I Quit, and I’m Not Sorry

Yesterday, I cancelled all future pulmonary rehab appointments and all future counseling appointments.  I wasn’t getting what I needed from either, and now my time is freed up to work on the upcoming move across the country.   I think that was the source of most of my anxiety.

I’ll still be tutoring at the  middle school.  Friday was so wonderful.  There were two kids, in particular, with whom I worked most.  One was struggling with probabilities.  The other was struggling with solving two step equations.  This is all of my favorite stuff to teach.  They were both nailing it by the time we were done, and they were so excited.  One of them high-fived me!  This is what I live for!

I think having to list all of my sources of anger for my therapist was just too overwhelming.  For some reason, I’m experiencing the same kind of rawness that I did in college, when I first began to see how women have been defined and oppressed by men since the beginning of recorded time.  Back then, everything pissed me off.  It was mostly due to the fact that I’d gotten married at 18 to a man who treated me like one of the furnishings in his home.  I was just another accessory in the collection of things that made him a “man.”

Drew is different from all the men/boys with whom I’ve had relationships.  Even compared to those that weren’t horrible, he is still so  much more right for me.  (righter?)  And he spoils me.  And he worships my body.

Even as wonderful as he is and how good my life is right now (I got to video chat with my sweet little great niece, yesterday).  I still find myself bristling so easily with the sexist ads on television, the stupid ways women are portrayed in popular media, the double standards that women face in every facet of life, and especially politics.

It makes me angry to think that this precious innocent baby is going to grow up in a world in which an oil company doesn’t like the work that an autistic 16-year-old girl is doing, so they create a logo that portrays her being raped.

It’s always rape!

Even when I used to play World of Warcraft regularly, I would constantly see/hear other players describing victory in a raid as rape.  I pointed it out to one of my more enlightened friends, and he told me that that was just silly.  It’s just a word.  Really?  Then why is it so important to you to keep using it, when you know it bothers me?

Did you know that when women are trolled online, rape is one of the things she is threatened with most often?  When men are trolled, raping their children is a common threat.

What the fuck is wrong with people people with dicks?

I’m tired of people saying, “I’m no feminist, but.”  But what?  You believe women should have equal opportunities?  You believe that women should get the same pay for the same work?  You believe that our differences are not weaknesses?  That defines feminism.

Feminist does not mean that you hate men.  I don’t hate men.  I plan to marry one.  But I’m tired of seeing women victimized by men and then the men get off with a slap on the wrist.  I’m tired of the women being victimized by the system and then by the media.  I’m tired of barely having a moment in my life that doesn’t have a negative memory of a man associated with it.

I’ve tried to think of one man in my life who hasn’t made me feel like prey at some point.  Even the man I consider my dad, even my beloved Papa, even one of my dearest friends – there was at least one moment about which I have doubts.  If I was to make a list of near-misses, I’d break the internet.

And yet women like me are considered the haters.  I think it’s pretty hateful to try to make moves on your granddaughter… to try to lure a 10 year old girl to your car… to reduce a young man’s sentence because you don’t think raping a barely conscious woman should ruin his life… to promote the idea of raping a child because you don’t agree with her politics.  We are not the haters.  We are the hated, and I’m fucking sick of it.

Ok.  That’s out of my system.  I feel much  better now.   Thanks for listening/reading.