#112: When We Come For Revenge.

I was talking with my brother-in-law, about the #metoo movement and other feminist related notions, and he told me something a long time friend of his had said.

"Right now, we just want equality.  God help you when we come for revenge."

She's right, you know.  We've tried being nice.  We've tried asking.  We've tried being sweet and reasonable and kind.

And you motherfuckers didn't listen.

You keep on with your "boys will be boys."

You keep on with your "#notallmen."

You keep on with your "sometimes women make false accusations."

YOU KEEP ON WITH YOUR EXCUSES ABOUT WHY IT'S OKAY TO TREAT US LIKE OBJECTS THAT ARE ONLY HERE TO PROVIDE YOU A COMFORTABLE EXISTENCE.

Guess what?

Not okay.

God help you when we come for revenge.

#111: Not a Goddamn Gazelle

So, last night this dude started messaging me. He told me I was "the most beautiful woman" he'd "ever seen", he didn't understand how I could possible be single, and that he'd sell his soul to the devil for the chance to be my boyfriend.

I started by being nice, okay!?! I told him I was positive he'd meant this as a compliment, but a man who would sell his soul just for beauty would ultimately be selling it for nothing. It was like, a super poetic and kind way of saying that he ought to give a shit about my personality. I WAS BEING GENTLE, GODDAMNIT.

But, let's be real. When they already don't see you as a person, gentle doesn't really work, does it?

Shit got weird.

well, i would imagine the devil would make you exactly how I want you to be lol ha jk but hope your having a good night

So, lemme get this straight... Bro from the Dark Side of the Internet is suggesting that, in a perfect world, he would buy my shell and have the Great Deceiver fill it with a personality he finds perfect? Clearly, I have things to say about this--but Dudelet wasn't done yet.

but i dont get how someone as stunning and yummy looking as you is single lol

Now, I've been trying to be softer with men recently. I'm aware that I've been a little hard edged and brittle, and I'm trying to tone that down. To set my phasers to stun, if you will.

But, at this point, my finger is twitching for the "max kill" button.

perhaps you've missed the crucial aspect that I must not only be desired by a man, I must find him desirable as well.

I was trying. Can you see how hard I was trying? I BELIEVE IN GENTLE EDUCATION, Y'ALL. I BELIEVE IN TEACHABLE MOMENTS.

My faith in teachable moments was being sorely tested, however.

Yeah, I know I'm ugly

Blessed Mother, give me the strength and compassion to respond to this without too much aggression.

Oh lord. One of these.

I have no idea if you're ugly or not. I wasn't talking about you. I was pointing out that there might be a perfectly valid reason for a woman to be single, regardless of whether or not men find her desirable.

At any rate, you appear to have missed some of the modern evolutions of culture, with regards to women and their place in society as independent participants as opposed to as male attachments. Perhaps that's something you might like to study up on, if you're going to try to hit on feminists.

I felt like that was a clear dismissal. Don't you feel like it was a clear dismissal? Also a very strong pointer in the direction of WHY I was dismissing him. Yes? Yes?

Apparently not.

Well I could get pheromone perfume isn’t that suppose to make you more desirable to women when well can’t blame me for thinking I’m ugly when you get rejected a lot something women will never have to go through in time that’s how you start to feel but usually it’s looks and or money that make a man desirable to most women would being able to get free frozen yogurt make me more desirable to you since I own a frozen yogurt store lol

I don't... I can't... I...

I'M NOT A GODDAMN GAZELLE, ALRIGHT? YOU DON'T NEED TO MASK YOUR SCENT IN ORDER TO HUNT ME DOWN! I LITERALLY JUST TOLD YOU THAT THE PROBLEM MIGHT BE HOW YOU DIDN'T SEE WOMEN AS INDEPENDENT PEOPLE, AND YOUR RESPONSE TO THAT IS TO SUGGEST MAYBE YOU COULD BIOLOGICALLY LURE ME IN?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

And I can't blame you for feeling ugly? It's our fault cause all we do is reject you? Women are never rejected? YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW IF MAYBE YOU COULD BUY ME WITH FROZEN YOGURT?






AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!


*heavy breathing*


Okay. Okay. I'm done now.

But I'm turning my phasers back to "inflict significant damage."

So there.

#110: Let's All Get Up To Speed, Shall We?

OKAY!

It's been a rough year, and rough years make for rough writing.  I broke my heart, fell into a rage fire about #notallmen, threw napalm on the fire and danced in the destruction over fascists, had health issues, and in general have just been FUCKING DEPRESSED.

Time to reboot.

Stages of Grief, work in progress

I think I more or less have a handle on my heart feels.  Acceptance goes a long way to help heal things, I think.  Once you know who you are, and what you need, then if someone can't give it to you--well--it just is what it is, right?  You can be sad, but what is there to be angry or hurt over?  People are who they are, and life goes on.

The fiery cataclysm of my social outrage is still burning, but I'm trying to use it more as a combustible fuel instead of a destructive explosion.  Let's be real... anything that volatile always has the possibility of getting out of hand, and I'd be an idiot to think I have it "all under control."  But I've remembered I don't HAVE to wallow in the flames, and that's a big step forward, I think.

thank you, Kate

The health stuff I'm doing my best with.  I really loathe the fact that I've tried so hard to treat my body well, and in turn it is trying to get in my WAY!!!!  I mean, I started RUNNING, FOR GOD'S SAKE.  I, who always swore I would only run if someone was chasing me!  Who was content to die first in the zombie apocalypse!  ME!!!!  I'm running, and my body is actually giving me SHIT about it?  It's just igry in all possible ways.

However, I did hurt my back recently, and instead of being out of commission for weeks and weeks I actually felt mostly better after about three days.  And that's an amazing difference.  So I guess this running bullshit really is helping.

I have a method.  Don't mock it.

So, the depression...

My depression is hard for me.  I don't feel like I really *deserve* it.  I don't feel like my life is hard enough, or something.  My mind knows that depression does not work that way.  That it's chemical, and real, and that just because something is harder for other people doesn't mean your own struggles aren't difficult.  Like, I get all that. 

But I have all this guilt that my privileged ass is depressed.

Anyway, I'm trying to handle that by blunt force.  When I start to feel guilty I just tell the guilty feels that they are illogical.  And I am trying to do the things that help with depression.  I eat well.  I get enough sleep.  I exercise.  I take my meds. 

But (and I can't really say that this is the most important thing, medically, but it's certainly the thing that seems to help the most on a day-to-day basis) I'm also creating again.

words are hard, but I do them anyway.

I write every day.
Charlotte and I paint together.
I crochet and make things that I find to be beautiful.
I sing.

And, while it means that some weeks I prioritize art over laundry (oh shit, I really need to do the laundry), in general I'm finding that creating things soothes me more than having a clean house.

Although, like, if any of y'all wanna come over and clean my house, I'm not going to say no.

At any rate, that's what's been up with me.  And hopefully I'll get back to these blog posts.  But, also, sometimes I will choose to put my energy other places for a while, and I have decided to be okay with that. 

#109: Sometime I Poet

I think what you loved about being with me

Was seeing the man who you wanted to be

His reflection was there when you looked in my eyes

A man who you wouldn’t, in secret, despise

Someone much stronger, unafraid of the truth

Someone who didn’t still mourn for his youth

A man who had insight.  A man who was brave.

A man whose soul didn’t need to be saved.

A man you could be with courage enough

But the fight would be hard, and the way would be rough

And that wasn’t a struggle you were ready to face

And what you had loved, became a disgrace

And when you could no longer bear to still see

The man that you just could not choose yet to be

We said our goodbyes.  Because both of us knew

I would always be looking for that man in you.

Day 108: Love Advice, From a Mother to Her Children

The Parenting Brain Weasels have come to visit, so I've got some stuff I need to get out of my head.  I'm putting it here, on the internet, where hopefully my children can have it when the time comes for them to need it.

To My Beloved Children;

Love is never going to mean just one thing to everyone.  It comes in different forms for each of us, and what makes us love someone else, or what makes them love us, is highly personal.  Perhaps someday science will understand it all, but I think that day is probably a long way off.  So, since you're likely to have to muddle through love the same way I have, I wanted to give you some advice.  It isn't likely to make too much sense until you get older, but trust me.  Someday, it will be gold.

So, here we go:

*Love isn't an end point to reach.  It's not a beginning, either.  It's not anything having to do with a location or a journey.  Your not "done" once you get to love, but you're also not headed anywhere particular.  Love is a state you exist in, and while a lot of people in that state have made some similar choices, there's no mandatory guidelines that say you have to make those same choices.  Those choices might not work for you.

This is fine.  It's also fine to NOT do this.

*Love is both an emotion and a verb.  The emotion is not totally under our control, but the verb is a choice.  It doesn't always feel that way, because there are times that it's particularly hard, or so easy that it almost feels like it's automatic, but it IS a choice.  And that's an important thing to remember, particularly when you're up against a life decision that involves love in some way.

*Sometimes the people you love will be good for you, and that will be wonderful.  Sometimes, as odd as it seems, you will love someone who is bad for you, and it's important to be able to see that.  Sometimes, as time goes on, someone who was once good for you will become bad for you, and it's absolutely critical to be able to see that change.

*If someone is bad for you, they are bad for you.  It doesn't matter if they have a good reason for it.  Having a good reason for it is maybe a reason for you to not be angry at them, but it's not a good reason to keep trying to love them, when trying to love them is harmful to you.

Nothing is worth being destroyed.

*There is a difference between something being harmful, and being hard.  You need to learn that difference, because there are times it will be hard to love someone, and loving them anyway may be the right choice.

*Just because you love someone else, it doesn't mean they can or will love you back.  This will probably happen to you at some point.  I'm really sorry about that.  If it helps, at all, remember that love isn't finite.  You haven't wasted the love you felt on someone that couldn't give it back.  You have more.

*Just don't waste your time on them.  Because that IS finite.

With love,
Both the emotion and the verb,
Mommy

Day 107: Ownership and Anger

A week ago I was assaulted.

Honestly, I've been torn about calling it assault.  I don't want people thinking that it was worse than it was, or that I'm being a drama queen.  At the same time, I'm a little tired of us qualifying sexual transgressions against victims, because we want to downplay the impact.  As I often do when I'm torn about word choice, I turned to the dictionary, and this is what I found: 

The second definition of assault is "a concerted attempt to do something demanding."
The definition of sexual assault is "unwanted sexual contact."

Those both sound like what happened.

So, yeah.  I was assaulted a week ago.

Here, in brief, is what happened:

I invited a guy to come watch Jessica Jones with me.  We were supposed to hang out, the series had just dropped, we were both MCU fans--it seemed like a natural fit.  Because I'm cautious, I actually invited him and then immediately followed it with this message;

I am not inviting you over for the colloquial "Netflix and Chill."  This is a genuine Nerd meetup.  I actually want to watch Jessica Jones.

He responded with agreement and I thought we were good.  I made popcorn.  He brought whiskey in a brown paper bag (which, if you're not familiar with the show, is actually thematically very amusing).  We settled in to watch.

Then, about fifteen minutes into the second episode, it happened.

Honestly, I'm not sure what prompted it on his part.  I wasn't watching him; I wasn't really engaged with him in any way.  I was watching Jessica Jones, seriously focused on the drama unfolding before me.

That is, until I felt him shift on the couch, and then his hands grabbed my face, and he tried to stick his tongue down my throat.

It's weird, but I don't remember if he actually kissed me or not.  My mind is completely blanking on what happened for about three seconds.  I have a vague feeling that he did manage it?  But, seriously, the memory of the moment is gone.  So, I can't say for sure.

I jerked away from him, and gave him what, I'm sure, was a look of utter bewilderment.

"Whoa!  Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat are you doing?"

"Oh," he said back with a sheepish smile.  "Sorry.  Sorry."

"No."  My voice got stronger as my brain started to process what had just happened.  "Seriously, dude, what are you doing?!"

"Sorry," he said again, still smiling in that genial, calm way we do when we think sorry covers it and it wasn't that big a deal.  "Let's just watch."

"Uh, no."  Normally I'm a pretty animated person, but now my voice was flat and dead.  "You need to leave.  Now."

The smile slid off his face as he realized I was serious.  That he wasn't just going to be laughingly forgiven.  That I was legitimately kicking him out of my house. 

He moved with agonizing slowness, getting ready to leave.  He kept saying "sorry, sorry, sorry," until finally I said "I heard you.  I don't really have anything else to say."  Then he looked at me with hurt and bewildered eyes, like he couldn't believe I was refusing to forgive him.  Absolve him.  Just let it go.

At one point he said, "I can see that you're upset."  I didn't know what to say to that.  Couldn't figure out how to put what I was feeling into words.  Couldn't express how angry it made me that he'd touched me, and how much more angry it was making me that he didn't understand why I cared.

As he finally--finally!  After what felt like an eternity!--pulled on his coat, he said "I'm sorry I ruined things."

I didn't answer. 
I was waiting for him to get out.

I spent the rest of the night vibrating.  I was furious, and miserable, and I wanted to vomit, but I didn't know why.  After all, it wasn't that bad, was it?  One unwanted kiss is not that big a deal.  I wasn't hurt.  I wasn't raped.  He left when I told him to.

Why was I so angry?

It's taken me a week.  A week where I've told almost everyone I know about this event, and talked it over with them, and gotten a lot of insight from others.  But I finally know why I was so upset.  Why I'm still upset.  Why, even as I'm typing this, my stomach is churning and I want to grind my teeth.  Basically, it boils down to this:

He didn't treat me like my desires had any impact on what should happen.

After all, I'd told him I wasn't inviting him over to hook up.  And I was clearly watching the TV, not giving him inviting glances.  But he'd decided the time had come for his tongue to be in my mouth, so that was what was going to happen.  Not because he was trying to assault me, just because, in his world view, it's not my decision to make.

It's his.

Because women don't own themselves.  Our bodies are not our property.  They belong to whomever chooses to claim us.

We see it over and over again.  From our President, who treats women (including his own daughter) like their most significant trait is how much he wants to bang them; to that psycho that shot up a sorority house in order to "punish all women for the crime of denying" him love; to those "nice guys" who get angry when they're put in the "friend-zone"; to schools that insist that girl's wear concealing clothing so as not to distract the boys.

It's not just the "bad guys" or the "creeps."  It's everyone.

When women are assaulted, we often tell them that they should have been more clear in their rejections.  That their non-verbal cues weren't enough.  That they should have been explicit about saying no.  But I was clear, and it didn't help.  Because the problem is not that we aren't clear about what we want.  The problem is that, when your body is considered public property, what you want is less important that what the man looking at you wants.

And this is so universal, so widely accepted, that if you get angry when they treat you like public property, it actually confuses them.

I'd said I wasn't inviting him over to hook-up.  I'd been in the middle of watching something on the TV.  He clearly, unequivocally, treated me like I had no agency over myself.  But when I got upset, he could not figure out why.

And he was hurt that I wouldn't forgive him.  Because, just like I owed him my body and my attention, I also owed him my forgiveness.

And, in the end, the final thing he apologized for was "ruining it."  Not assaulting me.  Not treating me as less than a person.  Not ignoring my right to choose for myself. 

No, he apologized for the part he wished hadn't happened.  The part where the date wasn't going to happen anymore.  Because that's all he could see that was wrong.

You know, the funny thing is, I'm sure he wouldn't have wandered into my house without an invitation.  But he felt free to put his hands on my body without one.

Because my house, obviously, is mine.

But my body?  Not so much.

So yeah. 

A week ago I was assaulted.

And I'm still fucking angry.

buy this print on Etsy

Day 106: The Shape of Pain

It's funny, the things that make your heart break.

No.  Bad.  Try again.

It's not funny.  It's achingly sad, and brutal, and it makes your chest hurt and your eyes constantly fill with tears.

It's not funny.

But it's funny, anyway.  Because you never know what the final straw will be.  The one that breaks not your back, but your heart.  Mine came because someone I admired turned out to be a child rapist.

I could have said that more gently, couldn't I?  Been less shocking, or eased into it or something.

But what would be the point?  No matter how gently I said it, the fact remains.

People rape children.

And maybe, if that were all, I could contain it.  But there is an avalanche of bad in this world, and I cannot stop it from crushing me right now.

People rape children, yes.  But grown women and men are raped every day, too.  And men are told they can't say no, because they always want it, and women are told they can't say yes, because that makes them worthless sluts.  Those in positions of power abuse and harass those that have no ability to defend themselves.  Black children are shot for playing with toy guns.  Black men die in police custody.  Sheriffs create their own personal concentration camps in the name of the county they serve.  Latinos are told they're lazy, job-stealing moochers, thugs and rapists.  Latinas are fetishized and molested and told they ought to be grateful because their brown skin means they are second class citizens.  Trans women--

I can't.  I can't right now.

Children who have grown up in this country find that their lives are in danger of being uprooted and cast to the winds.  People are dying from lack of basic healthcare in the wealthiest nation in the world.  Our children are taught that slavery was a type of immigration, and that Europeans negotiated for this land with the native populations.

Our rivers are growing more poisonous and our skies are filling with CO2.  We destroy our rainforests and our coral reefs and our wetlands, and our oceans are slowly emptying of life as we turn them into a toxic landfill.

Our leaders care only about retaining power, not about the people they are supposed to serve, and the people seem impotent and apathetic, to say the least.

I could keep going.  This is only a trickle of what could be said.  I could unleash a flood of words that burn like acid in the telling.

But the flood wouldn't wash anything clean.  So what would be the point?

Instead, I will tell you a story.

Last night I could not settle.  I knew I needed rest, but when I close my eyes...

When I close my eyes, I feel my heart bleeding, and I cannot bear it.

So I tried to distract myself.  Tried to soothe myself.  Tried everything I could think of.  And, at last, I turned on a guided meditation, and tried to fall into it.

I couldn't.  The sweet voiced man in the recording was trying to lead me to my inner spirit guide, but I never got that far.  As he was taking me down (deep, deeper... to a place where you can let it all go), I suddenly saw in my mind a small figure in black.  Not the brown-black of healthy human skin, or the rich, inky black of a beautiful velvet; but a sickly tar-black, that oozed and swirled in a vague human outline.

And I knew, in that instant, that this sick, black thing was a part of me.  And that I could either fear it, or I could accept it, but those were the only options. 

And if I feared it, it would rise up and becoming a thing that terrified me all my days.

So I opened my arms, and I pulled the sick black thing close to me.  And as I drew it closer I saw beneath the surface for a moment. 

I saw that it was just a child.  And it was scared, and sad, and so very, very broken.

And I cried.  In my meditation, but also in the real, living body that lay on my bed.  Because it hurt so much to try to hold that sad, broken part of me.

There was another me there.  She was made of light, and didn't even try to be human in shape.  And I knew she was there, and that she longed to help, but this isn't her place or time.  She cannot take primacy, not when my pain is so strong.

But she loves us both.  My conscious and my pain.  And she'll be there when we're ready to be more than this.  This weeping, tangled mass of thought and sorrow. 

I hope it won't be too long.