I have always wanted to start out my life on the right foot.

My mom really never did, and so I am her for her, all over again. I got the good grades, and they made me feel great, but they were for my mom's emptiness and not my own. I began pleasing her at such a young age that I think I lost myself, .. somewhere between the playdough and the first drops of acid. College was going to be my answer to myself; I was going to be me and get a job that would satisfiy MY inner craving, not my mothers. It still hard to talk to her over the phone. She resented my leaving when there was a college located IN town. Dad had divorced us when I was young, so with only a high school diploma, my mom worked two jobs to put us into the part of society that she wanted us to be in. Now I had left her. But I was exhilerated at the same time. My accomplishments would be my own.

I remember the first time I met Mark. He was in an art class with me and I was always staring at him. He was in architecture, I later found out, which made me light up. I wanted to take a lot of art classes, and now I had another reason to do so.

When I first got the guts to talk to him, he was very easy going, and we talked for quite a bit until the instructor interuppted our still life drawing to bring us back to the real ones. To this day, I am not sure what struck me about him. He wasn't overly attractive, although many girls turned his way when we were walking on campus. Within time, I grew to adore him, and vice versa, I think, because when he decided to transfer to Cambridge, I decided to follow him. I didn't feel like I was becoming a puppy, but slowly I had lost touch with friends I had known in my first years at Colorado State. My place was with him. We traveled there together, staying in hotels, and taking turns driving. He had already arranged to live with some people off campus, so I signed up to be a R.A.. I thought that this would help me meet people, and possibly show Mark a more independent side of myself.

We hadn't ever talked about marriage until one night when we both went out to the bars. Mark had had a rough week and downed a few beers. Before I had even started to buzz, he was telling me how much he loved me, and how I was the one he needed. I tried not to take him to seriously even though it wasn't the first time he had said "I love you," but it was hard not to. Afterall, here was the guy I wanted to be with, and he was telling me all these things.. that I wanted to hear.

Needless to say, I started to do things for him…. leave notes in his studio area, and call him everyday at work to tell him that I loved him. I had thought that this would show him my love for him. The effect it had, though, pushed him away. I started to see him on campus walking with other girls, and when I would bring it up to him, he would deny liking them, but say that they were friends. I started to get scared of losing him. I started to not eat and all the people I had met in the dorms no longer came to talk to me.

My love for someone had destroyed me again.