m gay” camp at this time and masked this with the odd public declaration that I was “going out” with a guy. I had a massive crush on a close friend of mine, and she knew it, and exploited it. However that crush vanished quickly upon discovering Pearce. I also must admit, I did use Ian as an excuse to get closer to this mysterious being that was Pearce. I remember him being loud and laughing a lot. He had long mousy hair and usually wore a jacket or a hockey jersey. He almost always had headphones in, usually shouting something about Metallica, Maiden or Guns ‘n’ Roses. I remember a lot of air guitar too. I instantly thought he was cute.
I don’t really remember how we started being together. I remember asking what he was listening to one day and he handed me one of his headphones and I heard Fuel by Metallica being blasted into my ear. It was interesting, I’d never heard anything like it before and I wanted to hear more. I was mainly a pop, classic rock and R&B fan back then, yeah I know… a far cry from what I listen to these days. We hung out most days, our relationship mainly being an at school thing, texting each other, and calling most evenings and weekends. I missed him when he wasn’t there. We’d go to rock nights together where bands made up of local kids would get together and put on a show. It was great fun. I quickly learned that he LOVED his bass guitar, which I discovered a little while ago I could still name!
When I was 16 we started talking about sex and he was so good about my admission that, just because I was 16, it didn’t mean I was ready for sex. I was sure that he was the person I wanted to be with, but I waited until I was completely ready. I remember our first attempt being incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. We were hanging out in the caravan on his parents drive and I said okay, let’s do it. I was so nervous that it didn’t happen. The location, the timing, it was all wrong. Maybe I had over-romanticised sex in my head, but something felt wrong about doing it on the floor of a caravan on his parents drive. We went into the house, grabbed drinks and snacks and went to his room where we’d usually hang out, make out and watch cartoons while he either cuddled me or played his guitar.
Being in his room always relaxed me. I loved curling up in his bed to nap (I have always suffered with chronic fatigue), usually the TV would be on or he’d introduce me to more of the music he liked. I remember a particular song by Rage Against the Machine. He was singing along and I found the song so offensive that I cried and asked him to turn it off. Little did I know it would later become Christmas #1, and these days Killing In The Name Of features on a lot of my playlists!!
Anyhow, we were chilling out in his room, making out as usual and then it just happened. Clothes came off and we ended up under the duvet. I remember a little pain, I remember spotting for a few days after. I remember it actually feeling pretty good in the end. It became our new routine, finish school, get bus to his house or ride my bike, maybe do some of my homework, chill out in his room, sex, Transylvania Pet Shop on the telly, maybe a little nap, then it was time to go home, so I’d either get bus or a lift home. It was the same during the summer, ride to his house around 8am, his Mum would let me in most mornings and tell me he was in bed so I’d run up to his room and climb in for a cuddle, if she wasn’t there I’d call him to wake him up and we’d curl up and go back to sleep for an hour or two. He was always happy when he woke up with me there. We weren’t entirely careful and I asked my Mum to take me to get the pill. I always became paranoid if my period was a few days late, I think a lot of my money from my Saturday job went on pregnancy tests because of my paranoia.
I was in love with this guy. He made me feel safe and loved. He was talented, gorgeous, funny, knew how to make me laugh, avoided the things he knew would make me cry. He was a pain in the arse sometimes, but who isn’t? I was happy and if that was as good as it got for me, I’d always be happy. Somewhere in there was a proposal and I remember telling my Mum while we were on holiday and she was a little reserved about it, but I knew that if that was what Pearce and I really wanted, she would have supported us.
I also remember a ruckus between his Mum and Dad and I made my Mum drive to his house to get him and she let him sleep in our lounge for the night. She wouldn’t let anyone suffer in an abusive home and was so good to him.
We ended because I messed up, royally.
There was a local event, a motorbike gathering at the local playing fields, and we planned to camp out with our friends. He felt ill and went home. I stayed, got drunk, lost control of myself, went to a gig in his t-shirt and camped out. I made some mistakes and met H and hung out with him and his friends the rest of the weekend, while also texting Pearce and trying to call him to see if he was okay. I started to spiral. I wasn’t used to being out without Rich to be my buffer. After a few days I started fooling around with H. Pearce found out when he was sent a picture of me kissing H at his friends house, turned up and dumped me. Unfortunately the friend who sent the photo passed away a few months later and I became Pearce’s shoulder to cry on through that, which was difficult considering the events following our break up.
Being dumped broke me. I knew I had made a HUGE mistake and I had hurt him in a way I never thought I would. There was no going back. I went to his house a couple weeks later, when I thought he’d had enough space to simmer. I needed to talk to him about a certain invader that had started to grow, I didn’t get that far into our talk. My visit resulted in a lot of shouting, me being pushed to the floor and a threat. I had really messed up and there was no coming back from this. I became scared of him and he despised me because of what I had done. I didn’t blame him, I’m sure if it had been H that went to see him that there would have been a punch or two thrown. I was suddenly his ex, the one thing I never wanted to be. I was H’s new fling, I was never quite sure if he was my boyfriend or if he just tolerated me because of our physical relationship. I told H about my invader and didn’t tell him that it was incredibly likely it was Pearce’s, we decided to terminate. We were kids, what did we know about having one. I couldn’t do it and a few weeks later ended up miscarrying. Maybe that was for the best. I had the decision taken away from me and I didn’t have to hurt Rich. I told him the truth years later during a late night Facebook chat. I felt guilty that I had been a part of him becoming angry and bitter. That he felt he couldn’t trust anyone. He was my whole world from 14 to 17, and I blew it up.
I felt lost after that, flitting from relationship to relationship. Never managing to keep one going for very long. Always searching for that one person who could make me feel how he did. I almost gave up, but I was never any good at being alone. We talked for a while in 2008, I had just left a long term relationship and was considering my options of where to go next and what to do. I hurt him again by deciding to stay in Oxfordshire. I approached him to proof read this blog post for me. To see if he was happy for this information to be out in the public realm. That led to him asking me if I was having a midlife crisis! I’m not. I always wanted this blog to be an outlet for brain dumps and memories. He was happy for me to share our story.
Teenage relationships can be so intense, all of the hormones driving you wild. Emotions run high and you aren’t completely in control of who you are. I knew who I was with Pearce. That was probably the last time I did know who I was, before I settled down with my husband. A lot of who I am now is because of changes that happened to me when I was a teenager, things that happened with him. I used to feel calmer with him blocking my view of the outside world. When I was with him everything was just about us, my mental issues didn’t factor into it, he kept me calm and I felt safe and loved. I admit it was me that destroyed it. I loved him and I knew he loved me. I’ve spent most of my life wondering if I’d feel like that again and I found it in my husband. I feel safe, I’m loved, happy and I love my wonderful little family and it’s amazing.
First loves are often the most intense, you’ve never felt that way before. It’s a love so strong that you feel like your whole world will shatter if you let it go, like your life will be over and you’ll never be able to love again. I can promise you, it may break, but it can be fixed, you can and will love again. You will never find another relationship like it. Your future foundations for relationships will be based on what you learnt with them. You either try to rush into feeling like that again, or you learn to adapt, evolve and build something new. Something different, but good. I did a lot of the rushing in for years, I made a few mistakes and originally married the wrong person for me, but that’s another story. I have been used, and abused by a few. Beaten by a couple others, and took risks that I never should have. I found my peace in the end.
I take great pride in Pearce being my first love because it was a good relationship. It was kind, sweet, romantic, comfortable, safe, happy… it was just the ending that sucked. Thankfully now we’re older, we’re able to move past it and be friends. Do I still love him? Yes, but it’s a very different love to what it was before. These days it’s a love that is more about admiration and respect. He was the beginning of me, the first time I took charge of my life, the first step on the road to becoming who I am now. The first thing I decided for myself, with no-one else telling me what to do. He was what I wanted for me. My biggest heartbreak.
Well, there’s the story of my first love, my big teen romance. There are memories that are for us and us alone and that’s where they will stay.
For now that’s it, bye!
Love,
The Anxious Pixie xx
The Anxious Pixie 