Does my life even matter?

Did you ever have a day where you woke up and regret that you had? Everyday is like this for me… Every day I wake up is a day I wish I hadn’t.

I’m 27 and am more in love than I have ever been in my life… your first suspicion is wrong, this is not about unrequited love, quite the contrary, for he loves me back, just as strongly, just as passionately.

We’ve been together for 3 years, and known each other for 4 years befor that as classmates in university – though as classmates we each held an acute sense of disdain towards one another. I saw him as someone who paid his way through difficult classes, who showed off his wealth, looked down on people who were less fortunate than he, but mostly as someone who liked to ‘kiss and tell’, a lot. He saw me as a boring virgin who kept my nose in the books 24/7, who had few friends, and hardly any life experience - We were both right.

In a strange twist of fate, I was requested by a teacher to help him with his Senior thesis. My command of the English language was impecable when compared to that of his and the other non-english speaking natives at our english speaking school. All I was asked to do was help make it readable, something so small which would win me favor with one of the teachers i would have to defend my own thesis to, how could i refuse?

Late nights at Starbucks and Second Cup started out as a grueling punishment, what a jerk! What a pretentious ass… a pretentious ass who was beginning to show an interest in me… I swore I would never ever allow myself to be won over, if anything, I would revil in the fact that I would be the one he would never have… it is a dangerouse thing to play games with ones heart, how could i have known? Untill that point I had only dated one boy my freshman year, in secret; and another as a long distance relationship that ended over the phone. Nothing I had ever encountered could have prepared me for what would happen.

The more he persued me the more I held back, giving him one step forward to every five I took back. We would study together, go to presentations and lectures together, have lunch together, all as ‘friends’. All the people i knew at university, students and teachers alike, all wondered at how we were becoming friends – all warning me with hushed voices that he was not a good guy, that I deserved much, much better. 

Then things started happening to him, on Christmas Eve his car windows were smashed in, while he was still in the car, by an angry gang member who he had cut off on his drive home. His long time friend whom he had sat next to for days when his mother passed away was now ignoring him and becoming friends with the people who hated him. When we’d talk he’d confide in me, tell me things on a level no one would ever say outloud… I began to feel guilty over what I was doing to him, leading him on with my plan only to hurt him when he finally made a move, so I became his friend, genuinly. 

I remember finding any excuse to give my parents that would validate me, at 24 years old, to leave the house at 9pm during the week to go down to the local cafe – yes, I lead a very sheltered life, one not unusual to a lady of good family, wealth and status. I know it may sound like a reference to a book set hundreds of years ago, with horse drawn carriages and petticoats… but this was my culture, and my life.