It’s Time You Free Yourself Of Fuckboys

Twenty20 / marioes
Twenty20 / marioes

Fuckboy isn’t just a term, it’s an identity.

I’ve spent two years pining over boys who left me and perfecting my profile pictures on Tinder, Bumble, Hinge or any miscellaneous dating app designed to distract myself from being alone. I’ve gone on good dates, bad dates, slept with Fuckboys and sat by my phone anxiously awaiting a text that never came. Sound familiar, ladies?

In my search for the perfect man, I became determined to try out every type of boy. The finance guy who lives, breathes, eats Wall Street bullshit. The Hollywood agent who honks when he’s outside and only orders the Kale salad, “Walnuts on the side, please.” The hipster hunk who thinks that an IPA and sexy smile will make you swoon in Silverlake. Boys, not men, ladies. Boys.

I felt like I had mastered all these dating disguises. I created my own checklist of qualities and character traits that seemed to satisfy this need to find Mr. Right. In my mind I would ask the same questions:

College degree? Check.

Employment? Check.

Ambition? Check.

Loyalty? No-go.

One fateful evening, I met a boy whose eyes reminded me of a stormy grey sky and hipster haircut wooed me. He checked all of my boxes. I fell, and I fell hard.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “Girls give sex to get love, guys give love to get sex.” So, when I went home with him that night, I should’ve known better. I should’ve told myself that there’d be no second date or to have no expectations. Except, I didn’t, and we all are guilty of making that mistake.

We would see each other, every Friday for two months. It was like clockwork. He’d call, I’d run over and I’d pretend that it mattered. The way he kissed me or caressed my sleeping face meant that he cared. I would tell myself, “That I was different.” That his morning coffee would cure me and lack of commitment was only temporary. I would build fantasies in my mind and overthink every detail of our interactions, dissecting them with my fellow girlfriends.

In reality, I was just his Friday night girl and he was my fuckboy.

Fuckboy isn’t just a term used in our generation: it’s an identity that has been accepted by women everywhere. Fuckboys are Fuckboys because they give us hope. They make us believe that there is a chance. There is a chance to change them, to make them ours.

Wake up ladies, there is no chance.

As I sat in his bed curled up in his covers with the sweet taste of wine on my lips, I had to ask. “Do you see this going anywhere? I like you and I just need to know.” His reaction was cold. His arms grew tense and what once was a sensual moment became stricken with panic. An argument erupted with his final words, “I pity you.”

The way those words hit me was like whiplash in a bad car accident; so sudden, so painful and so unbelievably unforgettable. It struck a chord so deep inside me that I didn’t fully comprehend the damage that been done. And yet I stayed the night, we made love and I left. I waited for weeks for a phone call or text that never came.

The repercussions of those 3 words, left me broken, hopeless and alone. I reached out to friends, consulted family and even started to see a therapist. As the time went on, I could still feel myself desperately wanting the attention of said Fuckboy. Why didn’t I deserve a text? A phone call? The torture of rejection is the most painful pang of them all.

On this road to recovery, I started to build a schedule for myself to finally just STOP thinking about him. I bought myself a gym membership, deleted the dating apps and invested money and time in MYSELF. I sweat puddles at the gym, ate sushi instead of spaghetti and decided to start paying off those college loans that I had so eagerly avoided. Although, I was making progress- I didn’t feel better but no journey ever starts easily.

The last and final choice I made was celibacy. When I think of the word, I think of a wrought iron belt strapped against a woman’s lady parts with a lock and no key. The hard metal creating a barrier between herself and those who wish to pursue her. That is what I created. This mental barrier made of steel, protecting me from Fuckboys everywhere. This newfound ability and power too simply say “No.”

The response from men was astounding: the respect, the awe and admiration. A woman who knows what she wants. A woman who isn’t afraid to say “no.” The ability to push a man’s hand away as it tightly grips my t-shirt or pull away when I wasn’t ready for a first kiss.

Ladies, this is the strongest tool of them all.

Say goodbye to Fuckboys and hello, to morning texts and self-respect. Fuckboys were created because we allowed them to use and abuse us. Take a stand and honor yourself. There are too many women out there who experienced a situation or circumstance similar to mine. Too many times have we allowed this behavior to become acceptable and a social norm.

I declare, to end the Fuckboy era! Let’s bring chivalry back with open car doors and “no” to Netflix and chill. The moment you allow yourself this power, is the moment you free yourself from Fuckboys. TC mark

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