"Manic Pixie Dream Girl" by Katherine Breeher
So, you’ve had your heart broken before. Who hasn’t? But something, I don’t know what but, something about me makes you feel like I’d never break your heart like that. You say it's because I’m ‘special’ but it makes me feel more like you see me as a doormat. Maybe it’s because I don’t ‘look’ like most ‘other girls’. You tell me that too, as a compliment. But you don’t need to put down others to make me feel good. If the only way you can compliment me is by comparing me to others, you’re not very good at it. My sisters are not my competition. I don’t want to be told that I’m not like other girls. There isn’t even a collective ‘other girls’ to compare me to. Everybody is different.
You learn a few superficial facts about me in a brief period of time. And maybe you’ve never met a girl who’s said that out loud before and that’s why you think I’m so ‘special’. That makes me wonder if you’ve ever tried talking to a girl, honestly. Or maybe you do but you don’t listen when women speak, as usual, and that’s why you find me so extraordinary. For whatever reason, these facts enthrall you and you hold onto them with all your might. As if that’s all I am. A collection of a few random thoughts. You don’t continue to listen to anything else I say. I’m right in front of you but you can’t see or hear me. Your ears have been stuffed with cotton and your eyes glazed over so that nothing will ruin your image of me. You talk mostly about yourself, as if I share the same type of interest in you. But you are not special to me. And I never felt the same way for you as you felt for me. You’re so blinded by your delusions that you think that I am. As if I’m supposed to be in love with you. I barely know you. And, you know what? You barely know me. So how dare you say you love me, or that you even care. That’s a serious word. And you use it recklessly, like it’s nothing. You do not love me. You barely even listen when I speak.
You’ve held on so tightly to the few things you know about me that you think make me 'amazing’ or ‘not like other girls’ and then construct a fantasy around them. Flesh out the edges of your dream girl with conjecture. And when something happens to ruin this fantasy, you blame me? I do something you think is ‘out of character’ for me. But that’s all I am to you, right? A character. A doll. Something like an empty husk that you can stuff meaning into and fabricate an entire life and personality for. Like a fairy. Like a pixie. I’m some mythical creature. A nymph, a goddess. This divine feminine energy you have molded into your ‘perfect’ woman. Well, she doesn’t exist.
You have some kind of nerve. What made you think I was lying when you don’t even listen to my truth? I’m sorry you have some deep issues to work through, but I will not savee you. I won’t even try. That’s a trap I’ll never fall into again. I’m sure I was not your first manic pixie dream girl and that I will not be your last manic pixie dream girl. Serial offender. You tell me I’m ‘not like other girls’ but you’ve told other girls the same thing. Your world of fantasy is grossly distorted. Take off your rose-colored glasses and look at me for who and what I really am.