Thursday, 20 July 2017


Hey awesome people! 

I’m gonna put my body first 

And love me so hard till it hurts.

From Hailee Stenfield’s song ‘I love me’.

Dear Jesus,

I just had sex for the first time.

I am a nineteen year old girl. I’m in campus, second year pursuing medical laboratory science. I would describe myself as pretty, with deep brown eyes, flawless skin and high cheekbones. Atop my head is a thick flowing mane of natural hair. I love to model, as my slim well contoured body really brings out designer gowns and heels… which is exactly what he told me, flipping my positive qualities around; turning them against me.

I cried, Jesus.

I wept for four straight hours, for the record, since I know you saw everything. How he came into my room with cheap imitation Chardonnay to impress me. You watched in astonishment as the hug turned into a gross making out session and…aargh, I will not go into the gory details of what went down, pun not intended. Or, as everyone in our patriarchal society would put it, what I allowed to happen to me.

I was devastated when he didn’t even offer to stay the night, leaving me there to my demons, mocking, laughing at my skinny cold body and disheveled hair. He casually walked out the door and out my life.

It hit me, like a hot slap in the face that he was in it for the ‘thing’ as Lauryn Hill would put it. I had deceived myself into the stupid idea that we were in a carousel of love, together. That the texts and calls would continue; that he would bother to keep improving the quality of my life with little surprises like Swiss rolls on my cabinet and flowers accompanied by stuffed kittens. Why did he have to be so corny? Writing, ‘That kitty’s eyes have as many stars as your own eyes’ typa notes to accompany the kittens? I gotta hand it to him though.

Turns out I was in a quicksand of love, alone, and now that we made love, I am in way too deep. I can barely breathe, Jesus, and I need You to get me out of it. With every kind gesture, every second of quality time, I sank in deeper. You watched me whip up excellent meals for him, write poetry and invite him for my modeling gigs. So, now I am sitting here, wringing my wrists like the poor naïve broken child I am, looking at the writing on the wall. This world has too much sham; it is too dark for the strange perfection that was my relationship. It was too good to be real. He is not your average sociopath that walks around breaking young girls, he was patient and stealthy like a cobra. who am I then, a mere mortal that is subject to oxytocin and vasopressin, to overcome the thrills he offered? I know You can recall my efforts to recoil and how strong he was, how I wanted it, and, my! How the mighty fall.

Now I beg of you to forgive me for my mortal sin, and to take me back. Please erase from my mind, I implore you, his memory. Clear completely this bond between our souls that makes me feel like an evil, vindictive and bad person who cares little about other people. Help me cast the memory of his scent that brings a satanic crawl on my skin, his number, details and voice into a deep abyss.

Embrace me; bring my broken fragments back together, and help me deal with the constant caustic chides my conscience throws. Help me remember the constant: an intelligent hard-working student who is kind, beautiful and talented to the people who truly value and appreciate her. Moreover, that this incident is not significant enough to ruin my life over.


Every girl who has gone through this crap.

How many beautiful girls have I seen cry their hearts out because of such men? What can I say? No one deserves this; a terrible experience that tarnishes the concept of love. I know too well the deep sorrow and anxiety that this experience causes. it is known to be so severe that it triggers Post traumatic Stress Disorder and bipolar symptoms in girls who are genetically predisposed to these illnesses.


Only males with a Precambrian age mindset, characterized by little maturity, integrity and morality would put a woman who loves him through this painful situation. Beware of these buffoons, they will use you, worse, rip you off without flipping a lid.


Lastly, lovely girls, trust your instincts. If your goddess tells you he is a fuckboy, there is a 99.99% chance that he is. If you experience this, feel free to seek assistance from qualified counsellors who will not judge you (unlike your fair weather friends), but walk you through the journey to healing.

Cheers! XOXO :)