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It is, rather, that we inhabit a relentlessly imitative and dreadfully conformist society, one that is deeply troubled, fervidly anti-individualist, deliriously unhappy, and obscenely dysfunctional. For those who fail to “fit in,” the corollary anger can spiral into monstrous violence.
—Louis Rene Beres- ‘The Sandy Hook Shootings and America’s Culture of Death’
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Emotions and stuff
I used to be pretty confident in the belief that bottling up my emotions stemmed from my all encompassing hatred of confrontation. Confrontation is messy. Confrontation requires me to be completely and utterly vulnerable for an undisclosed amount of time. Most of all, confrontation opens myself up to judgment. If I share with a friend that something they did or said hurt me, will they be outwardly apologetic, while inwardly rolling their eyes? Will they turn around and laugh with another friend about how sensitive and uptight I am?
Feeling judged for one reason or another is very disheartening. But guess what!? If I never ever share my sadness, hurt, anger and disappointment with another living soul, I will therefore never open myself up to the judgment of another party. Problem solved. And honestly, it is much easier to suit up with a protective shell every morning and pretend everything is fine and dandy.
(disclaimer: I realize this is not a healthy way of dealing with negative emotions)
I suspect it’s difficult for men to imagine a world in which their bodies have long been inextricably linked to their value as an individual, and that no matter how encouraging your parents were or how many positive female role models you had or how self-confident you feel, there is an ever-present pressure that creeps in from all sides, whispering in your ear that you are your body and your body defines you. A world where, from the time of pubescence on, you can feel the constant and palpable weight of the male gaze, and not just from your male peers but from teachers and sports coaches and the fathers of the children you baby-sit, people you’re supposed to respect and trust and look up to, and that first realization that you are being looked at in that way is the beginning of a self-consciousness that you will be unable to shake for the rest of your life.Even if they are never verbalized, the rules of bodily conduct for females become clear early on: when school administrators reprimand you for the inch of midriff that shows when you lift your hands straight in the air or youth group leaders tell you that the sight of your unintentional cleavage is what causes godly young men to fall, you learn that your body is dangerous and shameful and that it’s your responsibility to cloister it in a way that is acceptable to everyone else. You learn that your body is a topic of public debate that everyone is entitled to weigh in on, from a male classmate telling you that those jeans make your ass look huge to the male-dominated United States Congress dictating the parameters that rape must fall within to be considered legitimate. To be a woman, and to live life in a woman’s body, is to be held to a set of comically paradoxical standards that make you constantly second-guess yourself and jump through a million hoops in pursuit of an impossible perfection.
—
Stop Catcalling Me (via albinwonderland)
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4.13.13 | happy 23rd birthday dev!
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