Fuck and run.

I kind of assumed that my first blog should be about Oliver. That it should explain the story of becoming a mother, and my day-to-day life of raising a child at 19. I guess this is my biggest problem with life--I'm always a mom and never a teen.

So this blog is going to be about me. In a way that I've probably never been seen before, and in a way that you might not approve of. But it's honest and real and...slutty.

I was fairly young when I started masturbating. Though, at the time, I didn't know what I was doing. I just knew if I rubbed myself against something, electricity ran through my body. It felt good. Looking back, it was one of the few times I can remember actually being happy.

Somewhere along the way, I began to mistake this feeling for love. I had the naive logic that if I showed a guy that I could give good head or was great in bed, he'd fall in love with me. And at the time, I thought I was smarter than the other girls. I thought that I had found the secret to a boys heart: his cock.

(God, I hate being SO vulgar.)

I've never had sex with a guy I didn't want to have a relationship with. But I've had plenty of sex with guys who didn't want a relationship with me. Of course, no man will ever tell you up front that they are only looking for a quick fuck. Like that would be more painful to deal with than wondering why he never called back. Being me, I even ask. And I believe him when he says "I had a nice time. You were amazing. Text me."

I sit here and I understand how pathetic I am. I'm ashamed of my foolish behavior. I mean, I am a mother for god's sake! I should know better than allowing these guys to fuck and run. Because I shouldn't be having sex with them. I. GET. IT. It's not like that thought isn't in my head all day long. It's not like that voice inside my head doesn't scream "DON'T DO IT."

Hope.

It only takes a sliver of hope for me to think things will be different. That HE will be different. But he never is. And then I just end up hating myself more and more. I know something is wrong with me, and it takes everything I have not to feel unlovable.

This is probably something people go through earlier in life. In high school, I was always in one serious relationship after another. And then I got pregnant. I'm just getting back out into the "dating scene" and acting like a 16 year old. The thing is: I'm not sixteen anymore. I'm not that girl. I'm not this girl.

I'm very intelligent, incredibly witty. You won't see me on the cover of Seventeen anytime soon, but I am beautiful in my own way. I am passionate, caring, loving. Deep down, I know that I deserve more than what I'm giving myself. I deserve a man who will treat me right. I deserve to be loved.