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Dear Your Boys, Part Two

Friendship is such a funny thing – and in many ways, a lot like relationships. You spend your childhood (and let’s be honest, your adulthood) dreaming and imagining this mysterious man you’ll one day end up with. But you forget about the women, the conversations, the connections that keep you sane even after you’ve met the person you’ll share your life with. The truth is, you share your life with your friends just as much, too.

One of my dearest friends (that religiously reads this blog and edits it before you see it, so thank her!) was first a freelancer for me, then an intern and then my partner-in-NYC-drinking-wine-crimes. She has a relationship with her boyfriend of two years that admittedly, I’m a little jealous of. It’s what all good classic love stories are made of but it’s totally modern: they fell in love instantly, they moved in together, they fit together, they’re human and they’re real, and they make it through it all, still supporting, still loving one another as they learn, go and grow. But she had a “Dear Boy” story of her own before she met her man – and when I asked her to write a letter to that ex for this very post, she politely declined.

And surprised me by what she said: “I’m no longer angry at all. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be where I am now, I wouldn’t be in a healthy, happy relationship.”

It reminded me of my entire mission for writing and collecting these Dear Boy stories: so that we all — in one swift click of the mouse – release our pain. Release feeling unworthy or burned or pissed off that these guys think their actions are acceptable. Their words meaningless when they feel like they mean everything. That boys in New York and London and Paris and South Africa and Kenya and China and where-the-fuck-ever, have the audacity to treat us so wrongly. We don’t deserve it – and they don’t deserve any more of our thoughts, our pride or our energy.

Instead – read the last entry in this part two blog. It’s the happy ending that J found. And it’s the one that all of us will find if we can let go of the boys — and find the men.

Dear Boy who booked a flight to NYC. 

Meeting you at 17 on spring break was unforgettable. Seeing you again almost 10 years later I wish I could forget. You flew in and disrupted my weekend and while I said it was okay and partly invited you I thought you had other friends in the area. I must be a completely different person than I was at 17 or you got into way too many drugs in college because I don’t remember the pain of being in your presence. I’m pretty sure I never thought rough housing by holding my wrists or tripping me up the subway stairs or starting fights in bars were fun. I also don’t remember you being so fucking annoying! Your conversations were lackluster and literally sucked the life out of me every time you opened your mouth. You’re inappropriate grabs and comments were never going to be okay and when I told you nothing was going to happen between us this weekend the image of your face will never leave my memory. The people that met you or saw pictures of you thought your body looked amazing. However, every time I even thought you were going to kiss me I thought I was going to vomit right there on the city streets. Three days of hell is how I’ll remember this weekend. Three days of what was I thinking and how could I be so wrong about someone. Three days of forced city and drinking activities and three days of unwanted attention. Please don’t ever book a flight to NYC again and if I see you again…. it will be too soon. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who defines the meaning of the word arrogance.

I was incredibly excited when you invited me to France to see you for a week. After months of communication after our first encounter, you filled my head with dreams of long walks around old French streets, sipping endless coffees and thoroughly convincing me that I had finally found someone who wanted to treat me like a lady, who would finally make me feel that gentlemen still existed. After spending a pretty penny on flights, I arrived at the airport full of hope. You arrived to pick me up two hours later than planned (understandable I thought, as a rugby player I knew you had training), before taking me back to your flat. Conversation flowed and my hopes remained intact! Fast forward to the next day, spent wandering around your city and sipping coffees (so far so good), before conversation quickly turned to a one sided discussion about yourself and how great you were. Things are starting to go downhill before the big finale. You inform me, mid-kiss, that you never wanted a relationship, that you purely invited me out here for fun. Well with two days to go and a student budget, you can imagine my surprise. Sadly being incredibly British and stoic, I could only nod and smile politely (whilst inside I was ready to go nuts!). Fortunately for me I had friends in Paris who I planned to go and stay with, but there was one more night to get through. Here’s where things get comical. You offer to take me out for supper, and spend the entire four course meal talking about, you guessed it, yourself. Ironically I was thankful for this as it tired me so much I knew I’d be able to spur any unwanted advances with ease. Upon leaving the restaurant, you ask if it’s OK if we check out the menu of another restaurant, you hadn’t been yet and wanted to check it out. What you didn’t realise that although I was walking three steps behind you I was still in full earshot, so I heard you perfectly clearly when you stated; ‘Got to find somewhere to take the next one’. Smooth move. After a swift exit into Paris the next day, I’m almost glad that you never contacted me to enquire as to whether I was OK and had arrived safely, and to be honest, I’m most definitely well shot of you! –Anonymous

Dear Boy (Who Is Me).
I don’t know why you’ve been an idiot. At a certain point in natural selection, you’d think that evolution would’ve eliminated someone stupid enough to think that not texting a girl for a month while you pursue someone else, and then going back to the first girl when the second one fails entirely wouldn’t seem like a warning sign. But no, I lost my gills, I grew lungs and breathed on land and continued to make mistakes like this one. Mistakes that left me utterly baffled when the girl seemed distant and cold. Awful 80’s stand up comedy has taught me that women are unsolvable puzzles that you yell at for twenty years until they come out of the bathroom with their make up finally finished and their sex drive tragically dried up, and until a certain point, I never figured out that there was necessary effort to put into relationships after the first two dates.
I, as an idiot, thought that I had it in the bag when she agreed to come back to my place. THIS IS IT. I’LL PROBABLY MARRY THIS ONE IN A FEW YEARS. THIS ONE LIKES ME. OOPS, SHE DOESN’T NOW. ONTO_THE_NEXT_ONE_BY_JAY_Z.mp3. It took so, so long to figure out that relationships are a constant process, and not something that you can just say “It’s going good. I’ll let it sit here and come back if I see something slipping” about. You have to put effort into them, because who wants a relationship that’s two sedentary assholes sitting around, hoping that the other one gets bed sores first because a trip to the hospital is better than no date at all?
Dear boy, who is still a boy, but trying really hard to improve, don’t text her back a month later, apologizing for being busy. If you don’t care enough to ask how her day was, just don’t try at all. You’ll both appreciate it in the long run. –Daniel

Dear Mr Rockstar therapist-I should’ve written this to you months ago.

How fucking dare you. Lead me to believe I’m so special and you want to be with me all the while still dating her but figuring out how to leave her so you can have your freedom and “be alone.” Or so you told me… Come to find out, I was only one of many girls you had on the side from your actual girlfriend. Although I am the prettiest of the girls (like you continually loved to mention), I didn’t make the final cut, did I? No, no. You drug me along for a year only to come into town and rub your “new” girlfriend in my face only weeks after drunkenly calling me and requesting a “tit pic” for the (unwarranted) cock shot you sent earlier in the day…

But for this, I thank you. If you had not come here with zero regard for me and my feelings, I can confidently say, I’d still be hanging on your words. Consuming every poison soaked phrase that lead down a dark path of self-doubt.  Nevermind the fact I was indeed shitfaced the entire time you were here, I felt all of it. In an attempt to drink away my feelings that weekend, I actually just  conjured up own ones… This may have been the smartest decision I made that weekend.  Being civil and not blowing your cover, the stupidest. Especially  since I didn’t hear from you for over 2 weeks after you left and when I did hear from you, it was because you wanted to thank me for “being so cool.” It’s not my style, nor do I enjoy ruining other people’s relationships… in this situation, I think you’ll be the one to pull the pin.

But I do need to thank you for the free therapy and endless compliments on my “rockin’ bod” and always telling me I look pretty without makeup… Even though usually the only thing you could manage was a simple, “goddamn goddamn.” As much as you crumbled me in the end, you built me up pretty high along the way.

…still kind of hatecha, bro. –Danielle

Dear Boy Before the Man.
You surprised me. After months of working side by side and flirting flippantly, I realized I actually had feelings for you. I was shocked, because you were the first person to make me feel something after I had lost the man I had planned to marry. You made me feel safe, sexy, and alive. You made me feel like I was the only girl in the world… except when we did finally make the move from friends to more-than, I found out that wasn’t the case at all. You had a girlfriend, a vital detail you conveniently left out during our fast courtship. Although you broke up with her and instead took me to all the parties, the weddings, and even home to your parents, you quickly grew tired of me as well. Worst of all, instead of being a man, you boyishly dragged out whatever of us was left over a series of months, off and on at your leisure. It wasn’t until years later that I realized I had let you, and even longer until you admitted your mistakes as well. By the time you were ready to leave boyhood behind for a shot at me and manhood, it was too late. “Oh well,” you simply texted. And even though that entitled text message and the memories of my tear-filled nights still anger me, I can’t help but think of you as a friend in disguise. I can’t help but feel thankful I know you, because without you, there would be no him. And him? He’s the best man I’ve ever known. –Rachel

Dear Boy who claimed to be the nice guy, but told me that my ex had a new girlfriend so you could act like my savior.

Before we went out for drinks, you kept telling me what a nice guy you are and how you always finish last. I thought I was safe to have a drink with you since you knew I had recently went through a break-up with a mutual acquaintance. I thought it was polite to buy the nice guy a drink for once. We had our first sip, and then you dropped the bomb that you had met my ex’s new girlfriend. I was completely baffled as to why you would tell me this. You kept claiming you didn’t know that I hadn’t heard my ex had moved on. I was emotional and you could tell that I was still dealing with heartbreak. This didn’t stop you from preaching to me why I should date you. Weeks later, I decided to tell you that I wasn’t ready for a relationship and didn’t want to date you. I had to keep repeating my decision to you on the phone because you kept trying to convince me that you were the one for me. You may be a nice guy, but your tactics to get to a girl’s heart are not noble.  Just as much as I need to love myself, you need to love yourself enough to not a date girl who isn’t available. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who always took me for granted.

Maybe, how I first met you should have been a sign. A sign that you were just to much of a kid, with your afro hair and completely plastered face. Trying to pose yourself that couch “sexy like” to get my attention. I tried to show you I was uninterested,  but you were to drunk to notice until I got up because you were creeping me out.That was two years before we started dating. It took us a while to figure out it was you. When we did we laugh about it. It was a completely amazing joke that we could tell out friends and family. The beginning of our relationship was amazing and fun. Quickly I found out that… the beginning of our relationship was the only part I was really going to enjoy. You were still to much of a boy and not enough of a man, or even growing into a man. While work and college are important, you would  completely ignore me and act like you weren’t. I’m important too. I a human whom like attention from the person she loves. I did love you, very, very much.When we finally broke up in 2013 it was a blessing. You were selfish and it was hurting me more and more. You actually did this, because I finally made you realize how much you were being selfish and hurting me. I figured you would make start bucking up and treating me right. Instead you decided that there was to much damage, that you never wanted a girlfriend anyway, and so you broke up. I found you to be a coward, even if your reasons were “good” enough reasons.You dated me for almost a year and never once did I get to meet your family. You have no idea how much that killed me. None. Family is important to me and I really wanted to meet your finally. That was really my finally and last sign. I was tired of this relationship before it even ended.There are some things that I wanted to thank you for though. Like how you reminded me that I don’t want to change for anyone. Especially for someone’s imaginary image of perfection in his mind. I am not perfect and that has always been something I love about myself. I run into things and laugh. Half the time things come out of my mouth and they sounds like this “lfjdkls;ajkl;” and it amuses me. I do not speak English properly, especially not back in the day proper English. I have stupid friends, who do and say stupid things, and something they really just don’t understand things. SO WHAT?! They are human beings, being human beings, just like me and I love them completely. They accept me for who I am, the way I am and never want me to change.To say the least, I’m glad things ended. This is my goodbye letter to you. I’ve beensaying goodbye to you for a while now, and this is my final goodbye. –Done

Dear Boy(s) Who Thought It Was OK To Use Me.
No. It wasn’t. I may know a lot about sex, but that doesn’t mean I’m easy. I may know all the signs of a player, but that doesn’t mean I don’t act like a naive fool when I like a guy. I was broken and hurting, and you saw that. You took advantage of that. How do you justify that in your mind? I was very clear about the fact that I am not a one night stand girl. And yet, you still used me for what you wanted, and then kicked me out of your life. It is as if I never existed. How is that OK? Does sex mean nothing to you? Boys like you are the reason that girls like me start to think all men have a one-track mind. Stop being an asshole, and respect the wishes of the girls you get with. –That College Girl’s Guide

Dear boy who I liked way too much, way too fast.

It took me a while to notice you. I had always noticed you at work as very nice, but I mean to notice you.It took you drunkenly grabbing my face and making a move one night. That’s when I saw you as someone other than the cute coworker. You were so adorable and shy that first night when I brought you home. We talked for hours, and at the end I saw you in a whole new light. I wanted to see this “outside of work” version of you again. We had our first, and only “Date”. It was a great night, that included making out in parks and on benches and in cabs. I couldn’t get enough of you. More late night hookups happened, a trend all summer. Then the “talks” happened. I knew you weren’t right for me. Too young. Too unsure of your life. Too drunk every weekend…and too caught up in your friends to care about someone else taking up your time. Yet, I still tried. Like every girl, thinking I could change your mind. That I would be great enough to break your “don’t date a coworker” rule and make you forget that it was becoming more than a casual hookup. You warned me about just wanting casual, I ignored it. I wanted you. I had finally found someone who I was comfortable laying in bed and talking with again. Who I wanted to tell when something happened at work, and who encouraged me. I don’t click with many, and I clicked with you. It didn’t matter, and you were adamant after the summer ended that we were also ending. Now I have to sit in meetings with you five days a week and try and forget the potential I saw in you, and how it felt snuggled up against you, and what it was like to kiss you. It makes me bitter that I found you at the wrong time, but you also helped me. You helped me move a little closer to being not quite so broken from the love I had before you. From “the one” that left me in pieces for years…and for that I’m thankful.  –Anonymous, 25, NYC

Dear boy who preaches that alcohol is no excuse for any actions but still claims it has his excuse for every fuck up.

I liked the expression on your face when you heard our music on the jukebox and even more so when you realized I was a cute girl and I picked it-absolutely adorable. I loved the way you made me feel completely beautiful in spite of meeting you in my “fat” jeans, a t-shirt and flip flops with a bare naked face. Your follow-up text the next morning after having me out until 5 am when I had to work at 8 was precious:

“I hope you’re feeling better than I am. You undoubtedly look better. I had a lot of fun last night. Let’s do that again please… I hope sooner than later.”

And we both know we did over the next month or so. Until I decided to show up at the bar unannounced with my BFF who was in town from Raleigh because rumor had it you were there and asking for me… I loved the giddy feeling driving to meet you. I hated walking in and you pretending I wasn’t even there. Maybe it was my stubbornness or maybe it was stupidity… but I stayed around and let our mutual friends try to push us together. Though inevitably decided to leave, only to text you the second I pulled into my driveway, tears streaming down my face and cursing your name, something along the lines of, “If I knew you were going to ignore me, I would’ve saved my pride and skipped it all together.” To which I received no response… ever.

This is where our story should’ve ended had I been any other person or you any other guy… But no, it didn’t, did it?

You ran into one of my friends while you were out one night and she proceeded to grill you until you finally broke down with some bullshit story about that night and being too drunk to form sentences much less talk to me because I made you “so nervous.” I should’ve seen through the malarkey and kept you in my NEVER EVER ANSWER box but I didn’t. I had been reading a self-help book (you know they’re my favorites) about giving second chances and let it take over… So I gave you a second chance. You showed me off for a couple weeks, all your friends fell in love with me (this is my strong suit), we were damn near inseparable…

But then I had to give you a third chance
Followed by a forth.
And finally gave up on the fifth.

You stepped on me, took advantage of my vulnerability and kind heart. We poured our past awful experiences out to one another and I felt that was pretty big because I don’t tell just anyone those things. The dreaded ex kicking me out, your ex of 2+ years leaving without reason only to jump into a relationship a couple months later, the abuse we both received in the past… I trusted you. You fucked me. –Danielle

Dear Boy who was something that I knew could never be.

But I have this thing about trying, so I tired with you anyway. We had been friends for a while and knew we have always liked each other. You liked that I never took the shit you dished out. Instead I always knew what you were trying to do and I told you bluntly to your face what I thought about your actions. Your actions were stupid and that you were being stupid. There is really not much to say for you or to you. Mostly that I’m done with you too. I tried with you, tried my hardest for you. You were interested at first, and than you weren’t and than you seemed to be interested again. You said you were very selfish and you are… The real reason I think you couldn’t be with me though, is because you weren’t completely interested in me. You realize that I’m more a friend than anything else.Which is fine, but by this point I really don’t want to be your friend either. –Tired of Stupidity

Dear boy who is brave enough to serve our country but not brave enough to end our  relationship in-person (or at least a phone call, geez):

We fell in love the summer before my senior year of high school. You were my first love. You made my head spin, my heart dance, and my body burn with passion. We went fishing together, sang along to Dave Matthews Band in the car with the windows down, and climbed up on top of an old building near your house to watch the stars and steal kisses. First loves are something special. They burn so bright and end with a bang. Ours was no different. My first broken heart took some time to heal but it did, and I came back stronger than ever. I don’t blame you for that.

Actually, I’m thankful for all the lessons that our love taught me and when you reemerged in my life 7 years later, I was curious as to whether or not that first love spark was still there. It was. Your life was vastly different from mine. I was in the middle of my last year of law school. You had just returned back home from years of serving our nation in the army. You had been sent overseas and God only knows what you saw over there, but with a bullet-wound and friends who didn’t return, I’m sure it was enough for a thousand lifetimes. Your bravery earned you a trip to the White House to meet President Obama and my heart swelled with pride the first time I heard about your accomplishments.

We reunited over Christmas break, that time of year when people are always longing for someone to love and hold. Personally, I think that the fear of being alone during the holidays is what motivates people to seek out a relationship during that time, but that’s slightly off topic. We fell right back in to where we left off. It was perfect. My cynical, lawyer logic was transformed into hopeful, giddy thoughts of a girl in love and my heart raced with I thought about our future. We spent time with your family, sipped on copious amounts of hard apple cider, and fell in love all over again. Well, at least I did.

We were more mature this time around, or at least I thought we were. You were what I had been looking for and I quietly ended those one-night stands with boys who only wanted me for my body. My last semester of law school started soon after the holidays and although I knew that my life would be hectic and stressful, I was prepared to face it because I knew that you would be by my side. Or at least I thought you would. Two weeks after my classes started, your attempts at communication dwindled and I was left wondering what I did wrong. You ignored me for an entire week. No phone calls. No texts. Nothing.

Needless to say, I was crushed. I drowned my broken heart with red wine. I cried when I woke up in the morning. I cried in the library when I was trying to study. I cried when I went to sleep at night. Something broke inside of me and I desperately searched for the answer as to why you did this to me. Finally, after a week of not hearing from you, I received your text, which simply stated: “I’m sorry but I don’t think we can be together right now.”

Twelve words. TWELVE WORDS. I tried to call you, ready to use every expletive known to mankind but you didn’t answer. In retrospect, that was probably for the best. A month later, I learned you were dating another girl who lived in the same town. I sent bad vibes your way and I hope you felt them. Recently, that relationship ended (I can only imagine how) and you had the balls to try and contact me again. Ha, not in this lifetime, darlin’. I smiled as I deleted your unanswered texts and applied my mascara before a night out on the town. Our second shot at a relationship taught me another lesson: bravery is not defined by your profession or what you do for a living. It is a combination of how you treat others and your ability to be honest. And honestly, you sir, are a coward. –Chelsea

Dear Boy who ended nothing.
We’d been down that road before. We’d tried things, and things weren’t right. When we started talking again, I decided not to put any stock into it; we were just enjoying time together. Friends, right? Friends don’t break up with friends. Friends don’t break up with friends that aren’t more than friends. Friends shouldn’t break up with friends halfway through an event they’re stuck at together. –L.A.
Dear Boy Whom I Truly Love.

It’s been a year now. A year since our breakup. A year since our last anniversary together. I’ve tried to move on. Trust me – I have tried my damn hardest. But I simply can’t. You’re the guy I see myself marrying; trying to substitute anyone else at the end of that aisle just won’t do.

I ran into you the other day. Or, should I say, I went to that meeting knowing there was a 95% chance of you being there. I just wanted to see your face again. I primped for an hour, feeling giddy as though I were heading out on a first date. I don’t know why I was so excited. I knew nothing would change. I knew you would still look at me with that emptiness and disdain in your eyes. I arrived and saw you sitting there. My heart filled with happiness – a happiness that I haven’t felt in so long. I was happier than I had been all year. It didn’t matter that you looked at me with a glare of almost hatred. Sitting in the same room with you, despite it all, was the happiest 15 minutes that I’ve experienced since we’ve been apart.
You practically sprinted out of that meeting. You left with that girl I vaguely remembered as having once dated your friend and roommate. I thought nothing of it…until I caught up to you. She was walking just a bit too close, looking at you with just a tad of extra emotion. “She has a crush on him,” I thought. It was understandable. After all, I had more than just a crush on him. Any girl that doesn’t must be a blind moron. But then it happened. She linked her arm through yours, the same way I had always done whenever I was cold. It took everything in me to avoid screaming, crying, giving up right then and there. I kept hoping it was a mistake. It wasn’t. I sprinted to my car, slammed the door, and started bawling. I cried more that night than I did when we broke up. At least when we split, I had hope. I clung to that hope for over a year. But in that one instance, my heart was ripped out, and my hope was shattered. I don’t want to live without you.

So, boy whom I truly love, just know that I’m barely hanging on. No one takes my feelings towards you seriously. No one bothers trying to understand. You are the only person who ever did. And now, it’s obvious that you simply don’t care. It would be nice if you would keep your word, and at least be the friend I need right now. It’s hard to fabricate hope, when you won’t even speak to me. –Emma

Dear boy who was the best dancer I ever met.

Where were you all summer? You waited until my last night out in Lake George to show up at Fire & Ice. I remember laughing ’til I cried as I watched you bust some serious moves on the dance floor. You made me feel so comfortable–okay, maybe with the help of a few vodka sodas–that I matched your dancing enthusiasm and we tore it up like dorks, oblivious to those around us. My cheeks hurt from smiling. A few days later you asked my friend for my number (I didn’t give you a chance to ask in person) and asked me out over voicemail (I ignored the unknown number). I loved your boldness. Thanks for letting me be myself and so graciously accepting that I was unavailable at the time. I hardly know you, but you make me believe there are still good guys out there. –Anonymous

Dear boy you would think that after all this time I could let go of.

Leave all the empty promises and endless nights behind me and move on… but I simply can’t. I have moved past the fact that we will never be together, and that is for the best, but I may never get past the fact that I lost my best friend and partner of 5 years in a tiny, one line text message.

You were my first… my first boyfriend, first confidant, first kiss and so much more. You loved me for who I am and never tried to change me even when things were rough. You were romantic to a fault and considerate beyond my wildest imagination but in the end you gave up, threw in the towel and tossed aside everything we had for another girl. It hurt, and I thought I would hate you forever, but somehow I moved past the relationship because I thought the friendship was worth saving.

I am not saying we were perfect for each other, but we were perfect best friends. Even after the ridiculous break up and our parade of new relationships we tried to make the friendship work. After countless one night flings, phone calls that went on for hours and romantic hand written letters while you were in Afghanistan we let it stop working. Maybe we were both tired of trying to make something work that was never meant to be, or we were holding on to memories that needed to die, but when I look back all I can think about is how I would not change one thing.

I loved the way you held my hand and the way your skin smelled. I loved how you would squeeze my hand three times to let me know you love me, and how just catching each other’s eye from across a room would light up both of our faces. I loved looking at the stars in the back of your truck, and talking about a future we both believed was possible. I loved you and will always have love for you, and part of me thinks you feel the same. So boy, know that you will always be a tiny flicker in my heart, pushing me to find something better and know that I wish only the best for you, and thank you for helping me realize what love can truly be. –Julianne

Dear Boy who forgot my birthday.

I remember the shock when you told me all summer you had a present for me but then when we reunited at school in the fall, you said, “Well, I forgot what I was going to get you so I didn’t get you anything.” At first I was hurt, but then I had to laugh. I had technically asked for this. When I was still knee deep in an emotionally abusive relationship with a porn addict, I prayed to God these exact words: “Dear God, please send me a nice Christian boy who will treat me right and isn’t addicted to porn. He could be a joe shmo off the street who forgets my birthday for all I care.”
And you forgot my birthday. But what you lacked in gift giving abilities, you totally made up for in being a genuinely nice guy who cared about me, my family, and other people. And five years later, we’re now married and I’m so thankful for you, even in spite of your forgetfulness. After all, I don’t need a perfect man. I just need you— even if it means having to literally take you by the hand the week of my birthday to the exact aisle of the exact food processor I want.
P.S. Thanks for the food processor. You know me so well. –Mrs. Healthy Ever After
Dear Boy who said all the right things.
I wasn’t ready for half the things you’d say. I always thought I was two steps behind you, playing catch up. But you were so certain, so sure, so adamant, that you said it anyway. Life. Marriage. A future together. I started to believe it. I started to be there, feeling what you were saying, being where you were. And when I got there, you decided to be anywhere else. I’m here now, with everything you said. I’m here now. Where are you? –L.A.
Dear boy who shattered my heart in a million little pieces.
Two weeks ago, I decided to do some spring-cleaning in my personal things and I found, buried in a box, letters, cards, and pictures along with so many things that I had preciously kept from the days when we were together. I opened the cards and read every word that you had written. And all I did was smirk. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them. They are, unfortunately, the most beautiful cards that I have ever received; made out of the most amazing Japanese paper. Yes, I smirked. They were just beautiful words written on beautiful pieces of paper that turned out to be just… a load of bullshit.I remember the first time we met. I remember how drawn I was to you, even though you were not my type at all. I remember so vividly that spark between us, that chemistry or was it sexual tension, I don’t know. I remember how you infiltrated yourself in my group of friends just so you could spend more time with me. I remember that night at that restaurant where you insisted on sitting next to me even though I didn’t even know your name. I remember that party where you sat next to me the whole time, so close to me, trying to kiss me (but you never did and I was so frustrated that night). I remember our first date, our first kiss and our endless phone conversations when you were abroad…This is the image of you that I had.
This is the image of you that I would unconsciously remember whenever you would disappoint me. This is what my illusion was based on. I just never allowed myself to see you for what you really were. I used to think that your little flaws were just little things to go through to build a long lasting relationship. But I was so wrong. I wish I knew better. I wish that it hadn’t taken me six years to understand that your behaviour was just not that of an honest loving person. I wish that I had cut our relationship short much earlier than when I did. But I didn’t know any better. I was blindly in love with you. Or maybe it wasn’t you that I loved. I loved the idea of you, the illusion of what I thought you could be, and how great we could have been.Every disappointment was like a painful twist of a knife in my heart. My friends hated your guts. They saw the bright light in my eyes fade day after day; they wouldn’t even recognize me sometimes. Where was the fun girl that was so full of life? She was gone. You destroyed me in ways that are impossible for me to describe. From a free spirited young woman, you turned me (against my will) into a submissive woman who would never dare go against your opinions in fear of being yelled at everyday.

Everything about our relationship was about you. You could sit and talk for hours and hours about yourself but it was impossible for me to talk about my life, my aspirations or me. I just didn’t exist. WE didn’t exist.There was no room for communication. It was always a “bad time” to have discussions about our relationship, and if I did, you would say I was “crazy” or “paranoid”; I was not allowed to share my opinions specially if they differed from yours. Ever. I was never able to open up to you because whenever I did, you would use the information I gave you against me. Your communication only consisted in criticism, yelling and bullying. We never had a peaceful conversation that didn’t end in a fight or in tears. But you couldn’t appreciate silence either. You would say that silence was “not productive” and if I didn’t make an effort to stop the conversation from flagging, you would say that I created “bad atmosphere”.

Our conversations could not be about futile things, they had to be “productive”. They had to be about work or career. I had to (in every conversation) lay out my 10-year career plan for you. Whether I was just thinking about changing industries, or considering changing jobs, or going back to school, it couldn’t be just a “thought”, it had to be a precise and detailed thinking process that I had to present to you as if I were in a job interview 24/24.

When I met you, I thought that you were a talented young man full of self-confidence in a pursuit of a dream. I quickly realised that you had no confidence at all, and that you would play the role of the “misunderstood artist”around your peers, while around me you would play the role of the arrogant “know-it-all” asshole who would constantly criticize my “lack of artistic value”. You would always ask for my help whether it was for your personal projects or work projects and I was (at first) always happy to help. Little did I know that in fact it wasn’t help that you were asking for, it was more of a demand and I had to comply automatically with your wishes. You didn’t care what I was doing, or whether I was busy with work. I had to drop everything at the exact second and come to your rescue and help out with whatever you needed. Failure to comply resulted in hours of yelling and telling me how “selfish” I was. Failure to deliver “perfect” solutions for your projects equally resulted in yelling, and telling me over and over again that I was “a waste of oxygen”. I could never win with you. What made it worse was that you never appreciated what I did, you never once said “thank you”.

This relationship drained me. I gave you so much and all I got in return were tiny crumbles of shit that I held on to as if they were precious. I really believe that you had a sadistic pleasure to see me hurt. I believe you would get high on criticizing me, threatening me, patronizing me and calling me names. It made you feel powerful, didn’t it? Well in fact, it just means you are insecure.And as if this wasn’t enough to destroy someone’s self-confidence, you pushed it even further by betraying me, covering it up with lies on top of lies that just wouldn’t make sense.

It took me months of therapy to understand that you had a Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and that all your advice (that I used to find destructive and never constructive) was in fact emotional and verbal violence. It took me a Greg Behrendt’s book to realise that you were never really into me. It took me thousands of psychology articles and blog posts to understand that you were actually “unavailable”. It took me months to figure out what kind of person you really were. I am not bitter. I am grateful that I got to see the real you. –Anonymous

Dear Me,

In the past several months you have grown. I know you have had a really hard time  the last couple of days with yourself, but this year it seems to be the year that you are fed up with stupid things that are getting in the way of getting back to yourself. This year has really seem to be the year that you are getting yourself back. That’s all you’ve wanted the last couple of years.

You had to go through the boys. They weren’t frogs, because a toad doesn’t come from a frog, and princes can be frogs in costume, and frogs whom turn into princes are fairytale. You never wanted a prince anyway. You’ve wanted a man, a true man. Not some foofoo boy who will give you everything you need, but who will challenge you to better yourself, look at things differently, and show you new things. Who will teach you things about yourself that you never thought were possible and in turn will teach him a thing or two about himself. Someone who will let you go your own pace, but will also kick you in the ass when ass kicking is necessary. You had to go through the boys to realize this and also realize what you have to do to be yourself again.A couple years back you were going through this same thing and than you started to date someone who got in the way of this. He didn’t like things about you and tried to change those things. You tried to comply and than realized what the hell where you doing. You started to fight back, and he didn’t like that. Things got rocky for the two of you. You started to doubt yourself. Than things ended. You adapted to your “screw everyone attitude” again. You stuck to your “screw everyone attitude.”I’m very proud of you for doing that. I can tell that this time around, you won’t let some boy walk all over you again. This time around you aren’t going to be dating the boys. You’ll be dating the men, or the growing up men. You realize that you can love yourself so much, but if someone else doesn’t love you like you love yourself, it can cause a rift. It can also cause a little self-doubt. So you need to find someone who enjoys you, just as much as you enjoy yourself. If they don’t, well they just don’t know what hilarious, dorky, and smart things that they are missing. You make yourself realize, they are just a pinch of salt in the ocean. –Keep loving yourself

Dear me.

You’re a smokeshow. Stop making excuses for the assholes you keep accepting in your life. Remember, you ARE a badass. You’ve got more to offer people than meets the eye. Let the ones that stare down your shirt or at your ass, buy you a drink or two. Save the substance and your heart for the ones who ask about your day and favorite movies. You know the ones I’m talking about. Keep the nerds close and the cool guys at an arm’s length. You know better, babe.

End this year with a bang. We both know 2014 is going to be one for the books. You’re gorgeous, I love you. –Danielle

Dear man I fell in love with in a matter of hours.

The stories I’ve read in romance novels and watched on movie screens of the fleeting love I barely believed in came true when I met you. You were instantly the one I knew I could never let get away. I asked my mom if you could fall in love in just four days and she said, “Well… yes. Yes, you can.” I was only nine months out of a turbulent, unhealthy, and self-deprecating relationship with a man who I thought was greater than god. Little did I know that he was one of the best things to ever happen to me — he led me to you.

Throughout our two-and-a-half years together, you’ve taught me more about love, compassion, strength, and courage than I ever imagined I could learn from another human being. You are kind to every one you come across, and you treat me like an absolute angel. We may have our good and bad days just like any other couple, but when it comes down to it, you’re truly the best man I ever met and I am thankful every single day to have you in my life.

Thank you for showing me that true, love-at-first-sight love really can and does exist. –Jenn

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Dear Your Boys, Part One

After a tumultuous year of terrible, no-good, horrible dating, I recently found myself not only a little bitter, but really, really disappointed. And angry. So of course, I do what helps me more than anything: writing. Though it’s not that healthy to go back down memory lane – especially one that’s jagged and misleading – but getting out frustrations (no matter how small or large) can help you move forward. For me, the “Dear Boy” letters were not only therapeutic, but freeing. As soon as I clicked publish, I released the boys back into the universe, back to wherever they came from, far, far away from my thoughts and my confidence.

When I invited all of you to submit your own – I was completely blown away by the response. It’s the thing I love most about my blog – every time I think I’m the only one feeling burnt out on dating, I read stories from around this city, this country and this planet that remind me I’m definitely not alone.

Since I received so (so!) many letters, I’ll be publishing half today and half on Monday. Each round will end with what I find the most important parts: a letter to a man worth all this trouble and a letter to the biggest love of all: yourself.

In no particular order, your amazing Dear Boy letters, part one:

Dear Boy who is exact reason why I cringe at the thought of online dating.

The moment I said..”okay, let’s give this a chance” you ruined it for me before I even realized. The moment you called to tell me you need to push back our first date for a few hours, I should have shown you the door.  The moment we both finally met that night for the first time, I should have shown you the door……BUT I didn’t. The moment we kept meeting for dates (on your side of town) and you never picked me up, I should have shown you the door. The moment you kept using dental school as an excuse for everything, I should have shown you the door.

The moment we went a month without “real” communication or seeing each other, I should have shown you the door. (texting doesn’t count) Wait, I tried to show you the door but you promised you would do better & try better—and I let you back in.

I went through 6 months of “moments” with you, praying for God to grant me patience to see this “relationship” through (after all we had met each other’s parents).  I also prayed for clarity from God and he gave that to me.  That is why I finally showed you the door.  You were my first sip of a relationship in years and if that is what a relationship is supposed to be then I don’t want it.  It’s supposed to be 50/50 no 70/30.

The audacity you had to show a lack of emotion the last time I broke it off proved to me even more so that you aren’t my soulmate that God is preparing for me. I bid you final farewell and I truly hope you finally find your soulmate as I know mine will be sent to me when I’m ready. –Tiffani

Dear Boy who wanted me in secret. Who I met at work over a year ago and began to pursue me even though you weren’t my type and there was some talk of you having a girlfriend. You continued to invite me out with other co workers and then on a date which I finally caved in, merely for the excitement of where it could lead. People used to tell me so many marriages start at work. What was I thinking!  I had decided in my head you were one thing and after 8 months realized you were something different. The excitement of a secret relationship at work quickly faded when you stopped reaching for my hand under the table or kissing me in the street. Sure, sex was good and the consecutive texting throughout the day led me to believe I was a constant thought on your mind. But after several months I was ready to introduce you to my friends… and even family.  After catching you in several lies, and continuing to set myself up with disappointment I wised up. No more lame excuses and shame on me for being tricked by someone who was never going to commit and didn’t want me but didn’t want anyone else to have me either. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who asked me to be his date to a wedding and then left me at the reception for two hours so you could get high.

I was so excited to be your date. Day of the wedding, I picked the sexiest dress from my closet. I wanted you to be sure you picked the hottest date.  At the reception, you didn’t pull out the chair for me, nor did you get me a drink. You didn’t seem to care when others complimented you on your date choice.  I only danced with my friend and slow danced with your friends because you hide in the corner, drinking wine and texting. Every time I asked you to dance with me, you told me the next song.  Late in the night, you came to me saying you needed to give a ride to a friend and would return to the reception shortly. I asked to go with you, but you told me to stay since I looked like I was having so much fun. I would have rather danced with you. I would have rather spent the wedding with you.  You returned two hours later reeking of marijuana and trying to convince me you only left for 20 minutes. Not wanting to apologize, you turned the argument on me telling me I was too drunk and you couldn’t believe you brought the stereotypical drunk girl to the wedding. Next time you’re invited to a wedding don’t check the plus 1 option. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who was too cheap to purchase my lunch, but criticized the beverage that I chose and paid for.

We decided to have a quick lunch date since it matched better with our schedules, picking a sandwich shop. You didn’t hold open the door for me nor did you let me go first in line. You only purchased a sandwich and chips, not wanting to spend the extra $1.50 on a beverage. I purchased my own lunch including a diet soda. I let it slide that you didn’t purchase my meal; after all, it was only lunch. As we chatted over our meals, you grabbed my drink to take a sip. You spit it out when you realized it was diet. I rolled my eyes as you questioned why I would choose diet, knowing you didn’t like it.  I decided it was best to ignore your text the following week for another lunch date. My diet coke and I would rather have lunch alone. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who I really don’t want as my friend.

After you showed up on our first date, I was delighted to know that the energy you exuded in person matched that of your online dating profile. You were everything I thought and hoped you would be: tender, kind, tall, funny, successful and generous with your ideas of planning “the best first date.” During those three months you showed up consistently, never making excuses, and never faltering with your gentlemen-like gestures of holding open car doors or giving me the jacket off your back. You waited until a yes for sex felt safe and comfortable from me, regardless of what needs you may have had. Our dates were memorable, our chemistry satiable and your kisses ever so sweet and passionate. But as soon as that trip came up and you left overseas for six weeks, it was as if those three beautiful months of what we begun to build were nothing more than a memory which quickly faded. I’m sorry I went back to you a year later thinking things would be different. I am not sorry I met you, though since you’ve taught me what it’s like to be treated like a real woman, only next time with the right man who sticks around and doesn’t expire after the “90 day policy”.

The funny thing is I really, really did like you. I even saw a potential future with you, one that seemed promising especially after I was introduced to your family. But you’ve taught me that love takes time, and building trust is a process. And regardless of what people say and even do, it takes a lot more than a three month time span to get to know “the one”, or even “the potential one”. And although you may think we can remain friends, the truth is I have enough of those already. Ones that continue to show up overtime when I need them the most. So dear boy – in the end I’ve come out on top. Because although I’ve loved and lost, I’ve earned more dignity than I’ve given away. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who didn’t remember our drunken make out.

The boy I met a week after my new job started and thought it would be fun to go out with everyone from work and have one too many cocktails. As we hopped into a cab and you grabbed my face and to have a pretty memorable make out session. Finding out later how wasted you were to not remember it.  You made it utterly awkward to be around whenever we would see each other.  I’m not going to lie by my surprise of you flirting with me months later in hopes we could be normal again. I must be an idiot to have through that the boy I had a minor crush on would ever man up and actually ask me on a date. I never thought asking a girl on a date was hard, but somehow for you it seems it’s damn near impossible. After getting what I thought was a sober text from you early in the evening, I thought it was your plea to have our first date. Only to arrive to you in your grabby drunken stupor and me yet again falling for something I had made up in my head of you being. Thank you for making it so clear that you are still a boy as you tried to unhook my bra through my shirt as I repeatedly swat you away. You continued to not respect my boundaries and being extremely inappropriate. The main thing I have to thank you for is calling me beautiful. Sober, actually calling me the most beautiful girl you’d ever met …. and then again drunk. –Anonymous

Dear Boy who refused to become a man.

We met in college, and maybe that was my mistake.  We became best friends, often hanging out late in to the night, until 3 or 4am, watching Entourage and eating take out.  Slowly, you won my heart, though you were far from deserving.  We didn’t date right away.  I knew better than to hook up with you before we were in a relationship, but I wanted you so badly that I listened to you instead of my heart. And eventually we did date. You finally asked me out after I told you that I couldn’t do this anymore, that I couldn’t continue this pattern.  That should have been my red flag, that you would only commit when I threatened to take away something you liked. But I still listened to you, and not my heart.  Those 2 years were wonderful and terrible at the same time. I compromised myself for you, time and time again, convincing myself that I wanted to “live free” and not conform to the pressures to get married. But I wanted to get married. I didn’t see the point of a relationship that didn’t have marriage as a possibility. And yet, you refused. You were still in the college mindset of doing whatever you wanted, regardless of what was best for the other people in your life. You were the reason I got drunk for the first time, the reason I had sex for the first time, the reason I became less strong in my convictions, the reason I valued myself less and less. This isn’t all your fault, but you didn’t stand up for me when I couldn’t. You, who slept with my best friend behind my back, because you were both drunk. You, who called me crazy anytime I wanted to talk about the possibility of the future. You, who made me doubt myself. You are the reason I hated myself for so long after our break up.  The pain is still there. You didn’t break my heart- you turned it to stone. And slowly, slowly, the self-doubt is creeping away.  I’m working on believing in myself again. I have become stronger because of you, but I don’t thank you for it. –Jennifer

Dear boy who keeps making promises you can’t keep.

Two and a half years of a relationship I didn’t expect. If I could go back into the time we met, I would have kept it as friends only. When we first met I became too comfortable being around you. The more time we spent I kept forcing romantic ideas that I wanted that you never thought about. Once you had me under the loop you stopped doing all the productive things for yourself. You stopped impressing me once you knew we wouldn’t end. Somehow I still want the best for you and I. Every time you made a promise that you would change I always believed maybe you would but it was just something you would say just for me to forgive you over and over again. What’s meant to be is not always meant to be. Someday you’ll realize you’re not a boy but a man that needs to grow up. What’s love isn’t love anymore, and only time will tell, and by that time I’ll be gone. Sorry you couldn’t change and I couldn’t hold on enough to make you change. I learned in life you can’t always try to change a person, it has to be that person who wants to change.  Thanks for some of the good times and thanks for all of the bad times I will remember. –Anonymous

Dear Boy Who Thought Talking About Other Girls Would Turn Me On.

It started as very witty flirting that made me excited to open my phone. I met you on Tinder, which made me wary, but you shared my love for Archer and you looked so cute on Facebook that I decided to meet you for a drink. You chose a crowded place on Jane Street that took me 2 trains to get to. You were shorter than I thought you’d be. Our conversation (or what I could hear of it over all the noise) seemed forced and you seemed strangely aloof. I wondered if I should have worn heels even though it was snowing. I was sure our first time meeting would be our last but to my surprise you texted me the next day asking when you could see me again. I chalked our uncomfortable encounter up to nerves and decided I’d give you another chance. On our second date, drinks again, you were funny and clever. I admired the fact that you were confident enough to leave your job as an investment banker to pursue a promising start-up and when you kissed me goodnight there were definitely sparks. A few more really fun, really alcoholic dates and I was sure this was on its way to becoming something real. But then, you disappeared. Two weeks passed and no word. I decided to take charge and ask you where you’d been. You replied saying that you’d been really busy dating this other girl, but not to worry! It wasn’t serious. I don’t know why you thought this was the appropriate response or why you were surprised when I never texted you back again (though 4 more texts on 4 more occasions did force me to appreciate your persistence).  I don’t know who taught you how to date, buddy, but you should lose their number too. –Gigi

Dear boy who consistently calls me drunk at one in the morning, you’re never coming out the friend zone.

We met at a party at the end of spring semester. You ere cute and a great dancer, but a little too intoxicated for my tastes. We allegedly had biology lecture together (I’m still not convinced) and you asked to study with me for the upcoming exam. When you texted me the next day, I realized I hadn’t bothered to remember what you looked like and told you to come find me on the third floor of the library. I put your name in my phone as “Library Boy”. Three weeks later, we watched a movie at your place when your immature roommates slid condoms under the door and yelled down the hallway all night. A week later, you broke up with me as friends because you didn’t want a girlfriend at the time, but being around me was “just too hard” because your feelings were “just too strong.” I was confused that you thought there was ever anything between us. Like clockwork on Friday and Saturday nights, you text and you call begging me to come make “this lame party so much better”. You’re the one who disowned me, bro. You’re still in my phone as Library Boy, and that’s how it will stay. –Anonymous

Dear Me who seems to never learn from her mistakes. 

I’m probably getting into this situation again. I’m urging him to be what my mind wants instead of who he really is. I’m believing there is more to men then just wanting to get in my pants… there’s not. I am settling and thinking it’s okay to do so because I want to be spontaneous and in the moment. Stupid me, desperate me, hopeless romantic me…. stop. Just stop, move on and smile through. You are more and you will meet someone that is worth all the disaster situations you allow yourself to be in. –Anonymous

Dear Possible Man that I really don’t want to screw this up with.

The way we first met is hilarious to me. Back in high school I called you Daddy, because of some family thing you and your girlfriend made up at the time. I’m not sure why you picked me, you explained it to me, but I’m still in the “why me” stage. You are wonderful and amazing, you truly are. I’ve met your family and they are just your normal kind of family. I really like your family. Okay… we both don’t have normal families, but in the terms of normal for us, they are normal. You are a family person just like me, which I really love.In the past months, you have helped me to truly see that not all guys are douchebags. I have had to keep myself from stopping and staring at you with my mouth open wide. Mostly the mouth open wide part, sometimes I can’t help but stare at you. You are sort of a wonder to me. Half of the time I’m not sure what to make of you, or why you couldn’t have shown up sooner, and other times I just tell my brain to shut up and enjoy. I’m enjoying what is going on between us.

I love that you’ve accepted me for me. I love the little things you do for me. I love that you will wear a shirt to bed for a couple of day for me, just to get your sent on it. Than give it to me so that when I’m at home I can wear your shirt to bed and smell you when I wake up. It makes evil mornings a lot better. I love the things you say to me when we’re in bed together. That you have me, that I’m caught, and that I’m yours.I don’t want to screw this up and I know you don’t want to screw this up either. We might not screw this up and even if it doesn’t work out between us, I want to thank you. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, for being you. You are simply beautiful, wonderful, and kind. This is just the beginning for us and I can’t wait to see how far and where we go. Well I can wait, because I want to enjoy each day to the fullest with you. -Satisfied

The second half of the Dear Boy letters will be published Monday. There’s still time to write one! Email me. 

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Dear Boy

Dear boy who showed up drunk on our very first date.

After you moved our meeting time three times because you were running late. You showed up fifteen minutes past when you said you’d be there, and I watched you stumble in. You looked remarkably like someone I already knew, but I tried not to notice your slight case of alcoholism. I smiled and answered your questions, as awkward and intrusive as they were. I attempted not to judge you when you finished three beers before I finished my first glass of wine and after I declined a second one, I politely waited for you to finish your fourth Bud Light. Though you did insist on paying, you also tried to insist on me coming home with you, though I had to open the cab door for you because you couldn’t open it yourself. I laughed as you asked for my number (when you already had it) and then again when you mentioned how much fun we would have if I would stay the night with you (after I already refused before). When you texted me the next day making a joke about drinking too much, I sweetly let you down, and you responded saying I should be more forgiving and go with the flow.

Dear boy who ignored me when I wouldn’t sleep with you on our third date.

I really did like you. I really did feel such a great, amazing connection with you. It was nice to have an educated, interesting conversation with someone that wasn’t based on the basics of New York: where you’re from, what you do, what part of the city you live in, OMG this weather is awful/awesome. I loved the places you picked for our dates and even more so, how you insisted on walking me home and like a gentleman, kissing me goodnight without pressuring to come upstairs. I liked how you sent me funny memes and remembered things about our conversation that I didn’t even recall, and how you set up another date before the date we were on was over. I thought that maybe you and I would be something, something more than a handful of dates or a drunken encounter – but then you disappeared when I wouldn’t give it up on our last date. A day passed. A week. And I realized that even though you talked about many wonderful things that could possibly be, the thing you wanted more than anything was to get jerked off. Sorry I’m not sorry that I disappointed you.

Dear boy who refused to leave Brooklyn on a Saturday night when the L train was down.

The first time we were supposed to meet up, you got too tipsy with friends you haven’t “seen in a long time” and couldn’t stumble your way to a bar to meet me. It was really considerate of you to cancel less than hour before our date, after I showered, walked the dog and was just about to get on the train. I did actually appreciate your sincere and honest apology, and I thought our first date was intriguing and had easy, casual energy. Your motivation and passion for what you do was inspiring and well, I loved that you were 6’3” and held doors open for me. Your follow-up text message that night and the following day were enticing enough for me to agree to a second date. And though I was hesitant about going to your neighborhood, I agreed anyway. But when the trains stopped working and I asked for a compromise that was equally convenient (or inconvenient) for both of us, and you couldn’t be bothered to move from your street (and let’s be honest, your bed, I’m guessing), I couldn’t be bothered to deal with you.

Dear boy who doesn’t know how tall he is or what he does for a living.

Your text messages were alluring and convincing – I really thought our date would be fascinating. But before I even walked in the door, I knew I had been tricked. I’m sorry, but 6’0” and 5’7” are not the same thing – not even close. Especially when I wear heels to impress you on our first date. And while I still would have gone out with you if you said you were merely interning somewhere, I was annoyed that you claimed you lived and worked here. When in reality, you’re just here for the summer. I would have let all of that slide except that you couldn’t keep eye contact for even a second in the 45-minutes we drug out that one drink. Your eyes met my breasts and my legs, my ass and my knees, but never once did you look at me. I tried to brush it off, but I probably showed my anger when as we went to part ways, you joked: “So next time, let’s just do your place.” Let’s not.

Dear boy who showed up wanting to get laid when I was running 100-degree fever.

I liked the outdoor space where we had a few too many cocktails and then went to your friend’s 30th birthday party. I thought it was odd you wanted to bring me along, but we had so much fun dancing and chatting with everyone you knew that I couldn’t wait to go on another date with you. It was so nice of you to show up not only on time, but early, and to order my favorite glass of wine so it was waiting for me. Though I couldn’t decide how attracted I was to you, I was attracted to your personality and the way you expressed yourself. I told myself not to be so picky, to give you a chance, and so I did, on another date. But then I got sick. And I was going out of town. And though I didn’t want to cancel on you, I could hardly get out of bed and barely breathe through my nose, so I did. You surprised me when you said you’d bring soup and drive me to the airport the next morning. When you showed up sans-chicken noodle and pushed me onto my bed, attempting to rip my clothes off and I stopped you, I was appalled when you said: “What, you don’t want to? It’s our fourth date.” After I sweetly kicked you out and cursed you, I made a mental note to always go with my gut.

Dear boy that I loved for three years too long.

You were the best and the worst of them all. You were a boy before we dated and I dreamed you into a man, nursed you into a gentleman and you turned right back into a boy, fooling me every move, every month, every fuck along the way. Your love and what I hoped for us was felt like a shadow extending over everything that I did – always lurking, always promising something that would never be. It took every ounce of dignity, every last slice of pride, every piece of courage I had to finally walk away from you. To block your number and send your emails to trash. To push you out of my life, my thoughts, my lingering belief in impossible possibilities. I loved you in ways that I didn’t know I could love, and you changed me in powerfully painful ways I didn’t know someone could ever inflict. And though everyone told me that it would happen one uneventful day and I never believed them, my attachment to you released in an instant. The heartstrings let loose, my tears ran dry and though you’ll always be somewhere in my thoughts, you’ll never be anything more than a memory. A bittersweet memory that prepared me for the worst of it in New York. If I can survive you, I can survive anything.

Dear me.

You don’t always think you’re doing it right, and more often than not, you’re embarrassed by your insecurities. You blame yourself for everything that goes wrong with some boy, some relationship, some date, even though it’s not (always) your fault. You constantly obsess about being too much or too little, if you’re pretty enough or far too picky to find that love you look for. You keep going when the going gets tough, and though you have your tantrums, you never lose hope. You never give up. And I’m proud of you for that. For never settling, for standing up for yourself, even when it’s the hardest thing to do. Even when your friends think you’re too harsh and when they give advice you don’t take. I’m inspired by how you lead your life with love, even if the love you want the most is not at reach. I know you don’t want to date yet another boy, but do it anyway. Learn from it. Write about it. Help other women. Let all of those dear boys pass through your life because they’re just making you stronger, getting you one step closer to the you that you’re meant to be.

And if you keep believing, closer to the man – not the boy – that’s meant to be, too.

PS: If you have a “Dear Boy” letter you’d like to share, comment below or email me: confessions.loveaddict@gmail.com. I’ll publish them anonymously or linking back to your blog or social account. 

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Something So Very Special

I found myself angry and upset, not sure why I wanted to cry and yet, hoping I didn’t let a single drop out while riding the uptown train on Saturday night to the home that doesn’t feel like one on the Upper West Side. I wasn’t drunk — or I suppose, I’m not drunk, is a better use of words considering I’m writing this at 1: 25 a.m., with every intent of publishing it on Monday.

On my blog, this blog, this very public, yet insanely personal blog that I happen to share with everyone I do and don’t know. This blog that is supposed to be about learning to love myself with or without a man. That’s supposed to be about being totally fine with being totally single, totally fine on my own, not letting men affect me, letting them come and go with their douchebagery-ways, their terribly disappointing manners, their shortcomings that aren’t supposed to matter to me. No matter how many times some man gives me five minutes or two weeks of hope, only to take it away in a second, or by falling off the face of my iPhone.

I was actually supposed to have a date tonight — a second one, which if you’ve read earlier posts you would know are my favorites. Merely because they are often so rare, with so many first dates that bore or well, traumatize you. So when some random guy that happened to be intriguing enough to agree to see again proved to be uncompromising and pretty much only in it for sex, I made plans with K, then met up with J and her guy, and the night went on. I went on – unaffected, perfectly content, not upset that some man couldn’t meet me in the middle, couldn’t get enough energy to make an effort to impress or even see me.

But I was frustrated. I was upset.

Maybe not by this specific man or this specific situation, but that these types of things happen so often that I find myself incredibly exhausted of talking about them. Much less writing about another failed date to share with the world. If I was honest, as I am here on these pages, I’d admit that I don’t want to date. I don’t want to go out on a Saturday night. I don’t want to spend unnecessary money on unnecessary vodka tonics in the hope that my next one will be free. I don’t want to stay out so late and be so tired the next day I can’t go for a run because I held onto the possibility that I’d stumble across someone worth talking to over loud music in a busy, sweaty bar. I don’t really want to do any of it at all.

But I do it anyway.

Because I refuse to give up, because I refuse to become completely bitter or to stop going after what I want. Because I don’t want to listen to everyone who says the best things come when you’re not looking because when are you ever not looking? Because the best dating advice can’t simply be to have fun and let it come, because that feels utterly impossible, month after month, year after year, date after date, date, date.

That can’t be the answer. If there’s any answer at all.

I started writing this blog to not feel just like I feel right now, writing this blog. Hopeless. Annoyed. Angry. Frustrated. Sad. Unworthy. Disappointed. Impatient. I never wanted a lack of a someone to change who I was or to let anyone be so important that they mattered. But maybe that was a pipe dream, something that can’t be ignored because everyone feels that way sometimes, at least anyone who is single post-college in a city.

As I walked myself west while all my friends went east, I did everything I could to hold in the tears. I looked up at the full moon in disgust, cursing it for not bringing the change to my life I so desperately need. I noticed all the tall, thin, gorgeous girls in heels, laughing into the night, so different from me, the not-carefree, unhappy woman struggling down Houston. And as I walked, not making eye contact or slowing down, I saw a store called Something Special.

And I thought of all the fairytales that have undoubtedly made me rather naive. The love stories my mom would tell me, the romance I’ve craved since I knew you could crave such impossible things. I was always promised something special, something fascinating. Something that was unexpected and life-altering. Something intoxicating and breathless. Something so different from the rest.

Something worth all of this waiting.

But when that day comes, or as the cynic in me phrases it, if that day comes, who do I want to be? Do I want to be this desperate, defeated girl? Do I want to be scared and disappointed in every man and frankly, in myself? Do I want this pitiful self-confidence or this pouty attitude around my friends, my family and on this train, angrily typing this blog?

Or do I want to be someone special?

Someone who admitted her failures and yes, handled her emotions as they came, even when they came stupidly and sometimes far too soon. Someone who stood up for herself without letting herself give up in the process? Someone who lived her life instead of waiting on some man to come to build it with? Someone who wanted to cry on a Saturday night it someone who wanted to dance?

If I want something so very special, don’t I need to start believing in and acting like I’m someone special?

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Walks Through the East Village

There’s that underground jazz lounge where the first champagne cocktail is free for blue-eyed girls with bright smiles. It’s where that older Polish man with a boa gave me and my friend A a feather to wear in our hair. My friend A, who is now married, living just a handful of blocks and subway stops away from me. It’s where I became hypnotized the first time by live music – watching the pianist dance across the keys, the saxophonist breathe and move deeply and creatively calculated. It’s where I sat in a Forever 21 dress at 19 years old, pretending I was old enough to split a bottle of wine with a man I didn’t really know, but was paying. It’s where I went when I wanted to feel classier and older than what I really was, where I wasn’t the girl from North Carolina who interned at Cosmo, but I was just a woman. A woman who somehow lived in New York fucking City.

There’s that hookah bar on St. Mark’s that never carded me. I wasn’t sure if I liked hookah all of the times I went and took smaller breaths than everyone else, but I knew I liked the sugary-sweet sangria, long before I knew what good alcohol tasted like. That’s the place where there are couches in the corner, cushions on the floor, where you can sit Indian-style or extend your legs long, far across to the other side of the table. That’s where I took my friends when they visited, to show them a new-something they didn’t know about, something terribly urban (though later I realized it’s not). That’s the place where just a few days ago, I brought a guy from Williamsburg to that very corner and though I didn’t know him, my red wine haze told me to kiss him. Right there, on the first date, with hookah saturating my hair and my breath. The breath that was making his glasses and the cold window behind us steam up.

There’s that movie theater on the east side that’s a hop, skip, Metro card and jump from Brooklyn. It’s where I saw that movie with a name and plot I forget, with Mr. Possibility, summers ago. It’s where we bickered between Sprite and Diet Coke and then snuggled through the movie, his hand on my thigh, my head on his shoulder, sitting awkwardly so we could touch, even though it’s uncomfortable and definitely unromantic. There’s the cheap Thai place a few doors down where we went once the credits started rolling, where we sat in that booth in the back, with polyester seats and fluorescent lighting. It’s where we talked about the future like it was our promise, where he leaned over to me while I was tactfully slurping a noodle I could barely hold with chopstick, and kissed my forehead. It’s where he said he wanted to always take care of me. It’s where maybe somewhere, deep down in his butchered heart, he thought he could mean it.

There’s that frat-tastic bar on Third Avenue that I absolutely hated going to. But I went the night after my birthday, with a terrible cold, barely able to speak and I waited for him. His sister and brother-in-law kept me company, bought me hot tea, tried to ease my worry. M showed up when he didn’t. Until two hours later. That’s where the man I thought I could love forever made me doubt if forever existed, for the first time. That’s where my then-highly-intoxicated boyfriend decided to go home alone instead of going home to work something out with me. That’s the street where I slammed that cab door shut and he didn’t look back. Around that corner, that’s where M promised me that he was just my first New York love, not my last. There’s where I walked myself home, bitterly sober and instantly lonely, wondering if I’d ever believe her.

There’s that bookstore where I curled up with a latte and my computer, writing about love and hoping for it. There’s where I sat for a few hours on late Saturday afternoon in the most brutal days of winter, reading through a book I didn’t intend to buy (but did). There’s the travel section where I met M for a day of shopping in the West Village for my birthday, and ended up bringing home an 8-pound puppy on a Sunday night. There’s the magazine section where I looked eagerly for the tiny engagement magazine I had a print piece in when I first moved to the city, where Mr. Possibility stood at the end of the aisle, smiling at me. There’s where he whispered in my ear as we looked at my bylined spread: “I would know you apart from anyone, just by the way you move so beautifully.” There’s where I listened to Adele while avoiding the self-help section, a year later, wondering if I needed a book about getting over someone or if I could just write the book myself.

There’s the park on Avenue A that I found so terrifying, hidden behind small rooftops and appearing out of nowhere in between the graffiti buildings along the east side. There’s where I stumbled in too-tall high heels in the cold with a friend, trying to hail a cab at 3 a.m. after a night of flirting and boozing, smearing lipstick and turning heads I didn’t care to see again. There’s where I wanted to sit down so badly, just to give some relief to my tired legs, but I didn’t, even more afraid of what lurked on the Manhattan streets I was still getting used to. There’s the address where, three years later, I fell in love with a new part of town while dog sitting for a friend who just signed a lease. There’s where the park felt so different and so much more welcoming, a place for coffee and running, a place that wasn’t so haunted, after all.

There’s just one small part of my home. Just one neighborhood in all of the eccentric zip codes of this island. Just a cluster of streets before Houston, where East Village turns into the Lower East Side, where Stuyvesant Town becomes Union Square. There’s just a few memories, a few local, dates and weekends at local pubs and restaurants, bookstores and theaters, I’ve Google mapped and others I don’t need to look up to find. There’s my walks through the East Village for the past few weeks, remembering the adventures, the love, the disappointment, the fever, the dreaming I’ve experienced in the short time I’ve been able to live where the 7-year-old me always knew I would.

And there’s the older me, the quarter-life-crisis-ing me, reminding myself that if so much can happen in just under four years, so many more beautiful, surprising things are surely still to come.