Now at the age of 33, I still look back with shame at what I did when I was just 18, not yet 19.
I was a student at university and life was rather comfortable.
We werent wealthy, but we never lacked for anything.
My mother taught mathematics at the local grammar school; my father was a dentist.
Our home was a haven of stabilitythere was always food on the table and a sense of order in the air.
We even had a lady come round to help with the cleaning, so my only responsibilities were to keep my room tidy and focus on my studies.
From a young age, my role had always been simply to earn good marks and not to cause trouble.
During my time at university, Id been seeing a boy for more than a year.
His name was Oliver, a quiet sort, from a similar background to mine, polite and conscientious.
My parents liked him well enough.
Wed go to the cinema on Friday evenings, enjoy an ice cream in the park, take long walks on Sunday afternoons.
It was all calm and predictable, never a hint of drama.
Back then, I had no idea what a privilege stability could be.
Then, at a coursemates party, I met someone else.
He arrived astride a motorcycle, dressed quite differently from anyone else, laughing loudly, speaking with boldness.
His name was Jack.
He hadnt gone to universityhe worked as a mechanic at a local garage.
From that very night, he began seeking me out.
Hed send me messages, wait for me outside the university, and tell me I was far too pretty to be with boring boys.
It wasnt long before I started sneaking out to see him.
I lied to Oliver, to my parents, to my friends.
With Jack, it was a rush of adrenalinerides on the back of the motorbike, pints in smoky pubs, music pounding in the background, hurried escapades.
For the first time, I felt alive, as though I were someone utterly differenta rebel.
Only a few months passed before Jack asked me to move in with him.
I couldnt bring myself to break things off with Oliver; I hadnt any idea how to even begin.
Yet I agreed to leave.
One evening, without my parents noticing, I packed a bag of clothes, left a note atop my pillow, and slipped out.
I went to Jacks family house, where he lived with his parents.
That was the beginning of reality.
Their house was small, cluttered, stiflingly warm.
Gone were the days of rising early for lectures; now I woke to make breakfast, sweep the floors, scrub the bathrooms, do the laundry by hand.
I had no idea how to cook anything but boiled rice and fried meat.
Jacks mother eyed me suspiciously whenever a meal was too plain.
His father grumbled about everything.
I would cry in the bathroom, feeling utterly useless.
I left university because I had neither the fare for the bus nor the time or peace to study.
Jack began to change.
Hed drink beer at the garage every day because of the heat, then disappear at weekends with his mates.
He would come home drunk, shouting, complaining that the house wasnt spotless enough, telling me, You dont know how to be a real woman. He would say I was spoiled, worthless, that my parents had raised me incapable of anything.
I felt trappedwithout money, without a degree, and with nowhere to go.
The days drifted by as I thought about my old lifethe tidy room, the comfortable bed, my university notebooks, my mother asking if Id eaten, my father giving me lifts in his car.
I thought too of Oliverthe quiet way he cared for me, the peace of our time together.
And I wondered how I could possibly have given all that up.
One day I made up my mind.
I told no one.
They sent me out to do the shopping at a cheap supermarket, half an hours walk away.
Knowing I often took my time, no one would suspect.
With an empty bag in hand, I walked two streets over and instead caught a bus home to my parents.
The whole journey, my hands shook, and I dreaded what reception awaited me.
When I arrived, my mother opened the door and for a long moment just stared.
Then she burst into tears, and I followed, both of us sobbing.
It had been nearly ten months with no word from me.
My father came out and without a word wrapped me in a hug.
That night, I slept in my own bedclean, safe, with no shouting, no fear.
I never did win Oliver back.
He had moved on with his life.
But I found my parents again, and returned to university, resurrecting my studies.
I finally realisedpainfully sothat I hadnt truly been unhappy before.
My life hadnt been dull; it had been secure.
I was the one who failed to value the good, until Id experienced the very worst.
