(Anti) Feminism, part 1 – Not me

 


Before I start this three-part shitshow, I want to clarify that I am concerned with
Western feminism in this post. Being a brown woman who lives in the UK, I am not a feminist, and I will never be one amongst feminists today. Your struggles are not something that concerns me or my people (in fact, I have no business associating with a group of people who enjoy calling my people ‘oppressed’), and quite frankly I find you ridiculous. I think there are more important things to fight for than having your nipples out on show.

Yes, I am a woman who doesn’t identify as a feminist as we know it. Shock horror, this must mean I hate women, I am self-loathing and I should just die – but only two of those things are true. I believe the last time I ever entertained the idea of supporting feminism was many years ago, when I was much younger, much more naive, and innocently thought all women simply wanted equality with men in every aspect, especially respect. This was before I was spending almost every waking minute on social media, back when all I knew about feminism was through books, novels, and generally studying the plight of women through academia and otherwise. 

But this was also before women were sexually objectifying themselves the way they are now. Before anybody starts to use their favourite twitter term ‘internalised misogyny’, please be aware I do not have any. I am still very aware that men are trash (more on that later). I have no internalised misogyny; I do have a very real, very clear hatred for all idiocy. I don’t care what your gender is, I don’t care what your pronouns are, I don’t care what you have down below. If you’re stupid, you’re stupid. I will call out stupidity, regardless of your gender, the colour of your skin, your sexual orientation, your age, or any other factors that you want to get offended about. None of that is relevant if you’re an idiot, and your stupidity is highlighted by the fact that you wish to find solace in a scapegoat rather than taking accountability for the fact that you’re an idiot because you don’t know how to defend your own idiot points. Idiots. 

But I digress. Read more

Four things I’ve learnt this decade

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Every time you try to forget who I am, I’ll be right there to remind you again

 

I know. And yes I did mean this decade. And yes I am here again, a mere week after my last post. It’s pissing down outside, which makes it a fine day to rant.

We’re only halfway through February, we’ve barely grazed the new decade, and I feel like I’ve been hit in the face with a million lessons and gained another five years of life experience. I’m just hoping it doesn’t show on my face, so I’m frantically blurting it out onto a new post in the hope that it doesn’t settle into my fine lines.

Lesson number one, typing on a MacBook with long ass nails does not a good idea make.

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PSA: Social media is fucking you up

Out of touch with reality hoes

“Every form of addiction is bad , no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine, or idealism.”

 – Carl Gustav Jung

 

Imagine you sign a contract with a ghost, in which that ghost fucks you in the ass very violently all day every day for years in return for some meaningless validity. You forget about it until one day you just feel a gaping void down there and you urgently need to fill it with some toxic ghost dick even though it’s ruining your life now that you are aware you need it in order to feel normal and validated. That ghost dick, my friend, is social media.

Fuckin’ you in the ass as you read this.

I think I wrote something about social media a long time ago, both pros and cons. Of course, I’m a lot older and inevitably bitter now, which means my sentiments towards social media have become… hostile. I’m frequently talking a lot of shit on Twitter and posting pictures nobody wants to see on Instagram. I’m not old enough for Facebook yet because I don’t have friends with babies (step on it girls, yeah?) But the past few months I’ve been disgusted with social media despite being very active on it and I’m just.. sick of it. I’m sick of it all and I want to disappear off the internet.

In the grand scheme of things, social media is great, considering how far we’ve come in the world.

One of the best things is how easy it is to find information that mainstream news outlets won’t tell you – not in a timely manner, anyway. You can find out exactly whats going on in most parts of the world. Had we only the BBC and the Sun to give us information, we’d be perfectly ignorant, brainwashed individuals fitting for an Orwell novel. Probably racist too. But we have Twitter to spread videos of racist police officers, we have viral pictures of mutilated babies and children as a result of angry men in high places, we have pictures and videos of destroyed buildings in the Middle East, we have posts about developed and beautiful places in Africa and Asia where our old racist school teachers had us believe it was all barren and everyone was starving to death. We have pictures of missing children with contact details, and a simple click of a button from a few hundred people has helped find them. We know more about what’s going on in other parts of the world because we hear from people in other parts of the world; gaining information is easier, and it’s harder to excuse racism and xenophobia. Information is fed to us, we don’t need to dig deep for it anymore.

Social media allows people to go viral, it allows small businesses free advertisement and that’s beautiful. I’ve seen people successfully share their art, their photography, their writing, their messages. We have instagram, which helps keep us momentarily happy because of fire memes. The little things, you know? It helps you meet like minded people, might meet the love of your life, it helps keep friendships alive and hanging by a thread, but thats about where the positives come to an end. Now I can complain.

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Is your man a sociopath? 9 signs he probably is.

 

“Hate is the complement of fear and narcissists like being feared. It imbues them with an intoxicating sensation of omnipotence.”
Sam Vaknin, Malignant Self-Love: Narcissism Revisited

 

narcissism 

noun

selfishness, involving a sense of entitlement, a lack of empathy, and a need for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.

 

This post has been sitting in my drafts for about a month and I no longer care about it, which is why I haven’t posted it… but I think I’m the guinea pig of the dating world.  Apparently having ‘I am your mother’ plastered on my forehead, I somehow always found myself associating with the worst of the worst, so it’s only right that I use that for the greater good and teach you what I’ve learnt. And what I have learnt since then is the difference between a bitch boy and a man. I know the gender-is-a-social-construct brigade will get at me for that, but what can I say? There are men and there are men. We’re always categorising women, it’s only fair to do the same. When you’ve gone from dealing with boys who throw their toys out the pram for not buying them food to men who actually have their shit together and act like men, it’s hard not to talk about it.

But this post isn’t about the men, it’s about the bitch boys. I include the definition of narcissism because all sociopaths are narcissists. But not all narcissists are sociopaths.

The difference? Intention.

Both have extreme adoration for themselves, both will always put themselves first, both feel no genuine sense of guilt. Both are undeniably and unhealthily in love with themselves. Both are practically the same, bar one major difference.

A narcissist loves himself and will accidentally hurt you in the process because he’ll always put himself first. He cares about you, but he cares about himself more.

A sociopath loves himself and will at points intend to hurt you because he wants you to be hurt, and he’ll do anything to achieve that.

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Panic attack


Everything’s fine.

It’s sudden. It doesn’t happen gradually, it’s nothing and then it’s all encompassing. It’s zero, then it’s a billion, you’re breathing and then you’re choking.

But you do feel it creeping, that familiar feeling that you had forgotten about. It’s bubbling somewhere beneath the surface, and as soon as you realise, all of your senses switch off in a joint effort to combat it. You can’t hear anything around you, you can’t hear anyone talking to you because you’re using all your energy just begging for that feeling to go away before it erupts and forces you to experience it again. People around you will scream at you because you’re not listening to them but it’s because you’re too busy trying to fight it off before it comes.

But of  course, life never happens the way we want it to and suddenly you can’t breathe.
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Dreamy little bastard, I done ran outta luck

The Ted Bundy Tapes. Trigger warning.

First of all, it’s not scary. You amateurs.

When I was around 16/17, I wrote a paper on serial killers; specifically Richard Ramirez, Ted Bundy, and Jeffrey Dahmer. I researched the hell out of them and serial killers in general; I bought books, read articles, etc. Obviously, when I got a notification about this new show, I was interested. Cautious of it, but interested.

I specifically dropped a subject at school and switched it for a project where I could write about them. They fascinated me – they still do. They fascinate me from a psychological and political perspective. The usual what drives a killer, what drives someone to do something like that, how they might not even have a drive because they might just be psychopaths. It fascinated me how this man could dress up as a clown and torture people and sit on little kids. Or how another could successfully convince the police that the lost, bloody, obviously underage boy was his lover, just so that he could take him back to his apartment, kill, rape, dismember, and eat him (in that order) before dissolving his remains in acid. Amazing. Incredible.

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