Since I lost my virginity at the totally appropriate age of fifteen, I have been slightly obsessed with boys — as in my entire life revolves around the attention they give me. It is, without a doubt, my biggest downfall in terms of school. As of this moment, I have always maintained above a 3.0 GPA every semester. But keeping that shit up has proven to be hard as fuck, as my classes now start with 3s and 4s and not bullshit 101. I opened my gradebook a few months ago and stared in HORROR as what used to be all As teetered between B- and a C+. Something had to change. Sure, I could give up drinking and partying in general, but I still wanted a life worth living. So I convinced myself that I could still go out on weekends so long as I went home at a reasonable hour and by myself.
It all made perfect sense. I wouldn’t drink enough to be hungover, and I wouldn’t spend an excessive amount of time trying to escape out of some frat house without getting a standing ovation. Besides, how hard could it be? Well, it turned out to be really hard. First of all, my vibrator has put in more work than my liver during welcome week, I’m pretty sure that I have given myself carpel tunnel when I want to achieve the big O ~al natural,~ and I think I’m more boy crazy now than ever before. “A swing and a miss,” has now become the best descriptor of my entire life.
What started off as an inspiring personal challenge has turned into a self-inflicted damnation. It has gone past the point of feeling empowered and in control of my sexuality, I no longer feel prideful for giving up my happiness in the name of GPA. Instead, I just fucking hate my life. Think high school chess nerd who still has braces and has never seen a real life boob, and then maybe you’ll understand where I am at with the frustration.
Call me weak, hell, maybe you’re right. But this is starting to affect all aspects of my already mediocre life. In the time I usually spend sucking face or making flirtatious empty promises to boys, I have instead spent shoveling food into my mouth. Between the extra free time, the frustration, and the general depression, I have packed on an alarming amount of weight. Not to mention that sex has been my leading (read: only) form of cardio for the past few years. I have been excessively eating to try to fill the emptiness that can only be satisfied via penis with no way to work it off. Sure, I could go for a run. But haven’t I been through enough?
My friends have also grown tired of my antics. They roll their eyes when I complain about the lack of sex. I understand that I am annoying them, but I just can’t help it. I need to bitch and complain so that I know this was worth it. If it doesn’t ruin my life enough to make me want to make everyone else around me as miserable as I am, then it clearly wasn’t a challenge.
I had also enlisted the help of a very close friend to keep an eye on me. When I go out, he comes with me and poses as my boyfriend. Standing at 6’6” (I know, right? I didn’t even know boys came that tall) with an impressive amount of muscle, I am certain to have zero physical contact with the general male population. It is a blessing, especially because he gives up his potential to get laid just to keep boys off of me. But it is also a curse. Of course he is just being an amazing friend and doing as I ask, but I also want to punch him in the face every time he scares off a potential suitor.
Can I make it another two weeks? I mean, I could. By why the fuck would I want to? In two weeks that makes three months of this hell. That’s a full quarter of a year. I’m practically as pure as I they come by this point. Something that I am not only uncomfortable with, but also something I am strongly against. This is not who I am. And while I am all for doing everything and anything to get a better grade, this was not in the least bit helpful. Maybe if I ended out the semester with a solid 4.0 my mindset would be different. But instead I am just as irresponsible and distracted as ever, except now I am also significantly bitchier.
Learn from my mistakes. Keep yourself happy. Now I am, once again, pushing my textbooks aside. But not to scream into my pillow in frustration. No, not this time. This time it is to text that cute boy I met Friday night when I was able to sneak away from my fake boyfriend and go upstairs to see a fish tank. Technically I failed, but I like to look at it like a strategic retreat. I’ll save being sexless for when I’m married. But for right now, I just need to remember which one of these unsaved numbers is his..