2020 is coming, now is the time to reminisce about 2019, the great things we did and the, ahem, less great things.

2019 was the year I met The Fuckboy (I won't introduce him, we all know a version of him and honestly they're pretty much all the same).

The Beginning: Pickmeisha and her Prince not-so-charming

The Fuckboy hid his colours well: we had such similar interests! He kept wondering why I was still single! He had accomplishments I admired! He complimented me! Being a pickme with no self esteem, I jumped into his arms. Went Dutch, had sex on the first date when I've never liked sex, was very vulnerable very fast. I told him I had special circumstances at the moment that made me need more affection than most. "Don't worry," The Fuckboy said. "I can give you what you need."

He could not.

He had to leave our city for a few months for work reasons right after we met. But we kept in touch through daily phone calls, messages, promises to meet up soon. He was not ready to commit: he was in a new place, he needed his freedom. I was heartbroken, but I admitted he was probably right. I'd always been too emotional. His love language was touch, he told me, and with me so far away, I couldn't fulfill his needs. This was fair, I thought (even as the thought of more sex made me feel nauseous). After all, love was a two-way street! He kept in touch with me and distracted me from my problems: I had to trust him instead of being so selfish!

Ugh.

As soon as I could, I went to meet him (with my own hard-earned money, of course. I don't half-ass anything, not even my own stupidity). Homeboy didn't miss his chance: he proudly told me he hadn't even masturbated because "why drink vinegar when there's wine coming?". Was I supposed to feel flattered? Guess so. The Fuckboy Mind is a truly mystifying place. So we had sex, a lot of sex, mostly PIV with no foreplay or me giving him oral sex (that he of course never returned). He couldn't come with a condom, he complained, so we did it without a condom. (Feel free to judge me.) I was so desperate to please, so crippingly anxious, that I went with it.

When I left, he had grown cold. "It's too easy with you," he told me (straight from The Fuckboy's mouth, ladies: they don't like it when there's no chase!). Our intellectual discussions that I so enjoyed had turned into him making sexual comments. I felt like a sexual object.

I went home heartbroken. What had been a wonderful distraction from my issues had turned into an issue of its own.

The Middle: Pickmeisha digs deeper

He came back to our city for a weekend. I had the privilege of getting invited to a party with him, but I was exhausted and instead of dancing all night, told him I'd rather go home early. Did he come with me? Yes. Did he make me pay for the Uber? Also yes. (What a fucking asshole. I'm getting angry just thinking about it).

We went to his place and, too anxious at the thought of more dehumanizing sex, I confessed: I didn't like it. Hadn't liked it from the start. Maybe I could like sex, but only after a long time of knowing someone, with love and intimacy. I couldn't keep up with his libido. "I understand," he told me... before promptly dumping me through a text message the day after.

In a way, I was relieved. One toxic nightmare was over. Now I just had to focus on everything else.

But I wanted to "stay friends" and retrospectively, I realize that he... didn't have that many friends. The support network I took for granted? He didn't have it. So when he had issues with work, I was the one he called. When his life started going to shit, I was the one he called. For months I played his therapist, giving him my attention and downplaying my accomplishments so he wouldn't feel bad.

(Why did I do all that for a guy who treated me like shit? It puzzles the mind. Go to therapy, girls, don't expect men to fix your issues.)

The man I admired had turned into a plaintive mess who couldn't handle basic tasks. So, so pathetic.

It took far too long for me to snap out of it.

The end: levelling up

One day I realized I had better things to do. I was about to graduate. I had great friends, was active in my hobbies, had made connections The Fuckboy would envy, I just... had better things to do. So when he came back in our city for good, I made excuses not to see him. I couldn't block him outright, we moved in the same circles, but I didn't want to see him either.

By then I barely thought of him. I was too busy.

I saw him only once, when he unexpectedly came to a talk I was giving. He tried to suck up to me; I smiled and told him I was sadly too busy to meet these days. He tried to suck up to my close friends; they gave him the cold shoulder. In the end I saw him flirting with the 19-year-old girl in a corner. How pathetic.

I found a great job abroad, got ready to leave. He only contacted me once: to wonder why we didn't speak as much as we used to (the sheer gall!). With a lot of infuriatingly polite emojis, I told him we were both busier than we used to be. Oh, but The Fuckboy was not busy! He was back at his mom's, without a job. That's so sad, I answered. I'm sure you'll be back on your feet soon :)

I think he blocked me after that. Yes, ladies, you read that right: he blocked me. He had made a fool out of me, had used me for sex and emotional support, then discarded me without a thought... yet as soon as I implied I wouldn't play his therapist anymore, blocked. It truly is a mystery why this man isn't drowning in friends.

I don't know what has become of The Fuckboy. Don't care. This is just a sad, hilarious story of what we do when we have no self esteem and a desperate need for validation. I'm not perfect now but at least I stand my ground, I only do things I enjoy, I make sure my relationships keep being beneficial to me.