I have a problem

I’ll be honest.

I rely on men to save me.

But I’m a feminist—or so I thought. A friend recently called me out.

“I’m surprised you feel the need to do this. I mean, you’re all about strong women,” she had blurted, throwing her hands up in frustration. My best friend was angry for the same reason she always is at me: I let a man get in the way of my life.

First, it was Ryan. Let me tell you about this guy: he was handsome, funny, and smart. It was like a Sarah Dessen novel.

We were at the beach on a hot, summer evening. I refused to go farther than knee-deep into the water, but Ryan wasn’t taking no for an answer. He kept splashing the warm water around my waist in an attempt to drag me deeper into the ocean.

“Oh my God!” I shouted, but it was too late. I was already lying on the bottom of the ocean, my back on the sand and my entire body underwater. I floated back to the top and quickly tackled Ryan down as payback. He easily fended me off by grabbing my arms.

I attempted to pull back immediately, but he held my wrist.

“Wait, what’s this?” he asked, his giggle fading.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I muttered, trying to free my hand again, but he clenched even tighter.

“Are these…scars? What did you do?” he asked before dropping my arm.

“I—um, well, I’ve dealt with some shit,” I mumbled.

“Like what?” he pushed, coming closer.

“I—I…things happened, you know? Things that I couldn’t really…stop from—uh—”

“I got it,” he nodded. I looked up at him in surprise.

“Wait, what?”

“You don’t have to say it out loud. I understand. You want to talk about it?” he questioned.

I smiled before pulling my hair out of its bun. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Eventually, we made it back to my parents’ house and Ryan and I talked for a while. I told him everything. And I mean everything. Within a couple hours, this boy knew my entire life story. But at the end of the day, he went home and all was forgotten. Until a few days later and I had a panic attack. Ryan said that I could text him whenever, so I immediately thought of him. I texted him an entire paragraph of my deepest thoughts and the boy responded with a one-word answer.

Then was Dan. This time, I was sure I had found my first boyfriend.

I constantly texted him. And I even sent him letters and called him during my stint in rehab. I told this boy everything about my eating disorder and he stuck with me through all of it. He believed in me. And that was enough to get me through it. Or so I thought. A little bit after I got back home, I asked Dan whether he had feelings for me and he responded with “nah”. Yep. “Nah”.

So I moved on.

To his brother.

Yeah, I pulled that shit.

Before long, I fell in love with Mark.

This was it, I knew. The man I was destined to be with for all eternity. I mean, who else would be able to unknowingly talk me out of suicide but my soul mate?

The boy who kissed my scars.

Who caressed my thick thighs.

Who kissed my chapped lips.

I fell in love with the man who fell in love with me.

Yes, I loved the way he loved me. But I love him even more. I love everything about him. The way his deep brown eyes look at me as he grazes his fingers over my exposed tummy. The way his smile always looks like a naughty smirk. The way the blemishes on his face line up like the stars in the galaxy. The way his hair flows softly and infinitely in my fingertips. The way his hard stomach feels under my cold palms. The way…the way that…he is. Just the way he is.

And then there was Eric. A boy I didn’t even like, but convinced myself that I did. See, that’s how desperate I was to know my struggles were validated. I needed not one, but two men to assure me that I was strong and smart and good enough.

Why would the most amazing man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting not be enough for me, you ask? Well, maybe, just maybe, I’m so used to hurting myself physically that I had think of new ways to do it. Why not cause some psychological pain, huh? Why not throw that into the mix?

So here’s the thing: people like us? We don’t get happy endings. Not as long as we depend on boys to ‘save’ us. Because you think you got your happy ending so you let your guard down. You chill out a bit, start worrying less and then, out of nowhere, you fuck it up again. That’s what we do, you know? What’s the solution?

Fix yourself. Don’t wait for a man to do it. Fix yourself, babe. Because you can do it faster and better and bigger than any boy could ever. You want to know why? Because you are the one person who will always stick around. You are the one person who will love you unconditionally. You are the one person who will never leave you.