It’s happened to many of us. You meet a boy; he’s cute enough, fun enough and you decide you just might like him.
You go on some dates, get a little physical and text each other almost every day. This goes on for about a month or so and then, on some random day, you text him and don’t receive the usual quick response.
You think that maybe he’s just super busy at work. More hours pass and you think maybe he left his phone at home.
A whole day passes, and you figure that his phone must just be broken; he’ll get back to you. He always gets back to you. I mean, you’re practically dating, right?
You text him again, just in case he missed it the first time. Still, you get nothing. Texting him three times with no response would be kind of aggressive, you reason, but you do it anyway, out of sheer desperation.
Suddenly, the harsh, sinking feeling of reality hits you: He’s not going to get back to you. His phone didn’t break and he isn’t busy.
You know he saw your text messages because, let's be real, this is 2014 and everyone sees every text, every time.
He’s just done with you and has decided that instead of telling you this, he’ll just take the all-too-common, cowardly way out and simply never contact you again.
To all of you boys out there who do this — and I know from personal and observed experience that there are far too many of you — it’s time for someone to speak up and speak out.
For the sake of this letter, I’ll give you all one name: Richard. Alright, Richard, do you ever go by Dick? This one’s for you.
Let me start by saying that, no, I’m not obsessed with you. I’m not a crazy girl, who thought we would be in love forever and cried after realizing it wasn’t true. In fact, when we first met, I wasn’t even that into you.
Sure, you’re cute enough, and yes, you’re very funny, but the fact that you seemed instantly interested in me kind of turned me off. I figured, hey, he’s a nice guy. I might as well give it a shot.
Give it a shot, we did. I know we never discussed whether or not we were exclusive, and for a while, I didn’t really care. It was fun to hang out with you and it was fun to fool around.
We had a good time together, didn’t we? I mean, I know you did because you told me so.
I’m not an insecure person, Richard. In fact, I’m one of the most confident people I know. I don’t date losers because I don’t think I have to and I don’t chase after boys who don’t want me because I’m confident that there are plenty of others out there who will.
So, how did you — some tiny blip in the radar that is my life, some insignificant, one-month-long conquest — get me to sit around, obsessing over what went wrong?
You, you son-of-a… Dick, you made me feel like a crazy person. It’s not because you were spectacular and it’s not because I was deeply — or even mildly — in love with you.
It’s because you took something that was consistent and comfortable and you put an abrupt end to it; you put an end to it without warning me you were going to put an end to it. The natural human response to that sort of action is to wonder: Why?
Imagine you go to the same job every single day for a month, and every single day, you sit at the same desk, in the same office, surrounded by the same people. Then, one day, you show up to work, and everyone and everything (including your desk) is just gone.
You’d be kind of confused, wouldn’t you? You may even feel a little angry. This doesn’t mean you were obsessed with that job or that office or even that desk, would it? No, it would just mean that you were genuinely perplexed and felt you deserved some kind of explanation. Do you get where I’m going with this?
I don’t know what happened between us, Richard. One day everything was fine and dandy and you were texting me about how boring you found your job to be, and the next day, I’m cringing every time my phone vibrates and it isn’t you.
I’ve never replayed anything over in my head so many times. Did I do something to piss you off? Did someone in your family die? Did you die? I’m not kidding, I really want to know because I really don’t understand.
All I ever wanted was a simple explanation -- any explanation, even if it was a lie you made up to make me feel better.
It takes fifteen seconds to compose a text message and for some people, probably less. Fifteen seconds — that’s all it would have taken you to give me just a little heads up that, hey, I’m not going to be in your life anymore, so be prepared.
Sure, I would prefer something a little less blunt and a little more sensitive, but at least that way, I would have stopped thinking about you a long time ago.
Is that what this is all about? Do you like knowing that women are wondering where you went and why? Is it some kind of ego boost for you? You twisted little man-child, you.
Fine, Richard, go ahead and think I’m crazy for texting you too many times over those few days when I still had hope you’d reappear.
Go ahead and tell everyone how obsessive I am for drunkenly texting you a couple weeks back when I asked why you evaporated into thin air. Tell all your friends you just have the worst luck and attract only the crazy girls.
You know what they say: Date one crazy girl, she’s probably crazy. Date two crazy girls, she’s still probably crazy. Date only crazy girls, and you’re probably the one who needs a head check, you infuriating man-child.
Photo via Wild Fox Tumblr