So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about “us” today, and, well…we need to talk.
This morning began as most of them do. I woke up a little too late, regretted drinking a little too much, and stalked social media for a little too long. Relatable, huh? Yeah. We actually have a lot in common. How do I know that? It’s really embarrassing to admit, but the thing is, when I do my routine social media scrolling, I made sure to check your profiles to see what’s new with you. This is actually quite funny, considering we aren’t even friends.
So how do we know each other if we aren’t best friends on Snapchat? As much as I’d like to pretend that it’s something special or noble, I can’t. It’s pathetic and artificial and most likely due to one of about three different, totally basic reasons:
- This is about a boy.
Maybe he dated you before me, or you might be his rebound. You could have snatched him from right under my nose, or, hell, maybe I’m the skanky home-wrecker who stole him from you.
Worst part? We’ve hooked up with the same person and it sucks. Literally.
- You’re “perfect.”
You’re one of those girls who has it all together, and I’m jealous. Maybe you’ve never stolen my man, but you could if you wanted to. You most likely have perfect hair, big boobs, and are generally every girl’s biggest nightmare.
Worst part? Everyone loves you. Well, except me.
- You’re annoying.
That’s it. You’re just, like, super annoying.
Worst part? You exist.
So, for whatever reason that brought us together, the truth is this: I hate you.
There. I said it. I completely hate you.
Ugh. I know, right? Sooooo dramatic. But it’s true. I hate you. The most ironic part is that the hate has gone beyond the “ignoring you exist” phase. I have moved way past being a bigger person, and as a result, I have developed a complete curiosity of you. Some would call it a batshit crazy obsession, and honestly, let’s just cut the shit, because that’s exactly what it is.
I’m obsessed with you. I’ll wait a second while that goes through your already giant ego.
This whole thing is — and I’m sure you agree — completely ridiculous. We don’t even talk, and when we do, if we do, I have a smile on my face and I laugh at your attempted jokes. You most likely have no idea how intrigued I am with you. SURPRISE! It’s not even so much “you” that I’m obsessed with, but it’s how I measure up to you. Whose hair is prettier? Whose jokes got more laughs? Who has more followers? Every success of yours feels like a stab at me, and every success of mine feels like a barrage at you. Honestly, I hope you saw each and every success of mine, just like I saw all of yours.
The thing is, I think I’m done with it.
I swear, it’s not you. You’re just as annoying as ever. Promise. Your Instagram posts still make my blood boil, and if someone gave me the option of shipping one person of my choosing off to a secluded, cannibal-infested island for all of eternity, you’d still be at the tippy-top of my list. Don’t worry.
I’m just starting to realize that this obsession is getting, well, exhausting. I’m so sick of feeling a wave of hate wash over me any time someone mentions you in a sentence. I’m tired of the way I stalk your social media like a junkie needing a fix. I’m annoyed with myself for still being obsessed with you. I hate that I long for your failure. I’m ashamed that I compare myself to you in every single way: hair, body, jobs, internships, boyfriends, grades, friends, vacations, number of stickers that we had on our fucking middle school agenda books. Like, okay. We get it. You exist. Whatever.
Despite my best efforts, you’re not going anywhere. Until I wrap my head around the fact that you and I are both on this earth (and social media) to stay, I’m going to keep feeling miserable. And when I feel miserable, I don’t act like the confident, badass bitch that I actually am. Sure, you might be prettier. Or skinnier. Or whatever-er. But that doesn’t take anything away from me. I’m fantastic, too. And, as much as I’d like to think that only one of us can be on top, I think there’s room for two successful women in the world. At the end of the day, my obsession with you has made me work harder on myself, so I thank you for that. But it’s time I start doing badass things for me, not for you. So, as hard as this is going to be for me (and trust me, it’s hard) I think I have to let you go.
Not to quote Fergie,
But I’ve got to get a move on with my life, it’s time to be a big girl now. And big girls don’t stalk girls they fucking hate on social media like a loser.
Or something like that.
So, this is the big goodbye. The final farewell. The “get the fuck out of my life and gain twenty pounds, please.” Thank you for pushing me to be the very best version of myself. My hatred for you has allowed me to do some really awesome things, post some really cool pictures, and seem really popular on social media. But I think we both know that it’s over. I hope I forget you sometime really soon, and if you do decide to move away, I’ll be the first to make a rumor that you’re dead or pregnant. You’ll always be a fugly slut in my book. <3
You can go shave your back now.
The Girl Who Just Blocked You.
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