F*ckboys And The Resilience Of The Human Heart

Every few months or so, a new millennial phrase or word rises to the top of the jargon charts and becomes the trending meme: totes, I can't even, slay, savage, AF, but first coffee, damn, Daniel. The list goes on. With so many new and exciting additions to our vernacular popping up, it can be hard to keep up and really, truly understand what it all means. This was the case for me with the term "fuckboy." I'm a smart girl — I see that term and can immediately make my own assumptions about what the creator of it was going for. But I'm also a typical millennial who'll never pass up the opportunity to conduct a solid Urban Dictionary search, and BOY did these results deliver. Here are a few of my favorite definitions:A person who is a weak ass pussy that ain't bout shit.

A manipulating dick who does whatever it takes to benefit him, regardless of who he screws over. They will screw over anyone and everyone as long they get what they want.

A Fuckboy is the type of guy who does shit that generally pisses the population of the earth off all the time. He will also lead girls on just for hookups, says hes really into you but doesn't want to deal with all the "relationship bullshit" just to fuck you.

...he will lead a girl on and let her down, then apologize only to ask for "pics" once the girl has welcomed him back into her trust. Boys like this will pretend to genuinely care about the girl but always fail to prove the supposed affection. He almost never makes plans because he has to hangout on his terms.

I can now say with total confidence that I experienced my very first fuckboy over these last few months. I mean, sure — I've more than likely run into them before throughout my dating career, but I always had the right mind to cut it off at the start. But with this one, I prolonged it for whatever reason. After a certain point of fuckery, I knew he was what he was, but it wasn't until my friend stated "He's a typical fuckboy" that the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. He was! Is! THAT'S the term I had been looking for. Suddenly, it all made so much more sense. The term became so solid. So all-encompassing. So perfectly hard-hitting in all the right spots. He's a fucking fuckboy.

And the thing is, about this caliber of fuckboy, is that it's never glaringly apparent from day one. Because from day one, they're charming as hell. They say all the right things, make all the right moves, and they're clearly genius at hypnotizing you sexually because that's their forte. They're well-versed in that arena, so you stick around longer than you ever should've because your body has tricked your mind into believing his bullshit. They're master manipulators, apologizing for their frequent fuck ups in such a genuine way you wonder if they were Juilliard trained. Their performance is so convincing, you give them not one, not two, not three, BUT FOUR. FOUR CHANCES. Who are you? Why are you doing this? What has gotten into you? A fuckboy has. A fuckboy has gotten into you.

Now, if you've ever been through the ringer with a fuckboy, you know I'm not exaggerating when I say it's the worst kind of lead-on because deep down (like way way way way way deep down), you know how you look to friends and family, and the keener side of you knows what's going on, it just doesn't want to recognize it yet. You get stubborn because you want to be that girl who unfucked the fuckboy. The one queen who could wake him up and make him see the error of his sketchy ways. You basically wanted to go LEMONADE on his ass, clad in a two-piece, grey gym outfit and big ass fur coat.

Alas, even the baddest of bitches fall victim to fuckboys. And when it's a bad one — like a truly fucked up fuckboy — it hurts. As much as I hate to write that and admit it, it does. It's a lethal mix of anger, outrage, embarrassment, humiliation, incredulity, sadness, and hopelessness. Let's face it — dating is terrible enough already, so throw a fuckboy into the mix and watch as any inkling of optimism you had left washes down the drain faster than your earring back you didn't mean to drop into the sink. You sit and ponder what a "nice" guy even looks or sounds like anymore. Who can you actually trust? Perhaps "nice" guys are just mythical creatures the Brothers Grimm made up to get you through childhood before ugly reality hit.

But after just a few days of feeling sorry for yourself and being low as can be, suddenly you're back at it. You create a new dating profile, this time writing a bio so straightforward it will hopefully act as repellent toward any fuckboys, prompting them to swiftly swipe left. Of course, you're upset you even have to be back on these apps for the 100th time, but all that matters is you're here. You're doing it. You are back in the game because you refuse to give up, and that's the beauty of a human's heart — its resilience. You can be so down and out, so discouraged, feeling like meeting anyone but a fuckboy is impossible, but you STILL try. Much to your shock and surprise, you still have it in you to put yourself out there and go again. And again. And again. And again until, GOD WILLING, one day it sticks. Because you refuse to believe you don't deserve what so many other people seem to have, and you're willing to deal with a couple of fuckboys to get there. 

Having gone through the ringer with dating has beat me up as much as it's built me up. There've been moments in which I really have wanted to give up for good — throw in every towel I have (even my good ones) and submit to a life of singlehood, depending solely on Cece and for the love and affection I so desire (and sometimes my friends if they're willing to let me love on them a little bit in a non-creepy way). I've thought about just sitting in my bedroom, quietly protesting until my future husband just shows up and whisks me away to the alter, skipping all the awkward courtship and "what are we?" talks by fast forwarding to the end. Alas, here I am. Single and ready to mingle for the 1000th time. Because, regardless of how many disappointments I've faced over the years, my stubborn heart somehow ignores all that and is willing to taking shots. And I guess I can't blame it.

Stay strong and slay, bitches.