Amelia Dilworth

I have the worst boyfriend ever. We’re still together, but I can’t get over the fact that I clearly just have Stockholm Syndrome. I was posting on Librex — before it got zoinked — hoping he would get the hint, but he hasn’t yet. Maybe this will work instead? Am I toxic?

At the start of our relationship, he was great. Life was simple back then. He sent me a cute t-shirt and letter, checked in on me and even introduced me to his friends at work. He gave me detailed instructions on move-in and encouraged me to keep myself and my friends safe during the pandemic. I don’t know what I would have done without him. 

But these days, something just doesn’t feel right. And my friends seem to feel the same way. The zeal of dating one of the hottest boys in the United States and, dare I say, the world has worn off. I’ve stopped caring about the niche rankings although, trust me, his gothic architecture is a 10/10. Now, I feel like just a number to him; a distinction, or lack thereof rather. 

And his money has run dry. He rejected me again last Friday, citing “limited by the fellowship funds available and the increasing per student costs associated with the pandemic.” What kind of bullshit is that? Is this the U.S. government or does he just not care about paying for the right stuff? No, I do not mean funding education and healthcare; I mean funding me. 

Does he even know my middle name anymore? I use it all the freaking time. He should know it!! Does he like the font I used on my resume? I have a personal email AND a school email. I feel like that’s indicative of my drive to help people. Does he care that I volunteer and write shitty pieces for the YDN? Does he even read my lackluster jokes and giggle anymore? Why can’t you confide in me and talk about failure? Your acceptance rate dropped below 7 percent, and all of a sudden you think you’re hot shit?

I need to talk to you, Yale. You’ve changed. Or maybe it’s not you that’s changed. It’s me. Maybe I’ve realized you and I aren’t meant for each other. You just want me to be successful. I just want to be happy. I physically cannot leave you, but, just know, we are not soul mates. We’re fuck buddies. 


A note from a friend I feel we all need to hear occasionally: “Failure is absolutely the wrong word to describe not getting something that is largely based on luck and privilege. As are all things related to getting into and staying at Yale, so much of it is out of your control and not at all a reflection of you or how wonderful and intelligent you are.”