Thursday, 19 November 2015

How It Feels to Always Fall for the Bad Guy

You know the type. If you don’t, you either are one, or you’re hopelessly in love with one and are just on a downward spiral of denial.

I’m not one to put people in boxes, but the guys I’m referring to practically stick themselves in their own box, complete with a bow that they’ll tell you they got from Clinton’s, but was actually the first thing they picked up in poundland.

This is not a guy hating rampage; there are good guys out there, I just avoid them because it’s not what I’m attracted to. I’m a sucker for the guy that I know is going to break my heart, but I do it anyway because of the sick rush I get from chasing something that’s ultimately unattainable. Some people go on roller coasters or rob banks to get their kicks, I chase the bad guys. And not in the superman save-the-world-and-get-the-girl kind of way.

These guys have no one ‘look’ or ‘type.’ It is a common misconception that these guys come in the shape of ‘lads,’ who typically wear super-skinny-I-can-see-your-crotch jeans and bang on about cheeky Nandos and you know, banging. Alas, jeans and your choice of restaurant chain does not entirely determine your personality (although if you favour Nandos over Wagamamas, get out.) Even the guy who is an environmentalist vegan and reads you poetry could be a serial heartbreaker.

In an effort to remain gender neutral, I should also mention that the same goes for girls; the bad egg could be anyone. If you want to know what a “good girl” looks like, ask Drake, he seems to know a lot.

Anyway, I’m a girl who has only ever been with guys; of the bad kind. And if you’ve ever wanted to know if it’s all it’s cracked up to be, or want to relive the painful experience(s) again, this is how it feels.

At first, it’s exhilarating. The guy that is at the top of everyone’s secret wish list is interested in you. You. The girl that talks to her cat in her spare time and takes “Netflix and chill” literally. In the *old days,* he would have asked for your number at the school disco, but in the age where romance appears to be dead (R.I.P the 00’s,) he will register his interest in you by strategically liking your Instagram photos. What you subconsciously know but deny is that he probably likes other girl’s instagram photos because you know, a guy’s got to keep his options open.
"It's like winning the lottery and then realising that everything you thought you wanted doesn't actually buy you happiness."

If he’s an idiot, chances are he has a well-known reputation. If he’s clever enough to cover it up, it will be a delightful surprise later down the line. By this point, your best friend, your mother, even the postman will be telling you to stay away- and this will probably be the best advice you’ve ever been given, but never took. You convince yourself that this time will be different; that he’s not as bad as everyone says; and however cliché it sounds, you try but fail to “change him.”

You keep going along with it because it’s exciting, and you tell yourself that no other guy will like you again if you let him go. It’s like winning the lottery and then realising that everything you thought you wanted doesn’t actually buy you happiness. When it’s good, it’s really good. When it’s bad, it’s really bad. You become insecure and try your hardest not to piss him off, but arguments are inevitable. You feel you can relate to pretty much every Taylor Swift song by now, and before long you go all Blank Space psycho-bitch crazy over the girl in his snapchat story (who he tells you is his second cousin twice removed.)

You’ll hang on for dear life, for as long as possible. If you’re lucky, things will run their course and fizzle out. If you’re not so lucky (which, let’s face it, if you’ve made it this far, misfortune catches up to you like the plague), things will end with a bang when you prayed for a whimper. He’ll cheat, you’ll end it out of psychological torment, or pray to God, you’ll find someone better.

It’ll hurt like hell. You’ll want to get fat, watch Netflix and hide out in your bed until the end of days. You’ll think of calling him (or sending him a strategic totally accidental snapchat,) but think better of it; until you finish a bottle of wine, that is.

Everyone is thinking I told you so, but no one will say that to your face out of fear you might overdose on malteasers and pringles.

But one day you’ll find clarity. One day, you’ll wake up and realise how beautiful the day that awaits you is. You’ll appreciate your family and friends and realise that you have been loved all this time. You’ll realise how much time you wasted on someone who didn’t love you. Not the way you wanted. You’ll realise how great it is to be single because you can get fat and not shave and no one will care.

Everything will turn out okay, and you’ll come to realise that you’re happier on your own than you ever were with them…until the next one comes along. 

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