An open letter to all fuckboys

Dear fuckboy(s)

I come to a point in my life where I am feeling good about myself. My skin is glowing, my hair is silky and my nails are always freshly painted. Then you come around, interrupt my life and fuck it up completely.

It all starts off so innocently. Your opening line is “oi b what’s your snapchat”, and me being the moronic idiot that I am, give it to you without realising that this will be the catalyst to my upcoming mental breakdown. I come to realise later on that you’ve cleverly asked for my snapchat and not my number so 1. you can easily ask and receive nudes, 2. I can’t see when you’ve been online and, perhaps the most important reason, 3. Messages are deleted once you’ve left the conversation, so all evidence of incriminating fuckboy behaviour is lost.

Gone but not forgotten

From the very beginning, you have pet names for me such as “babe” or “kid”, which at first are cute but it’s actually because you have forgotten my name and it’s too late to ask what it is, or that you’re talking to so many girls at once that you don’t want to accidentally slip up.

Then come the lies and the metaphors. You’re not like the other ‘fuck you and dump you’ guys, (no you are much worse, the king of beat and deletes) and compare me to food in order to persuade me to see you again; “why have one scoop when you have the whole tub of ice cream?”. You may think you are being deceitfully poetic, but actually it is creepy and misogynistic (i.e., I am a human being not a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s phish food).

If I am (god forbid) in the same room as another boy (the horror!) you ostracise me for weeks, but I could walk in on you balls deep mid threesome and you would naively look up at me and say “What have I done wrong? We never said we were exclusive. Also, pass me the condoms whilst you’re there, thanks a bunch”.

Living such a busy, hectic lifestyle (such as going to Nandos with the lads, or a late night gym sesh) can lead to not being able to respond to messages as quickly as you may have liked. Amazingly, despite the chaotic routine of your fuckboy schedule, you still have time to like Sophie’s picture on Instagram and favourite Chloe’s last 5 tweets. But conveniently, you just don’t have enough minutes in the day to reply to my message. However, the second that I post a bomb picture, you suddenly have found the time for me. Funny how that works.

Where you at doe

It is very important to you that we don’t have a label. You tell me what you think I want to hear, that you don’t want to ruin the ‘special connection’ that we have by giving it a definition. However, the oh so ‘special connection’ that we have isn’t quite special enough for us to be seen in public together, and all your friends think I am the crazy psycho bitch who won’t leave you alone. Yeah okay, mate. We both know how many times you’ve begged me.

You may act dumb around your friends, but you’re not stupid. You play the victim, like you don’t know what you’ve done to upset me and tell me you’ve never intentionally meant to hurt me. But you know exactly what you’ve done and know exactly how to press my buttons.

The very worst and most soul-crushing thing you’ve ever done and can ever do is to completely disregard my existence when you’ve seen me out; giving me no sign of acknowledgement whatsoever. Hello yes, it’s me. I made you cum multiple times? Ah yes, that’s the one.

So please, leave me alone. I live a much more stress-free and happier life without you, and the shit sex is not worth all this hassle and pain.

Fuck you and goodbye forever (hopefully),

Every single girl.