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Ok then, mine is a bit strange. Sorry for the gimmick but I need to cover my ass.
I was 17 at the time, and was down the pub of an afternoon getting drunk with my first girlfriend. She had straight red hair, a gorgeous smile and the charisma that only a girl who has been emotionally abused at some point has. I fancied the arse off her at the time, she had epic T&A and was a year older than me. We had been together about 5 weeks but living about 2-3 hours apart we hadn't stayed over at each other's places.
About half an hour before the bus home was due, she started acting pretty randy, straddling me, sending me the signals, wanting to go back to mine. Problem was, my room was an absolute fucking cesspit, like bachelor frog's worst nightmare. You couldn't really see the carpet and where you could there were enough items of decaying food matter to feed a colony of rats for at least half a year. It smelled like someone had collected a large amount of bin juice and squirted it all over the walls with a Super Soaker.
Thinking that I didn't want to put her off me by allowing her to see this work of evil, I denied her requests to stay over.
The next day, a spark had left the relationship. We clattered our way through the next 4 weeks, I asked to stay at hers but she had family over, etc. Things just weren't the same.
We broke up by "mutual consent". I genuinely felt I was fine with it, but it seems the ego hit gave me a nasty dose of anxiety disorder and irritable bowel syndrome, which fucked up my ability to attend college lectures and feel like a normal human being. It took a year or so to kick it, although it would later reappear when I was made redundant. Trust me, IBS makes you fucking miserable to the core. Imagine planning your time outside around whether or not you have anti-diarrhea tabs and where the nearest shitter is.
The next year of college I never found the right girl. I had interests like a musical brunette (who's since become pretty stunning), but she wasn't right for me.
I then got a job near my parents house and simply didn't meet any girls I liked (it sounds ridiculous but where I live a good looking and intelligent girl is super-rare). The few times a year I did get off with a girl, the anxiety would kick back in and I'd be unable to perform.
So thanks to that split second decision that spiralled, I'm a 21 year old virgin with a butchered sexual identity who gets anxiety attacks and wants to take a shit when he's trying to get with a girl. Even though I've improved myself in so many ways since that moment, I've never been able to forgive myself for that fuckup. This is something that weighs heavily on my shoulders.
</emo>
</pussyhole>
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worst decisions of your life
Originally Posted by kmind
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