The Worst Day of My Life

When I was 20 years old, I needed to figure out what the fuck I was doing with my life, or so my mother said. I was perfectly fine wasting away, with my shitbag boyfriend, Luke, wasting days to countless different types of uppers and some downers. I weighed a grand total of 95 pounds, soaking wet, and was barely eating. I would live my life around being fucking traumatized by being fucking raped that eating seemed like such a fucking trivial activity.

I spent the last of my money from working at a shitty coffee shop on some MDMA, and came to the conclusion that my mother was right, and I applied to Buffalo Wild Wings in Rockaway, now living in Oak Ridge, it was only a 15 minute drive, and seemed like the perfect dream job. I was so excited when i got called for an interview. I remember, when I left the interview i realized not only was my shirt way too sheer for an interview, but my pants were completely see thru, and I didn't have any underwear on, my life had become such a fucked up shitty blur, half the time i had no idea what was actually going on.

However, to my surprise they called me back before I reached my house.

When I started working there the hours were fucking torture. I worked from 10 AM to 3 AM, every day, with people that fucking sucked. This one broad, with this long bitchy fucking stupid face treated me like shit day in and day out. I rolled more silverware in my few weeks closing the restaurant with her than I had in an entire year working at a high volume restaurant in Mahwah. Regardless, I did my job, and I did it fucking well. I showed up every single fucking day, never late, never called out, and busted my fucking ass for every single one of my guests that sat at my table.

Approximately two weeks working there, I developed a friendship with one of the boys that all my coworkers described as the most wanted man in B-dubs. Ha, what a fucking honor right? But, in my eyes I sought this out as a challenge. I was ready. If it was the last thing i was going to do, I was going to make him mine. So, one night he invited me over his house. I knew in the back of my mind that my boyfriend was at my house, my PARENT’S house, sleeping on my bed, waiting for me to come home. He was an abusive shit head, so I felt no guilt at least going to Chris’ house for one beer, 15 minute drive, whats the worst that can happen right? We sat at hit kitchen island, and bullshitted for what felt like eight days, and spoke about life, and love, and he said some sweet things, walked me to my car, and I went home.

I realized when I got home I had to break up with Luke. I had to kick his crazy ass out of my fucking house, and never hear from him ever again. It turned into one of the worst fights I’ve ever been, I grabbed the only thing I had around me to defend myself while he was on top of me, choking me, I was almost completely out breath, my throat felt completely crushed, as I fucking smashed his head with a swimmer and shoved him off of me, and forced him out of my house. I locked the door and hoped with my whole heart to never be weak enough to ever speak to him ever again. And he left. And it was good. I was free to do as I pleased.

With my birthday quickly approaching, I had been spending almost all of my free time with Chris, going on dates, and holding hands, and becoming closer and closer, we worked together, for two months, and everything was going swimmingly. My mom liked him, he was charming, Italian, and almost reminded me of everything I had ever wished that EJ was.

I invited him to come with me on a trip to PA for my birthday to go to the great wolf lodge, what better way to celebrate your 20th birthday than with someone you’re quickly developing feelings for, and enjoy every second with. So, we made the trip, we packed all of our things we’d need for the night, including a gallon of whiskey and my laptop, because I am a cheap fuck who refuses to spend money on hotel movies. It was wonderful, we were like two big kids in an amusement park that was meant just for us. The hotel made me a cake, white with blue frosting that read ‘Happy Birthday Amanda’, and for some stupid fucking reason we didn’t even eat that beautiful cake. But we spent the night in and out of the king size bed, with the most comfortable white down comforter that I have ever had the pleasure of tossing myself around in.

He asked me if I’d be monogamous with him, be his real girlfriend, and take it seriously. Having never been in a healthy successful relationship before, I hesitated, took a shot of Jack Daniels, and said yeah, why not.

We dated, and everything was normal.

We fought occasionally about petty bullshit, went to Target for goldfish and movies, stayed up late, and even held hands in public.

It felt good.

He wasn’t abusive, he texted me, he was understanding of my anxiety, i got along with his annoying live in 18-year-old sister, and over bearing shitty midget of a dad. He was there for the highs and lows of a relatively normal relationship, until the end.

The end of our relationship was fucking shitty.

March 2014, he proposed, because I thought I was pregnant. I was excited. I told my mom, my friends, my coworkers, I was so thrilled. I was going to have a normal fucking life, have a path paved with love and have a family I can call my own.

I got my period, split a 30 rack of Bud Light with Chris and his dad, and cried myself into an anger, I handed him the ring and told him, “I know why you proposed to me, you can get your money back, I still want to be with you. You make bad days okay. You make my life feel special when it was always a never ending shit storm. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, its okay.”

He didn’t respond quick enough, and I got my keys, and ran out so quickly, I didn't think, I didn’t care I wasn’t interested.

He ran out after me, and started laughing, “Amanda, it's okay, now we can have a normal life, we can plan for this, its okay. Don’t cry, it wasn’t even planned, we have more time now, we can try again. Let me tell you something. Do you wanna know why I fell in love with you? There was one night we split a bottle of vodka, and you were trying to tell me you could absolutely drink me under the table, we went shot for shot, sip for sip, and you were holding your own until you had your smoke. You came back inside and you were obviously black out wasted, I walked you into my room, and we talked for hours, until you took one more shot and passed out. I was abruptly woken up by something wet, AMANDA YOU FUCKING PISSED IN MY BED, and it was the fucking most disgusting most fucking hilarious thing something has ever done, you ran out of the house just like you’re doing right now, but with no pants on, and fell asleep in your car. Your door was unlocked so I carried you back upstairs, put you on the couch, cleaned and then slept with you on the couch. In the morning you didn’t even know what you did, but you kissed my forehead in the morning and said you were sorry for whatever you did the night before. You’re a bit of a hot mess, but your my hot mess. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone but you. Please keep the ring. I'd be devastated if I didn’t spend the rest of my life with you. Please please don’t give up. You’re all I will ever want for as long as I live.”

He wiped away my tears, and I believed everything that came out of his mouth, like I always do.

Everything else went down hill. I was on week seven of not having my period, and a day away from taking a pregnancy test when he told me he applied for a job in California as a cop. He said he was going to do everything in his power to get the job, and he wasn't going to let anything stop him. I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I couldn’t ruin his dream, that I figured was going to be shot down with a rejection letter anyway.

Week 9, he told me he bought a ticket, and that we were over.

Week 10, he was in California.

Week 11, I found out I was pregnant with twins.

Week 12, I bought a ticket and everything was okay, and we were back together, and we were going to live a beautiful and rich happy life together in California with our kids.

Week 15, day 3, my stomach felt funny. I looked at the diamond on my hand, and my heart started beating fast, I felt like I was having a heart attack. My stomach cramped up so hard, and i felt something funny, so I ran into the bathroom, and both of my legs were drowning in more blood than I'd ever seen in my entire life. I couldn’t breath. I sat down and started screaming for my mom, I heard everything and saw everything slow down. Time stopped, I heard my heart beat in my mouth, my head felt heavy, and I passed out. When I woke up I was attached to an IV, wearing a hospital gown, so ugly it was almost comical. My mother was breathing heavily with tears running down her face, I looked at my hand and the ring was gone. It was fucking gone. I attempted to rip my blanket off of me, but my moms elbows blocked this action. “It's okay.”

At my ugliest moment, with the woman who usually gave me love and comfort, I was half of the person I was yesterday. I wasn’t even a real woman anymore. The lives that I was carrying, had vacated. I looked around, I found my phone on the table to my right. Chris texted me.

“Fuck you.”

“Give the ring to my dad.”