When I was in ninth grade, I was forced to sit through a three-hour assembly on relationships.

'Sometimes, red flags are hard to see,' the woman said.

Oh, there were workshops and discussions and warning signs galore.

'You're all smart girls,' the woman said, 'And when that warning bell starts ringing in your head,

trust it.'

We dismissed this poor woman's fantasies right off hand.

We cited "red flag behavior" in the silly day-to-day banter that freshmen chose as their mother tongue.

'What could she possibly know?' we sneered.

We pushed the woman with her well-intentioned advice to the depths of our minds

With algebra and biology and other things

We'd never need to know.

My first relationship came at the end of my junior year.

I was seventeen and he was nineteen.

'How mature I must be,' I thought. 'He wants a girl like me.'

Ding

There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't want to spend in my company.

'How lucky I am,' I thought, 'To be considered such a large priority.'

Ding

He said my friends were nice, except for those three. They were bad, which was something, he said, that anyone could see.

'How sweet he is to be looking out for me.'

Ding

Small disputes became large battles for him.

'Well, at least he cares,' I thought.

Ding

My priorities, my commitments, my free time became luxuries of the past.

Ding

I began to pull away from the people, from the life I loved.

Ding

I became someone I'm not.

Ding

Ding

Ding

'You're a smart girl,' the woman said, 'But sometimes red flags are hard to see.'

She was right.

Red flags weren't always blatant.

Sometimes they bought you presents and thought they knew what's best for you.

And sometimes

Red flags even said 'I love you.'