I’m Nearly 20 and I’ve never had a real relationship.

My whole life, up until I was fifteen, I spent on the outside looking in—watching other people go on dates, have options, fall in love. I was always the observer, never the participant.

When it finally became “my turn,” I realized something painful: men’s gaze never seemed to land on me—not on my thoughts, not on my beliefs, not on my desires. Their eyes passed straight through all of that and stopped only at my body.

Now, nearly twenty, I’ve never had anything lasting. The closest I’ve come is a morning-after breakfast—never a real date, not even a prom night. Even the guys who claim to be “lover boys” act embarrassed to be seen with me. One even admitted I was the only girl he’d ever wanted just to hook up with.

Even when I’ve chosen the so-called “safe options,” it always falls apart; usually once they realize I’m a virgin who doesn’t casually put out.

The irony is, I don’t even push for a relationship. At the very least I want I just want to be treated with basic friendship: walk to class together, grab dinner, share small moments. Somehow, even that seems like asking for too much. I’m nice, open about what I want and I don’t, but it never seems to matter to them.

I think about one friend in particular. When we were just friends, I watched how he treated other women in his life—whether they were girls he liked or girls he was just getting to know. He’d plan picnics, bring flowers, go out of his way to make them feel wanted. He knew how I felt about guys, despite this when we started talking much later in I got the complete opposite treatment.

I did every thing by the book. When we first kissed, I told him that I had just broken my brake from guys and that he was someone I trusted to do that with. I stated that we could just feel how it goes. A couple of days after, while watching a movie, he asked me if I were a virgin, because he “wanted to see where this was going.” I then expressed that I’m not that type of girl and that I’ve felt like I’ve been used for my body in the past. He felt bad and said that he was merely curious and that he never intended to make me feel uncomfortable.

He asked to come over every day, sometimes even more than that. He gave me forehead kisses and even took care of me when I was drunk. Despite the virgin question, he never made me feel pressured into doing anything.

But it wasn’t just that moment. I remember another night when we were both hungry, and I casually suggested grabbing a quick dinner—nothing romantic, just the kind of thing I’d do with any friend. He brushed it off, saying he needed to restart his car. That was the effort I was worth.

Most painful of all was how he snapped me a picture of him in bed, watching my favorite movie, asking if I wanted to come over. When I did, we sat in bed, talked for a bit, and then he looked over and said he wanted to talk. He told me that he didn’t want a relationship— like that was even in the question to begin with. When I confronted him with his actions and how he tells people he’s not that type of guy, he admitted that I was only girl he only wanted to hook up with.

And so I’m left with questions that gnaw at me: Why? What’s wrong with me? Is it how I look? Something in my personality? Or something deeper? No matter how much I adjust, no matter what I try to change, the outcome always seems to circle back to the same dull shade of disappointment.

People often tell me I come across as a confident person, someone who knows she’s beautiful. But beneath that surface, I can’t shake the constant question of whether I’ll ever be enough. I remember one friend—without knowing how deeply I struggled with this—telling me, completely unprompted, that every time I’d met one of her guy friends, they told her I was hot or pretty. And yet, in the back of my mind, I still find myself wondering if they really mean it.

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TL;DR: Nearly 20 and I’ve never had a real relationship. Men often see me only for my body, even when I try to do everything “right.” I struggle with feeling truly seen and wonder if I’ll ever be enough.