I really thought everything was going well. We’d been talking for well over a month and we had that spark that I’d been missing with everyone else I’d spoken to. I finally had the courage to put myself out there after so long; I’ve been bitten more times than I care to remember and I was so shy as a result. But you seemed worth it. The banter was great and your texts always made me smile. I remember being frightfully nervous just before our first date. I was panicking on the train to Covent Garden where we planned to meet.
Our date couldn’t have gone better. I remember, in between giggles and sips of cocktails, thinking ‘this is the best date I’ve been on’. You were exactly what you had promised you’d be: you were funny, charming and a good conversationalist. I went home that evening on cloud nine. We texted each other when we got home to see if we’d both reached safely and you told me you had a great time.
The next week was more of the same. We relayed sweet and silly texts to one another, both dreaming about our next date the following weekend.
Then something happened. Something happened and you never gave an explanation. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, believing that you’re ill or busy, so I let it slide. You had told me you were unwell previously so I texted to see if you were okay as I was worried. You told me you were fine and that I needn’t worry about you. So I didn’t.
Then I texted you the following day, asking how it was going as you were ill and presumably at work. I didn’t get a reply all day. After hours of overthinking (thanks to my anxiety, which you know I have), I decided to give in and ask if you if you were no longer interested in me, because that was how it was feeling considering you had been online and waved it around in my face, read my text and not replied. I somehow went to bed and fell asleep, with some false hope that you would’ve replied that morning. Pretty much everyone around me was saying that you’d lost interest because you don’t read someone’s texts and not reply for the whole day.
The next morning came. The only texts I had received were from my best friends. I texted you to tell you that I got it, it’s over, but you could’ve had the decency to tell me. You read that message and didn’t dignify it with a response.
For someone who is older than me, I have to applaud just how mature you behaved! Maturity is, after all, ignoring someone you asked to be your girlfriend the week before. Maturity is not clearly stating that you were no longer interested. Maturity is leading a woman on for over a month and then opting for radio silence.
You told me you were different. You begged me for a chance, for a date. You promised you were different from all the rest, that you meant what you said, that you would never lie. You promised that you’d never hurt me.
Really, you were exactly like the others. In fact, you were worse, because other fuckboys never lied to me like you did.
So goodbye, dear fuckboy. Thanks for diminishing my trust in men just that little bit more. Thanks for making me second-guess everything the next man who tries to date me says and does. Thanks for making me feel like I’m not worth someone’s time. Thanks for making me believe that finding a genuine, good man is just a myth.