Rock Bottom

I deleted Hinge

My romantic and sexual life has hit rock bottom. That has been the side of myself that I have prioritized for so long, and I have finally realized how much it’s fucking me up.

I am never able to do the right thing when it comes to guys. Somehow I am always too sexual. Which I didn’t think was a thing when it comes to guys in their 20s, I thought sex is what they wanted. But I am either too sexual for a boy’s liking, or I am too sentimental, too available, too persistent. I’m usually too talkative, but somehow last night I wasn’t talkative enough.

Guys never just say what they want. If they told me what they wanted from me I would obviously do it. I would do anything a guy asked of me. But the problem is they never ask, they never want anything at all.

So many guys would rather be alone than be with me. Would rather not have sex than have sex with me. Would rather never talk to a girl again than talk to me.

I have never been the one to end a casual thing, either the guy has ended it or it’s been mutual. I have almost always been the one to end a relationship, and (to simplify things) it has always been because my emotions are too big. After a relationship I have always immediately gotten into a casual thing. I’m not a serial monogamist, just boy crazy. I’m a serial slut. But some guys don’t even want me to be a slut anymore.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to be.

I know that means it is time to focus on myself. But so much of myself is tied to boys. I think about boys every night to fall asleep, every time I walk down the street, every time I go to a bar. I see a guy and I think “Surely he must think I’m pretty, surely he must want to fuck me.” Surely I’m not too noticeably broken.

Guys know exactly what to do to break my heart. Every fucking time.

I’ve probably cried over guys more than I’ve cried about my mom dying.

I’ve cried in countless Ubers, bathrooms, all of my beds in different homes, dorms, and apartments.

I’ve checked my phone thousands of times, hoping for a text. I’ve posted so many Instagram stories and thirst traps, hoping for the bare minimum of a story view. Hoping for a sign of life.

I’ve forgiven hundreds of times. I’ve thought consistently about guys after they have completely wrecked me, and gone back to them the second they reached out. I have cursed myself for acting genuinely. I have apologized to a guy for having a crush on him. I have apologized for feeling and for being myself.

I feel like all I do is act honestly and it is always poorly received.

Last night I assumed that a guy wanted to fuck me, because the last time I saw him he fucked me, and I was brutally shut down. I was made to seem like I am vulgar and too sex focused. Like I’m the problem, when all guys have wanted from me for my entire life has been sex. How was I supposed to know that this specific guy didn’t want sex? Especially when he never fucking said that. And I fucking texted him an apology, like the kindhearted, genuine soul I am, because I can’t stand the thought of upsetting someone. Even though all people do is upset me. And when I forgive them, I get ghosted. Every time.

So that’s it. I’m at rock bottom. I’ve had enough rejection in the past month, I don’t need to subject myself to more. I’m supposed to love myself. I’m supposed to know that I’m the prize. Why can’t I do those things? Why do I let men play with me like I’m a glass doll?

This is the last time I will let myself be beaten down. From now on I am building myself back up without letting boys interfere.

It is spring/summer ‘26 and I am going to come up. My life is going to be full with female friends, art, good food, cute clothes, concerts and clubs, and my own self at the front of my mind. Instead of falling asleep to a fantasy of a boy, I will fall asleep thinking about myself and all of the good things I will do in this life.

My heart is so full of love for so many beautiful things, I don’t know why I let guys constantly destroy it. My heart deserves to rest on a beautiful bed of flowers, not in the bottom of a pit.

Everything about me is so beautiful. My love for writing, my taste in music and movies, my long lasting friendships, my sweet tooth, my sense of humor, the way I organize things in my apartment, my love for the color pink, my meaningful tattoos, my celebrity idols, my comfort characters, my love for food, my love for fashion, my love for queer art, my love for dancing, the way I make my bed every morning, my many collections, my love for the beach and the ocean, the way I open the window when it rains, how easily I relate to people and characters, how easily I find myself in pieces of art, all of my emotions and grief, and all of my memories of my mom. I am so fucking beautiful.

Everyone in my life is so lucky to have me because of how much I care for them. And if boys are unhappy with the fact that I care for them so much, they don’t deserve my attention anymore.

It is raining in New York and I love the rain. The tree outside of my window is as green as it has ever been. It is spring and that is my favorite season. It is almost summer and that is my second favorite season. My hair is blonde, which it has never been before. I am 23 and the most myself I have ever been. The world is my playground. My heart is full of love and I am ready to finally give that love to myself.