My name is singlegirlie, and I’m a doucheaholic.
It’s been two days since I quit Fred… and I’m dying for a hit.
I know he’s bad for me and using again will just send me down a torrid path of self-destruction. But I am jonesin’, man.
I can’t concentrate at work. I’m fidgety. I’ve been daydreaming. All I want to do is grab his big fat face and kiss the shit out of it. I’ve crafted several texts, but haven’t pressed “send.” I’ve exhibited extraordinary will power and I need a fix, damn it!
Maybe I could just date him for a while, you know, recreationally. I could stop any time I wanted to. Everybody does it. I work hard and I’m a good person, I deserve to treat myself. I mean, how can it be bad when it feels so good?
Plus, I discovered an official chart that provides empirical evidence that Fred is in fact not a douche – he’s just a man! Can’t blame him for that.
When I told him it wasn’t going to work out he was sad, and very sweet. He told me he liked me and I was a real sweetheart and I had a bounce in my step and he had very little spare time in his life but chose to spend it with me because he liked me and so he really can’t be that bad, right? Right?
God, listen to myself. I am a pathetic, sorry excuse for a woman. Don’t I know that doucheaholism destroys lives? Think of my friends who’ll have to listen to me blubber then clean up the mess of snot and tears I’ll emit after one of my benders. And my readers. They’ll witness the demise of a girl who once had so much promise… until she fell victim to douche abuse.
Listen to me, children. Douchebags are the most dangerous kind of drug. You only have to do them once to develop a physical dependency.
I have heard that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So here I am, making this confession to all of you. Please, help me break the cycle of addiction. Thank you.