So, I’m going to try to keep this under ten pages, but who knows.
As many of you know, there is a Sarah in my life. There have, in fact, been many Sarah’s in my life, including a few Sara’s.
This Sarah was my first Sarah, in fact, my first love. Here’s the story of how I met and got destroyed emotionally by someone with issues. Maybe someone can find lessons here, though I learned much better lessons later on.
First, a short history of my trouble. I was born to a single mother, and my grandparents helped raise me.
At the age of 8, my grandparents adopted me, and well… it was good, and it was bad. Let’s just say that by age 10, I was having to physically restrain one of my parents from hurting themselves.
By the age of 16, after installing locks on my own bedroom doors, and yet, unable to keep out the yelling, cussing, and arguing, I had a little break.
Ok, it wasn’t little. I decided that I was going to run away. And my brilliant plan, at 16, was to steal a car to do so, even though I already had a car. My stupid thinking was “but if I’m in a stolen car, they won’t have a license plate to run to find me.”
Of course, having a stolen car’s license plate was way, WAY, worse. But, when you are at your emotional ends, you don’t really think too clearly, and as a teenager, I really wasn’t thinking of consequences.
Having stolen a car was the only time I did anything bad, really. My classmates were shocked. My teachers were shocked. My family was shocked. DeWayne was a good kid, quite, taking advanced classes, member of the marching band, not violent, not even a single mark on my school record.
Like I said, some people just snap. And spending 8 years dealing with the home situation, I just knew I had to get out.
In fact, I’d already had a plan. I wanted to join the Navy and become a seal. I come from a long line of military men. My great grandfather was a Marine Sharpshooter in WWI. My grandfather was in the Navy at Pearl Harbor, had his eardrums blown out by a bomb in the side of his ship. My father was a fire rescue, diver, and ordnance man in the Navy between Korea and Vietnam.
He’d actually tried out for “underwater demolition”, which went by a different name, but became the Navy Seals. Unfortunately, he had sweaty palms.
So, I’d taken the tests, got approved to sign up for Crypto-Analyst for the Navy, and was just waiting to finish high school, get my college degree, become an officer, and apply to the Seals.
At 16, I was a quiet kid, but a real hard ass physically. I was mastering my third martial art at the time, and could do pushups as easily as most people sit to watch TV.
But, after one particular round of alcohol and fighting, I had enough.
Fast forward about 9 months, after pleading guilty, and being emancipated as an adult, and given a 4 year sentence with 6 years probation. My military dreams were now crushed, and I still to this day have to fight zero tolerance to find work and housing.
It’s been over 20 years since then. I’m used to it. And, I learned, you just keep walking day by day, and know that everyone screws up, some just do so publicly.
I’d taken the plea for 2 reasons. First, I sure as fuck did it. I never had any reason to lie. You do something, you own up to it.
Second, I got placement in a “teen center” for troubled teens. This allowed me to “mostly” avoid actual “butt hurt prison” as we liked to call it. I was still not 18, and the thought of sending a kid to prison with murderers over a car theft terrified even the hard ass prosecutor.
It was in this center, which I will not name due to privacy (legally, I signed an agreement never to talk about the place, or give identifying information about the patients there), that I met Sarah.
And this is why I can only call her “Sarah”. I’m under HIPAA guidelines of privacy, and therefore, am limited to calling her by her first name, just like your doctor or receptionist is.
So, those are the limits here. I can’t tell you where it was, what the name of the place was, or give you anything that could personally identify her. I don’t have her full name anywhere here, her address, phone number, or anything else.
Further, she’s not a friend on any of my social networks, so you can’t even find out who this person is.
And, of course, I do it not just for HIPAA, but because I write an opinion article, and I’m not about to let some asshole sue me for libel. ;)
On with the story…
I was one of the older patients. Most of those with me were your usual assortment of delinquency identified as having behavioral issues.
Honestly, me and several others weren’t really sick. We were just in shitty situations and tried to run away. Most hadn’t even done anything that warranted Juvenile detention. And most of the staff knew this, and knew that where we were was better than “home”.
I made a lot of friends there, where I remained the quiet guy. I was respected by almost all, and as one of the oldest, often turned to for advice.
I even started a student council there, and was voted by the boys and girls as its first president.
And, as the oldest, many of the girls had a crush on me, not like anyone could actually date. Boys and girls were kept mostly separate, but winks and notes still passed around now and then like any school situation.
We were the teens, but even then, I was very careful to keep young girls away. I had an easy time to pay off, which could be done in 2 years, and I just wanted out.
But then, I met Sarah. Or rather, she met me. The details are sketchy on how it started, but she was around 2 years younger than me. We started to write letters to each other.
And if you think maybe this was out of line, let me tell you who helped pass the letters, and gifts, and eventually audio tapes for a microrecorder… the staff.
All of the staff knew that Sarah and I were a thing. Most of them sympathized. And most of those actively helped the relationship grow. I think they saw that things were genuine, and also thought that it was something for us to look forward to in order to be more like normal teens.
One staff member, I won’t say who, helped us get about 5 minutes alone with each other. He remains, to this day, the coolest adult I ever met as a teen.
Not much happened, he did stand right there after all. We had a long kiss, some light petting through clothes, and that was it.
At this time, I was a virgin anyways. But I never forgot those five minutes or the man who made it possible.
You have to realize here, people… these people risked their careers for us. That five minutes would have gotten this guy fired instantly. The gifts taken from my room to hers, also instant firing, and that was other staff. Other staff helped us transfer notes, at the risk of their jobs as well.
And these staff members specialized in adolescent care. Had this gone on their employment record, they didn’t just lose their job, but future jobs as well.
So, while from your point of view this was puppy love, there were adults with years of experience who put their very livelihoods on the line for us. It was not simply that close due to stupid teenagers.
And it was close. I bought her a ring with a little savings account that I had, asked her to marry me. We talked about moving away together when we got out. We talked about the children we would have.
I’m no artist, but I drew pictures in pencil that took me days to complete, portraits of her. Our letters were full of such poetry, that when they were discovered (they searched rooms), several of the staff members read them…
It was a huge invasion of our privacy, but we were not allowed privacy. And yet, I had several men come up to me and tell me that the letters that she wrote me were the types of letters they could only wish women would write them. One staffer told me that he’d read one letter (which were put in our files for all to read, talk about humiliation) he actually cried.
Those events put us both on extensive limits beyond normal limits. We weren’t even allowed to talk anymore even when the boys and girls were allowed recreational time together.
I earned passes to go shopping, to have a computer, to go around the center by myself unescorted. I was trusted implicitly by the staff.
But concerning Sarah, that was the one limit they placed on me. And it was the one fucking limit that I hated more than anything.
I wrote, knowing they’d read my letters. I wrote, knowing that it would be a week before I’d hear back.
I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. I wrote 20 page letters, by hand. I wrote poetry. I wrote of her beauty. I wrote of her voice. I wrote of her hair. I wrote of her hands. I wrote of her eyes, god, did I write about her eyes.
We were Romeo and Juliet. And I mean that literally here. It was a love against all odds, fighting enforced separation, and a love grew that’s one of the deepest that I’ve ever known.
And it hit a level of codependence that I now know to be unhealthy.
It hit some snags. Being allowed to have time with other people, including girls my age, caused one issue. There was another by the name of Sarah, and her and I talked a lot. Sarah and Sarah were friends, so I’d talk about Sarah… to Sarah.
One night, she told me that she was interested in me, and I told her that I thought she was pretty awesome, too. We held hands watching TV together.
And I did love her, as a friend. She was the first person I’d ever met with HIV, and she was my age. It broke my heart to think that she may never find love because of that.
Of course, teenager that I was, this feeling made me feel guilty, and I admitted it in a letter to Sarah. She was furious, and I spent about 3 weeks begging forgiveness. Looking back, I didn’t do anything wrong. It was a touching moment, and had I known my emotions better, I’d have known that you can love a friend without betrayal, even in monogamy.
Sarah hit a snag too. She was voted to the council as well, mostly because everyone wanted to find an excuse for her to see me. The staff in charge wasn’t having any of it though. The council was allowed to meet outside the presence of staff, and they weren’t about to let Sarah and I both attend a three person meeting, which they obviously knew the third person would look the other way.
So, I being the nice guy I was, I let her attend and sent another boy in my place. Unfortunately, that boy, did what I wanted to do. He leaned in, gave her a french kiss, and fondled her breasts…
The other guy immediately told me, and she immediately went to her room and never came out.
I think it was the first time in my life that I could have murdered someone with my bare hands, and that guy stayed way the fuck out of my way. For about a week, the whole fucking place was on pins and needles. They were certain that I’d snap, and with my martial arts experience, crush his throat in a single blow.
In fact, I did nothing. Oh, I was angry. I was angry as a motherfucker. And the other boys kept telling me how I should beat the fuck out of the guy.
In one incident, I walked by his room, and heard my name called. Two gang members were holding the guy down, and asked me to come in and fuck him up.
I was tempted, for half a second. While I told you that most teens were there for light shit, there were teens there that were not there for light shit. There were mostly G’s, but a couple Vice Lords as well. And as the oldest, they often looked to me like they looked to their older members for guidance.
I hope I imparted the young men with a lesson, and reminded them, “Guys, even if I wasn’t charged for kicking his ass, just one fuck up and I go to prison with a full 10 year sentence. He’s not worth it. Nobody is worth that.”
I got over it. After all, shit, what was I really gonna do? And Sarah would stand, every day, and stroke her cheek when I passed.
We’d developed a form of sign language, since we couldn’t talk. Stroking the cheek from the ear down to the chin was the most used. It meant “I love you”. We did it every time we saw each other.
There were a few other signs, such as “write me” and “I sent you a letter”.
We used the “I Love You” so much, even staff learned what that meant! LOL!
She spent a week signing “I love you” before I’d even look in her eyes and respond. And that, only after she took a risk and slipped me a note under a door apologizing and begging my forgiveness.
After that, things returned to normal for us, and we were even more in love having overcome something.
I still have a copy of all her letters to me, put in storage. I have so many stories about what happened that I could write an entire book.
But one day, the money ran out.
My stay was not like the others. Many were paid by the state, being minors. But not me. My stay was being paid for by my parent’s health insurance.
And after about a year and a half, I’d completely ran out a $400,000 policy. The staff fought to keep me, bless them. They tried so hard to make me look like I needed help, but honestly, it was all a farce, really. The only thing I’d ever done was steal a car. Other than that, I was a pretty good teen with normal teen problems.
So, I left to spend the remainder of my time in a county jail. A screw up put me in actual “prison” for about 3 weeks, then it got sorted out, and I spent the next 6 months watching “Cops” and “Dukes of Hazard” with adult inmates serving time for DUIs and such in a small county jail.
I have lots of stories from there too. I didn’t even tell of how I became an international hacker while in the center. I had a computer, and lots and lots of time. ;) But, that’s a story for another day.
Once I got out, I had one mission… Sarah. I contacted her family, found she’d been moved shortly after me, tracked the address down, started writing her.
I was able to make phone calls to her now, and found out where she had a part time job.
I went to visit her, and… was less than pleased by the results. She was excited and all, but… she didn’t jump into my arms.
I waited for her to go on break, and we sat talking for about 10 minutes. I didn’t see her again for years.
My phone calls were no longer returned, and she moved again, but I never knew where.
I had one family member I could contact, and I used all of my computer skills to mount the search.
Surely, she’d turn 18, and I’d come pick her up and we’d live with my parents for a little, and save money to get our own place.
We’d spent all our time discussing this plan.
And… it never happened. A few years later, I get a call from Sarah. I never gave up, though I’d tried to move on. She wanted dinner. I had a girlfriend at the time, my future first wife.
So, my future wife (just a girlfriend of about 6 months at the time) and I drove to pick her up, and took her to dinner at Applebee’s. I wanted to be honest and above board to both.
I saw pictures of a beautiful little girl that Sarah had. Her eyes were so baby blue, and I kept thinking, “I’m not the father…”
This tore me up so much, I finally broke up with my girlfriend. I was still in love with Sarah. And Sarah contacted me months later one last time.
Sarah had lost custody of her child. Sarah was then escaping her life. It’s hard to remember that phone call completely because she told me one last thing before I stopped paying attention. She knew she had to change, and her life was going downhill, because she’d woken up next to a guy and didn’t know his name or how she got there.
Now, mind you, I’d never taken Sarah on a date. I’d spent years waiting on reuniting with her. She’s now got a kid and sleeping with random men. I was angry and disgusted.
After the phone call, I spent a few hours laying on my bed just staring at the ceiling.
When I got up, I was over Sarah. She was not who I thought she was, or at least, not the person I’d known. And, I didn’t want her. She’d been a virgin, so she said, and so was I.
Everything we’d ever talked about no longer existed. This was in the winter of 1999-2000.
Fast forward to about 2009. Sarah finds me again, friends me on a social network. We talk once, and all she can talk about is losing her daughter, and still fighting to get her back.
I finally tell her that I really can’t be friends with her. I was married (having met and rekindled with my first wife who had met Sarah in person), a Pentecostal preacher, and just felt wrong about being friends with Sarah.
Fast forward to 2015. Sarah finds me again, as you can see on this blog.
The conversation goes fast: Sarah says hi, I’m alive, sends a picture, and I say hi and send a picture too.
Then, after thinking for a few days, I realize, why am I even letting her friend me? I got over this bitch 15 years ago, and want nothing to do with her. I want her to leave me alone.
So, I send a short message. Fuck off, I don’t want you near me, you are blocked.
She then creates a fake account, messages me against my wishes and block.
I do the dumb thing, and unblock her real account to punctuate “No, I’m serious, leave me the fuck alone.” A conversation ensues of me continually saying things to make her realize I do not want contact. She blocks me but not before telling me how ugly my first wife was (I suppose forgetting that she actually met her). That pisses me off.
Not the comment, but that I had my closure taken away. I was ignored for years. And finally, I said my peace, and blocked her. And this crazy bitch has the nerve to “end it” with me and a block. No. No no.
I send her a message on another platform I’d blocked her on basically saying, “I’m sorry, no, I’m blocking you, not the other way around. And I always get the last word on my blog.”
Bing, bang, boom, done. And here is the blog post I’ve been meaning to write.
But hold the phones. I’d unblocked her just to have that “no really, I was serious, go away” conversation after she’d circumvented my block. And the social network would NOT allow me to block her. She could block me, but not the other way around. I even told her, I’d block her if I could, I just want her to leave me alone.
So, all weekend, I’ve been getting messages from her. Hateful, angry messages. Apparently, I’m going to be sued, I’ll have police after me, I’ll have restraining orders.
And this because I want HER to go away.
Now, looking back with 20/20 vision, I’d have just blocked her after her first hello, and then written this block, without the “and then she went crazy!” part.
I was going to eventually get around to this story either way. Hell, I’ve told almost all my other stories. This one just seemed too distant most of the time.
And, had the idiot just went away when I blocked them, I’d still be putting this off. And, had I not been an idiot and unblocked, I’d also still be putting this off.
But apparently, she believes that harassing me and threatening me will stop me from writing this blog.
Oh no, dear readers, nothing stops me from writing in my blog. And as you can see, and see in my past blog posts about relationships gone wrong, I keep the identities of others secret.
In particular, I’ve had other people with far more to lose in this and other writings, and still satisfied their privacy concerns. I’ve never been out to drag any poly person out of the closet, for instance, even when they piss me off as happens from time to time.
And, I’m sure Sarah is reading this. And this blog is the first that I’ve really written about that is truly, honestly, against her will.
But… she doesn’t control my experiences, what I feel, or what I choose to write about. I wonder if she’s exercised control over other men the way she had with me when I was her puppy dog. Only, this is the first time I ever told her outright to fuck off, and I don’t suspect many men do that.
She’s very pretty, after all. But cross her, and apparently, she thinks she’s entitled to call in the National Guard to get her way.
Now, I know other secrets about her, which I could fully write here that she doesn’t want others to know. In fact, in her most recent rants to me, she listed those things, item by item. Uh… wow, that wasn’t super smart, but ok.
But I won’t talk about them. I just wanted to get a few things across to my readers.
First, ‘ol DeWayne was infected with codependency long before the other stories you’ve read. And I completely sympathize with monogamists who believe in true love, love at first sight, and soul mates. I believed I had that as well, and in purer doses than wife #2 which I spent hundreds of pages writing about.
Second, ‘ol DeWayne has his stalkers and crazies from time to time as well. And not recognizing it early, I make the same mistakes anyone does, and I feed them like trolls. I even joke on Twitter that I can’t help feeding trolls.
And I fed this one, and through that feeding, thinks it controls me. I’m sorry, I don’t play that game.
Today, I deal with very awesome and honest people. I’ve written about some of them, and I have another blog post after this to talk about one that will be joining my podcast next year!
Of course, I do have friends and family who I consulted on this say, “You better not write about that story, DeWayne. What if she sues you?”
It’s a real threat. Anyone can sue anyone for any reason. But, I’ve never outed anyone before, and didn’t do so here.
But, those who I really trust, my “solo polyamorous anarchist ninja warriors”, and all female, clearly gave me other advice, and I value their advice above most others.
Be respectful and tell the stories you need to tell, I was told.
Well, I’ve been as respectful as far as telling the truth as I know it. Obviously, Sarah would correct some things, I’m sure. And the fact that I put here that she disputes the past is your disclaimer.
What isn’t being disputed is that I’m not writing her, but she continues writing me. I will block her as soon as this weird time limit expires. Lesson learned… never, ever, unblock someone.