Bulletproof

by Maci Bookout

  BULLETPROOF

  By Maci Bookout

  A POST HILL PRESS BOOK

  ISBN: 978-1-61868-864-4

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-865-1

  BULLETPROOF

  © 2015 by Maci Bookout

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Photo by Carrie Workman, Carrie Workman Photography

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Post Hill Press

  275 Madison Avenue, 14th Floor

  New York, NY 10016

  http://posthillpress.com

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book to the ones who helped create my story.

  Mom, for being my foundation that never shook;

  Daddy, for loving me even when I didn’t;

  Matt, for always being there;

  And Bentley. You brought me to life, and made this life worth living.

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  INTRODUCTION

  I always wanted to write a book, but I never imagined it would happen quite like this. Writing has always been my own private passion, a way of expressing feelings and thoughts I didn’t know how to share with others, or simply wanted to keep to myself. Back when I was a teenager, before my life started tumbling toward where it is today, I used to love spending my nights alone in my room, listening to music and writing. I’ve always been a bit reserved, never one to express all of my thoughts out loud. Through written words, whether it’s the lyrics of a favorite song or my own poetry, I can let my feelings take shape. But still, for years, I kept it all mostly to myself. Until now.

  To some of you, it might sound strange for me to speak of myself as if I’m a private person. Over the seven years leading up to the publication of this book, I’ve lived large parts of my life on camera as a subject of MTV’s documentary series 16 & Pregnant and Teen Mom. If you’re one of the millions of viewers who got to know me as “Maci from MTV,” you’ve seen a lot of me through camera lenses (and perhaps in the pages of magazines or gossip websites). But no matter how “real” a documentary tries to be, there are always differences between the way things look on camera and the way they actually are. I know that’s true in my case. When I saw myself on screen for the first time, I was surprised by how calm I appeared on the surface in situations that I remembered as total chaos. Over the years it became clear to me that I wasn’t able to show a complete view of my story through my appearances on camera. I wondered if, without meaning to, I had misled people into thinking teen motherhood and all the struggles that came with it were easier for me than they actually were.

  That’s why I wanted to write this book. Because a journey like mine looks much different from behind the wheel, and for me, the whole truth flows much more easily onto a page. This is the best way I know to shed light on the real feelings, conflicts, challenges, and victories I wasn’t able to communicate in front of the cameras, or even, sometimes, in front of my closest friends and family. This is my way of showing what was really happening beneath the surface of “Maci from MTV.”

  This is the story of a regular teenage girl who found herself with a life she never expected -- two lives, to be exact. From the moment I found out I was pregnant at sixteen years old to the birth of my son Bentley, from my troubled engagement to Bentley’s father to the downfall of that first love, from struggling with overwhelming loneliness to reclaiming my independence, the journey was long, hard, and packed full of lessons.

  It wasn’t until I began writing this book that I realized just how much I had learned and how much I had to share. My only hope is to let you see what things were really like for me during those crazy years. Not only as a teen mom, and not only as an MTV celebrity, but as a young woman struggling to find her own strength, maintain her independence, and establish a positive, happy life, even in the midst of overwhelming challenges and intimidating odds.

  If you’ve been in shoes like mine, or if you’re in a place where you could be, I hope you can share in the lessons I learned without having to learn them yourself the hard way. I hope my story helps you not to feel as alone as I often felt. And if you’ve never been in my shoes, even if you never will be, I hope it helps you understand what it’s really like to walk this path, for me and for so many others.

  Finally, I want to thank you. To those of you who have been following my journey all these years, thank you. Thank you for taking an interest in my life, my journey, and my story. Thank you for wanting to understand. Thank you for giving me the chance to show you, as best I can, what it’s really like to be Maci.

  CHAPTER 1:

  LIFE BEFORE LIFE

  At sixteen years old, I was not looking for a relationship. Finding a boyfriend was so far down on my list of things to do, it didn’t even have its own number. All around me, my friends and classmates were getting their feet wet in their first real relationships. Some were casual and some were serious, but they all seemed to involve a lot of drama. Fighting, cheating, codependency, jealousy, obsession — pretty much the full spectrum of unpleasant emotions, and as far as I could tell, most of them weren’t even in love! To me it seemed like the majority of people in high school were getting boyfriends or girlfriends because it was just the cool thing to do. And I just didn’t think it was a good look for me.

  Back then, I liked being alone. Not all the time, or anything. My days were full of social activities from softball to cheerleading and hanging out with the same big group of friends I’d had since middle school. But at night, I was happy by myself at the computer, looking up new music, reading lyrics, and writing poetry. I could literally do that for hours. There was no blank space in my life begging for a relationship, and I was happy not to risk looking like a dumbass with the wrong boyfriend. I was doing just fine on my own.

  Not only that, but I wanted to do just fine on my own. I always preferred to take care of my own business. I can probably thank my mom for that. When I was growing up, there were three or four occasions where she went out of her way to show me how to do some kind of “guy thing,” like fixing a leaky pipe or changing a flat tire. I remember each time it happened because of what she said: “I’m teaching you how to do this so you’ll never need a man to do it for you.” It doesn’t get more practical than that. Of course, if a man wants to help, that’s great. But you can’t be sure he’ll be around for every flat tire. Or even that he’ll know what to do any more than you do.

  The lesson stuck with me. Maybe even to a fault. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been quick to say, “I can do this. I don’t need you to do it for me.”

  It was working out pretty well for me at sixteen. Life was good. I lived in Chattanooga, where I was born and raised. My parents were high school sweethearts who had their first kid, my older brother Matt, when they were just teenagers. I was born a few years later. My parents were younger than a lot of my friends’ parents, and they seemed even younger together. I remember watching them bicker and squabble in the kitchen, acting like they were still two feisty teenagers in love. Hilarious and so cut
e.

  We were a close family. The four of us were constantly together, going camping or taking trips to the beach, and every night we sat down at the dinner table together. I’m always thankful for those family dinners, where we had an hour to sit and talk to each other about our days and what we had going on in our lives. It helped to keep us close and bonded as the years went by. We’re not the types to be up in each other’s business all the time. Growing up, as long as I was respectful and followed the rules, my parents trusted me to be myself and do my own thing.

  Chattanooga was a great place to grow up. It’s a beautiful place, all mountains and trees and slow-paced Southern charm. People are nice and laid-back, and there’s always something to do outside. As a kid I was always outdoors, usually either riding dirt bikes or playing softball. I was obsessed with softball. I started playing softball when I was just four years old, and it was love at first practice. By the time I was ten, it was a year-round occupation. Since I didn’t have real plans to play in college or beyond, it was a passion with an expiration date. High school graduation would be the end of my softball career, so I was extra passionate about it, because I didn’t want to waste a minute of the time I had to play the game while I was young.

  As for dirt bikes, there wasn’t much of a future for me in that passion, either. But I had another interest I hoped to turn into a career: cooking. When I was little, I used to watch the Food Network instead of watching cartoons. I begged my parents to let me use the stove before I could even reach it properly, so I could make myself fried okra for an afternoon snack. Every time I saw one of the chefs on TV making something that looked really good, I’d make my mom take me to the store so I could get all of the ingredients and try it out. Pasta dishes were easy for me to understand, and as I got older, I got into desserts and learning to make cookies and cakes from scratch. I was lucky enough to have at my high school a home economics class, which I’m not even sure exists anymore. I was always on the roster, and by the time I was a junior I was making plans to try for the culinary program at the Art Institute of Atlanta. I did a big school project that involved working in a restaurant, and I went down to the school to take a cooking course. I had everything all lined up.

  All in all, I felt like I had things under control as a teenager. Who needed a boyfriend?

  But we all know how it goes. Famous last words.

  Blame it on dirt bikes. That’s how I met Ryan, in a roundabout way. There’s a whole social network surrounding motocross. The same people gather over the years at local tracks, and the same crowds travel from state to state for different events. Faces become familiar, even friendly. One day I learned there was someone who wanted to get friendly and familiar with me. His name was Ryan, my friend Abbey told me over the phone. He was best friends with her boyfriend. All of them spent time at the local motocross track. Ryan had seen me there several times, and he’d been asking around about me.

  “This guy likes you,” Abbey said. “He thinks you’re really pretty.”

  “Oh, really?” I went straight to MySpace, which was how you stalked people in those days. I was pleasantly surprised. Ryan was older, and he was seriously good looking.

  “We should all hang out sometime soon,” Abbey suggested.

  “Sure,” I said. Yeah, yeah. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. But the sight of Ryan didn’t exactly make me want to run for the hills, either. You can’t blame a girl.

  Curiosity (or human weakness) aside, I was still iffy on the idea of dating. Honestly, I was just afraid it would turn out to be a pain in the ass. But as it turned out, Ryan was hard to resist. From the first moment we properly met in June, he gave me all of his attention. And I was careful not to lead him on. I made it clear that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get involved with anyone. But he took it in stride. We spent more and more time together, usually in groups of friends, and his eyes were always on me. Even though I wasn’t giving him the kind of relationship he wanted, his focus never wavered. There was no game, no drama. He just liked me, and so he kept trying. And trying. And trying.

  I had to admit, it was cute.

  Ryan was a nice guy with a charming attitude and a little bit of an edge. He came from a good family and he knew how to treat people well. And he was older, so he had an atmosphere of knowing who he was and what he wanted that I found appealing. There was no question I was attracted to him, and his effort was hard to ignore. Little by little, my reservations about high school romance started to thaw. A few months in, I realized it was time to admit that I had feelings for him, too. By the time October rolled around, we were officially a couple.

  Having a boyfriend was nothing like what I’d feared. We had the most easygoing relationship in the world, although we did spend much less time together than a lot of couples our age. Ryan was already out of school and had a job as a diesel mechanic. He worked the night shift during the week, so our only time to meet was in the afternoon when I was out of school. We’d meet somewhere nearby and grab a bite to eat at Sonic before he started his shift. And on the weekends we’d go ride four-wheelers, get dinner, go to the movies, or hang out with friends.

  We were in the honeymoon phase, and it was good. We were that annoying, over-infatuated couple our friends rolled their eyes at. It was a total rush. We had no conflicts, no trust issues, no mind games, no arguments. We also weren’t talking about the future. But I didn’t see anything wrong with living in the moment. We were in love. We were happy. And our chemistry was off the charts.

  I have never been a promiscuous type, but I wasn’t a prude, either. I didn’t fool around with anyone, but I talked about sex with my girlfriends like any normal teenager. I didn’t plan to wait for marriage, but I had my own standards in mind. I just wanted sex to be on my terms. I didn’t want to do it until I wanted it so bad I couldn’t stand to say no. I didn’t want to wake up the next day and regret having sex. I wanted a situation where the idea was so attractive to me that I’d be afraid to wake up and regret not having had sex. That was my standard. I wanted it when I wanted it, and not a second sooner.

  I was into Ryan. Plain and simple. It was the first time I’d ever felt such an immediate, undeniable attraction to someone. It’s funny how that happens. There are so many nice, attractive people you meet in your life and never feel particularly drawn to. But then once in awhile, someone comes along and it’s almost like a shot of love potion. There’s no rhyme or reason to having such a strong feeling about someone you don’t even know yet. I was too young to figure out how much was love and how much was lust. Then again, I don’t know if anyone can really tell the difference right off the bat. Whatever the science behind it may be, sparks flew between Ryan and me and I loved it.

  I never felt pressured into sex. If anything, it was the other way around. Things were passionate between us, but when we started to get ourselves into hotter and heavier situations, we’d ease up by shifting into conversation. “I’m okay with it, you know,” I’d say. “If it happens, it happens.” But he didn’t want me to do anything that I’d regret. I’m sure there was an element of chivalry involved. At the same time, I wondered if he was a little afraid I’d lose some of my good girl appeal if I slept with him. Purity can be a turn-on, you know, just like modesty.

  But after three or four months of dating, I didn’t give a damn about either one of those. My hormones were racing and I couldn’t take it anymore. My only condition for losing my virginity was that I wanted to be sure about it. Well, now I was sure. Completely sure. And once it was done, I had exactly zero regrets. We were young and in love, and we had a lot of fun.

  I never drank a sip of alcohol in high school. I never smoked cigarettes. I never did drugs. But I might have gotten a little high on life when I was with my boyfriend. We took full advantage of our time together at every chance we got. And we felt more attracted to each other than ever. We couldn’t get enough of each other. The time we spent together seemed more intense. Since we couldn’t enjoy ourselves fully with our f
riends around, I started seeing him more alone, which always feels more meaningful, in a way. Our relationship felt deeper because of it, or at least I thought so. At any rate, I had no complaints. I felt like I had it all.

  CHAPTER 2:

  10 LESSONS I LEARNED FROM MY MOM

  1. Live up to your own standards, even when people underestimate you.

  Since my dad was usually with my brother at motocross or wrestling events, my mom took care of me and softball. This was one of many lessons she taught me during those drives to and from tryouts, practice, games. My biggest challenge in softball was that I was very petite and always playing with bigger, stronger girls. There were times when even though I was the more skilled player, coaches would pass me up for someone with an intimidation factor. On one hand I was always being told that I was really good, and on the other hand that I was too small to play the game. It was a constant struggle to maintain my confidence, but my mom would hammer it in: “Don’t listen to them. You know how good you are, you just have to stay focused and keep showing them what you can do.” Instead of being discouraged, I gave it my all and left softball feeling accomplished.

  2. Try your best not to be the reason someone is upset.

  It may be a cliché, but my mom taught me to treat others the way I want to be treated. I’ve always tried as hard as I can to be kind and respectful, and I do believe it’s why I’ve so rarely had to deal with anyone bullying me or being mean. What makes it easier to be kind is that she taught me to think about the reasons people might have for their views and behavior. You never know what someone else is going through when they get home. Even if they’re being mean to you, you don’t have to stoop down to what they’re doing. Nobody wants to be mean and unhappy. Everyone has their own struggles, and even if you don’t know what the problem is, you should always try your best to make sure that it isn’t you.