Nice Guys

Here’s the thing about me: I love being miserable.

The guys I date (or don’t date, sleep with, fall in love with, etc.) don’t get this. They break up with me by saying:

“Think of it this way -  if we kept seeing each other, you’d just get your feelings hurt.” I wish someone would tell them to just man up and hurt my goddamn feelings, because I like it better that way. I’m probably setting women back at least 25 years by saying this, but nice guys really do finish last. Well, when it comes to me at least.

I don’t know what it stems from. It’s not like I have a particularly bad relationship with my father, or like I especially enjoy “fixing” things. Maybe it’s my fear of boredom. I mean, who cares if I’m being psychologically tortured, at least I’m not bored. It could be that it elicits creativity. I never write more than when I’m dating a guy who doesn’t care about me. Or - and this is my most promising theory - it’s that I hate myself.

It’s not like I haven’t dated nice guys, it’s just that it never lasts all that long. I always break up with them, precisely because they’re too nice. I always give them a different reason, fabricating something like “It’s just moving too fast for me,” or “I’m not ready for anything serious right now.” Here’s the irony: the last guy who broke up with me used both those lines. 

The truth is, if it’s the right (wrong) guy, I’m the sweetest girl on earth. I’m serious; I cook, I listen, I comfort, I’m acquiescent, I have sex with him whenever he wants, I help with school work, I never complain - even when I really should. I should win the “Puts Up With the Most Bullshit” award.

I was reading this Chuck Klosterman piece, “This is Emo,” where he asserts that all girls want a Lloyd Dobler, or some other version of the perfect rom-com guy. You know the one that saves the girl from her miserable boring existence or her terrible boyfriend? I’ve never been into rom-coms, but if I were, I assume I’d be more interested in the terrible boyfriend, the one who’s always too busy for the girl or is cheating on her. To me, that’s hot.

It’s not like I’ve been “cheated on,” maybe “cheated on-lite,” but I’ve always been certain that if a guy I really loved cheated on me, I wouldn’t leave him. People say this is due to a lack of self-respect, but more than that, I think it’s due to a lack of self-love. It’s like this: I don’t think I deserve the kind of love people write movies or songs about. I’m more “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” than “There’s a Light That Never Goes Out.”

Eventually, I’ll regret putting this on paper. I’ll settle down with a guy (maybe) and he’ll say something about how he’s either unkind and I love him or he’s kind and I hate him. There’s no winning for this hypothetical guy. I’ll have to tell him that I’ve changed when in reality, I probably haven’t.

I think it’s an addiction to misery that makes me seek out these relationships (or on occasion, pseudo-relationships, re: situationships). Some of the reasons I might be obsessed with being in negative situations are listed above, but I think there’s another option. I need to have something to talk about. I cannot sit at lunch with my friends and tell them about how my classes are going or how my writing is, etc. I love to complain, and if there’s a boy for me to complain about, I’m happy.