Good morning. Today another article about “nice guys” and the concept of the “friendzone” appeared. Here it is.

Today I would like to talk about how this article made me feel.

It made me angry, and it made me want to cry.

Why? Not because I am the sort of person who exhibits those behaviours — I certainly do not expect women I am friends with to immediately jump into bed with me, particularly because I’m now in a committed, loving relationship with someone who is super-awesome — but because I recognise some of the things being described, and the fact that they are being twisted, generalised and used as a means of shaming people feels like a punch in the gut.

I don’t normally talk about this stuff because it’s embarrassing and difficult to talk about, but I am going to make an exception for today as a means of making my point. This article made me feel like absolute fucking shit, even though I know it was not about me. I am going to talk about my past relationships and how they came to be, though naturally I will omit names and personally-identifying details.

Some context for those who are newcomers to this blog or don’t know me very well: I suffer a pretty strong degree of social anxiety, and have done since an early age. I feel enormously uncomfortable when around strangers, clam up completely when faced with the prospect of making small talk, and even, at times, find it difficult to talk to my own friends or relations.

As you might expect, these circumstances are not ideal for getting together with someone. Consequently, even as all my peers around me at school were getting into relationships, going out with people, having sex and bragging about all of the above, I was left constantly frustrated and bewildered. My already-active imagination would picture what it might be like to be in a relationship with someone — note: relationship, not simply having sex — and I’d even go so far as to imagine how those conversations might go in great detail. One of the diaries I kept as a teenager included numerous fantasy scenarios of how I might get a girl I liked to talk to me, and how I might express my feelings. Sex did not enter into this at all — I simply wanted to be with that person. (I’m aware writing fantasy conversations in itself is creepy, but I was ashamed of these entries the moment I wrote them, and inevitably ended up throwing them away immediately.)

The fact I overthought these things meant, inevitably, that I never did anything about them, and I was always absolutely mortified any time a friend of mine would tell the girl in question that I liked them. I hated myself — you can thank near-constant bullying through primary school and a fair proportion of secondary school for that — and thought that the girl discovering that I liked her “in that way” would cause her to immediately hate me because I was certain that no-one would ever want to be with me. (This never happened, of course, but it’s the way my mind worked, and to a certain extent still does.)

Fast-forward a bit, and I got into my first relationship during a school production. I had got very close to a female friend of mine, and after the fact I learned that most of my friends were expecting us to get together as part of the production. However, what actually happened was that she set me up with a friend of a friend whom I didn’t know very well and didn’t particularly fancy. I’m not particularly proud of saying this, but I entered into that relationship because I was worried no-one else would be interested in me, and I wouldn’t get another chance. (I was young. And stupid. And suffering from what I now recognise to be mental health issues.)

As it turned out, said relationship grew quite nicely over time, and I realised I actually did quite like this girl — I just didn’t know her that well before we were pushed together. We did a lot together, I got on well with the rest of her family and it was all looking good.

We never had sex, though. I remember vividly “missing my chance” on this. We were sitting in her bedroom one day fooling around, and she mumbled something to me. I couldn’t make out the words because she was embarrassed to say them out loud. In retrospect, it was obvious that she was saying “I really, really want to make love to you” but I was too scared to make assumptions — too wrapped up in my own self-loathing to believe that anyone would ever want to have sex with me. I asked her what she said, and to say it more clearly. She wouldn’t. The moment passed.

A couple of months later, it was our school prom. We went together. We did not leave together, because she cheated on me on the dance floor with a guy she is now married to. Good on her, I guess.

My only other relationship at school was one which lasted from Monday to Friday of one week, during which time I saw my paramour precisely once and kissed her once before she decided at the end of the week that actually, she didn’t want to go out with me after all, and that we should go back to being friends again. Once again, sex did not enter the equation. The fact that our relationship began at a recording of Songs of Praise may have had something to do with that. (I swear I am not making that part up.)

Fast forward to university. Early in my student career, I met someone who seemed perfect for me. We spent a ton of time together. She was constantly in my room, she was into the things I was into and we had a great time together. I knew very early in our relationship that she was someone I wanted in my life. I was attracted to her, I liked the person she was and I wanted her around as much as possible.

I said nothing. Because I was too scared. Because I hated myself. Because I thought she would hate me and think I was some sort of disgusting pervert if I said anything. Consequently, she got together with someone else, who I spent a healthy proportion of time absolutely despising as a result. (Said person is now, paradoxically, one of my closest friends. Funny how things work out.)

I liked a couple of other people at university. I even went to the effort of sending a secret Valentine to one, complete with a cuddly toy and some truly dreadful poetry. (I am never writing poetry again.) She immediately knew it was me and let me down gently. I left it at that and we continued being the friends we were before. Again, sex didn’t enter into the equation. I just liked this person and wanted to be with them.

My next girlfriend at university was someone I got together with at a Christmas meal for one of the groups I was a member of. I’d never met her prior to that night, but we hit it off and were in each other’s arms by the end of the night. Neither of us were the one-night stand types, though, so we went our separate ways at the end of the evening and arranged to meet up again. We went out a few times, but she dumped me after I bought her a Christmas present because it made her feel “weird”. That made me feel weird.

We subsequently met up again later a few times and went out, but we eventually lost contact. To this day, I’m still not entirely sure quite what went on there, and if I could have done things anything differently. Ships in the night and all that.

I could go on, but we’d be hitting a bit close to home if I started talking about some of these other relationships. What I wanted to (hopefully) make clear by sharing some of these things is that in many cases, a dude making friends with a girl and complaining of not being able to take things any further is not always a case of “putting in kindness coins and expecting sex to fall out”, as runs the phrase I’ve seen numerous times recently. In many cases, it is a simple case of the dude in question not knowing how to express that he would like to take things any further. In more cases than one, you can probably see that I blew my chances with someone largely as a result of my own crippling self-loathing and lack of confidence.

I have had a number of situations in my life that fall into the “friendzone” category by popular definition, and I’m fully aware they’re my own fault for not expressing myself properly. But it’s not a case of being a creeper, or of expecting a woman to provide me sexual gratification in exchange for my kindness — in every single fucking case I wanted an actual relationship with that person; because I wanted to be with them; because I wanted to share my life with them; because I felt we understood each other. It was not because I expected them to have sex with me. It was not because I wanted to have sex with them. I didn’t express myself because I was too fucking terrified to say anything to them, because I was too fucking terrified that they would run away from me screaming if they thought I was a creep who was leching after them.

You see, herein lies my problem with articles like the one I shared at the start of this post. They are gross generalisations. There are men out there who don’t know when to quit. There are men out there who have unreasonable expectations of women. There are men out there who see women purely as sex objects there for their own gratification.

I am not one of them.

But every time I read one of these endless fucking “friendzone” articles that uses a lot of words to say almost nothing we haven’t seen a hundred times already, I feel like shit. I feel like a creep. I feel like a piece of sub-human scum. Why? Because I recognise some of the situations being described. I have been in some of the situations described. And yet, apparently, the following quote from the above article is universally How It Is:

Here’s the hard truth, Friendzone. You’re not a nice guy. You are a gutless, pathetic, sad, horny little worm who’s too afraid of rejection to just tell a woman how you really feel.

Yes. Yes I am. Yes, I am a gutless, pathetic, sad, horny little worm who is too afraid of rejection to tell a woman how I really feel. Do you know why I am afraid of rejection? Because I hate myself. Because the early part of my life was spent with people reinforcing my own self-hatred through near-constant bullying and harassment. Though those days may be long gone, the mental scars remain. And every time you say shit like the above, even though it may not be intended to be about me specifically, I take it personally. And it hurts. And it makes me angry. And it makes me want to cry.

It hurts even more when you make the assumption that I am afraid of rejection purely because I want sex. As I have hopefully outlined above, in every single case I was the one who wanted an actual relationship but found myself unable to express it properly. I’m pretty sure I can’t be the only person in the world who feels like this, so every time you publicly shame “friendzone guys” like this, you run the risk of doing some very real damage to what is probably already a very fragile sense of self-esteem and self-worth for those people you have inadvertently and inconsiderately lumped in to your catch-all descriptions. While you may cause some of the creepers to re-evaluate their behaviour and start behaving in a less misogynistic manner — though personally I feel it is unlikely that they will read anything like the article above and take it to heart — you’re just as likely to make people who already lack confidence to never ever want to put themselves out there. (Those are the people who will read the articles.)

I am very fortunate in that after my last relationship — which led to marriage — fell apart and nearly destroyed me completely, I found someone who loves me for who I am, respects me and is a good match for me. Not everyone is so lucky. If I were still alone right now, I don’t want to think about how awful I’d be feeling. Fortunately, instead I find myself on the way back up from the bottom rather than slowly sliding into the abyss.

So just fucking stop it with the “friendzone” and “nice guy” articles. Please. We get it.

(As an aside, I would like to stop writing about this now because I know it’s probably quite tiresome to read. But in this instance I felt it important to respond to the article linked above. I will return to writing about something more entertaining tomorrow. Hopefully. None of you die or anything in the next 24 hours.)