Allergic to humans (a serial killer in the making)

I went to visit a couple I know. 

I returned home incensed and disappointed with the human race.

I am tired of human beings. I know the particular people aren't the paragon of open-mindedness, yet I was reminded of it, and if I had been reminded of it in fifty years, it would have been too soon.

You know what? I am disgusted by humans in general. I am sick and tired of hearing the characterisation 'abnormal' for those whose sexuality doesn't agree with the speaker's point of view. My stomach turns by the fact we live in a society that 'normal' is the majority's point of view, and the majority expresses close-minded, homophobic, misogynistic, racist, sexist, insulting and patronising points of view. They label their bias arguments and then call me insulting because I don't want to discuss with them. No, when you are saying about someone "his ass was itching and asking for it" because they are gay, I am sorry, I don't want to discuss with you. I don't want to discuss with a person who links morality and ethics with an anatomical orifice. I don't want to discuss with someone who labels 'degenerate' another human being they don't know just because they know their sexuality, and demean their value as person based on that. What I want to do instead is get in one of those ships we sent to space to give to aliens information about the human race. I would have included the following information on the sketch of our solar system: a gigantic red "X" on earth, with a note that would read "BOMB HERE" in the five most-spoken languages of the galaxy. Please bomb us before our stupidity breaks free of all boundaries and infects the rest of the universe with the disgusting vomit we call mental processes. We are the cancer of this solar system, high and mighty bacteria with delusions of grandeur that need to be exterminated asap. PLEASE come here and wipe us out of existence. Honestly, I don't mind dying if I'm going to take all the stupid ones with me. It will be the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of the planet, solar system, equilibrium, you name it. To paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, we lower the IQ and empathy of the entire galaxy. We need to go back into being stardust, in the hope of forming something better next time. I don't want the kind ones to die too, but you know what, they will probably suffer less if they stop being surrounded by the stupid ones, so to hell with it. Kill us all, turn us into dust. Leave the planet be, she is perfectly innocent. But show no mercy to humans. I swear to you I will be thanking you with my last breath.

I know I should not bother. I know others are not my problem or my responsibility. I know I should not take it personally or become angry. But you know what? It's too fucking many of them and they are fucking everywhere. I don't dare open my mouth and express my true opinion on anything anymore, for fear of running into one of them. And I DO. I do run into them, they are like clockwork, they are more widespread than hydrogen. I have to police my mouth because I belong to the minority who thinks that all people regardless of colour, gender, age, sexuality, religion, etc, need to be treated as human beings, need to be protected, given food, water, shelter, education, health insurance, and a safe place where they can live and flourish and love and grow old by the side of the ones they love. I HAVE TO HIDE THIS FROM OTHERS OR I HAVE TO FIGHT AND ARGUE WITH THEM BECAUSE I BELIEVE IN THOSE THINGS, I BELIEVE EVERYONE DESERVES TO BE HAPPY AND SAFE. I HAVE TO LISTEN TO THEM CALL OTHERS ABNORMAL, DISGUSTING OR PROVOKING BECAUSE THEY HAVE A DIFFERENT SEXUAL ORIENTATION. AND I ALSO HAVE TO LISTEN TO THEM TELL ME I'M THE WEIRD ONE BECAUSE I CAN'T LISTEN TO OTHER OPINIONS THAN MY OWN, AND HAHA, HINT HINT, THIS REVEALS I AM THE ONE WITH THE CLOSED MIND. REALLY NOW?

If those aliens came and bombed us tomorrow, I would have died screaming, "what the fuck took you so goddamn long?"

And this is the reason I cry every single time I remember my late friend. BECAUSE SHE WASN'T LIKE THAT. AND THERE ARE SO FUCKING FEW OF US, SWIMMING UPSTREAM WITH OUR IDEALS AND HOPES, AND WE BECOME FEWER EVERY YEAR. THAT'S WHY I FUCKING CRY. 

FUCK YOU ALL. I AM SICK OF YOU. DIE ALREADY. DO THIS PLANET A FAVOUR, DO ME A FAVOUR AND DIE ALREADY. LEAVE ME ALONE.

Needless to say, I won't be visiting that couple again any time soon. 

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Are you sure about that?

Cause if you are, that's okay.
You can tell me, you know. You can tell me the truth. I won't tell anyone.
I would never tell anyone.
You've trusted me with your secrets before. I didn't pity you for them. I didn't patronise or judge you.
Once you told me that my stories made you feel awkward and freaked you out because it was like I knew those secrets of your past you had told no-one else.
That didn't stop you from reading my entire blog.
There was a ticket bought for me that went to someone else, and a promise you wanted to keep and didn't manage to. That's okay.
But please, let me know. Somehow, in some way, tell me I need to stop crying because you are okay. And I will keep it a secret.
All I want is to stop crying.
Please.
I won't tell anyone. I swear I won't.
I just need closure, even if you never speak to me again afterwards. I won't ask you to.
Just one phrase, or one word.
Tell me you are okay.
Goodnight.

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Fairy walk

https://itoshii-sanagi.tumblr.com/post/675472969388179456/requiem-on-water-by-khalilofearth

 

https://www.instagram.com/pnwonderland/ 

Screaming in my sleep, keeping my thoughts to myself when I wake up.

Out of touch with my core, so I took a fairy walk today.

There is so much beauty and so much ugliness in the world.

I can see both.

I walked in a green place with spring flowers; red poppies and pink anemones and yellow daisies and little purple wild flowers. I spoke to trees, caressed their twigs and leaves. Thunder rumbled in the distance and from time to time, drops of rain fell on my face like tears from the heavens.

I can see everything as a moment frozen in time. As a snapshot of beauty. I see the vibrant colours, the different shapes, the orgiastic multitude in form. Not two leaves on a tree are alike. Not even human twins are identical, though their DNA is.

If I shift my perception, I spot decay in the same effortless manner I perceive beauty; the yellowed leaf, the dead insect, the dry branch. They are as real as their living brothers and sisters.

I see whole worlds in people's eyes. I see their inner beauty shining. And at the same time, at the wrinkles of their very smiles I read the finality of their deaths, the finite amount of time they have at their disposal.

It will all be gone, I want to scream. It will be gone. Stop fighting with each other, stop sweating the small stuff. Stop killing the planet and bombing innocents and make your loved ones hate you. It’s more fragile than you think, and it’s completely unique. It will all be gone. It will not be forever. You are not forever, so be here. Don't live on borrowed time, on plans for a future that may never come. Don't live inside your head and play stupid head games. Be here with us. Be kind to each other. There is so much pain already, so much death and fear. Don't add to it. Please don't. 
 

Heaven and hell are here and now.

Choose one.

The god you choose is the god you deserve.

But even if I do scream, who will listen?

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Has it been a year already?

A year without you? No, it can't be.
I am always thinking that you are somewhere and you're very busy and this is why I haven't heard from you. But you're okay. That's what I always think. That you are just busy. And late at night, when the knowledge of you being gone becomes an itch I can't scratch, or a burden that chokes me, I cry quietly. I've given up trying to make sense. I can't.
I miss you. I always miss you. I miss you quietly, or I miss you desperately, or I pretend I don't. But I do.
You knew me well enough to be able to second-guess me. You cared deeply and wholeheartedly and with no strings attached.
The next book is going to be dedicated to you and no-one else.
You were a blessing that keeps illuminating me even now.
I love ballet, and deviants, and loved this one.
I wish I could show it to you.

Moff and Flickerlee

This is so cute it should be illegal and so sad it should be posted with a warning. It made me cry. Or maybe I am too sentimental and fragile right now, I don't know.

Taken from here: http://stressedjenny.deviantart.com/gallery/41817441/Moff-and-Flickerlee

Toxic relationships

Some relationships are toxic.

My most toxic relationship is the one I have with my mother.

I do my best to avoid toxic relationships, however it is very difficult to avoid the person I live in the same house with.

None of us is working right now and this means we spend a lot of time together. It's not quality time.

Many years ago, my mother decided to have a child in order to have someone to love and support her.

I am the 'lucky' child in person. 

She is not the first parent to make that mistake. A lot of parents think that a child will be a way to complete their happiness, expecting to receive a lot more than they are willing to give. A safe investment kind of thing. Make a child and it will make you happy.

Really?

Make a child and you will feel proud and completed.

If you want to feel proud and completed, nothing like taking a good shit to give you that warm and fuzzy feeling. Instead of making a child, add some fibre to your diet and drink lots of water. Satisfaction guaranteed.

I will never be good enough for my mother.

I am not good enough because my value as a human being is in direct relation to my weight. If I am thin and beautiful, I am good. I please her. Therefore she has to police my eating to make sure I'll keep pleasing her. Never mind the fact she is fifteen to twenty kilos overweight. That's another thing.

I am not good enough because I have friends she does not approve of. Right now, with me nearing my forties, she still expects me to spend time with her and not have friends. Or have friends, but you know, they should not be as important as she is in my life. And as she pointed out, what kind of person is happier to meet with her friends instead of spending time with her mother?

I am not good enough because I am stupid, I don't take notice of what's happening around me, a nonsensical immature little idiot who prefers cutting bits of paper and playing with stickers than doing something mature and more 'my age'. For example, watch TV by her side. Now that would be a mature and responsible thing to do, unlike writing letters and crafting.

I am not good enough because I am an introvert and I don't like mindless socialising. 

I am not good enough because I am 37 and still have not married and haven't had any children of my own. 

I am not good enough because it is perfectly okay to spend most of our monthly income feeding stray animals, but if I want to fix my glasses, go out for coffee or go to the doctor that's not really necessary or important. 

I am not good enough because my value as a human being is in direct relationship to how much I please her. Ideally we should be like conjoined twins and I should spend every hour of my day and every day of my life revolving around her, a blissful little planet orbiting around her pleasant personality.

You know what, mom?

Fuck you.

Fuck you and your ideas and your experiences and your understanding of reality.

Fuck you and your emotional blackmailing and your manipulation and your guilt trips.

Fuck your love under conditions.

Fuck your kindness under obligation.

Fuck you. I am going to find a way to do what I want.

I may not be good enough for you, but that's okay.

I am good enough for me.

I am good enough for my friends.

I am good enough for everyone except you, it seems.

And you know what?

I am perfectly happy with it. 

I don't need to be good enough for you.

I don't need you.

I just need me.

Depressed

Today I am awfully depressed.

I read somewhere that depression is pretty much like the weather. Some believe that if you just ignore it and shrug it off, it will pass. It is not so. When depression hits, it hits me hard. I am not sure why I feel that way, but I do. Just like I am not sure why some days it is raining buckets, but it is, when I am depressed I can't shrug it off or ignore it. It won't go away. It will take its time, will do a full circle and then it will pass.

One of the reasons I am depressed is the fact I have very few friends, and unless I call them first, they very rarely do. I am not sure why they don't. Maybe they don't want to pressure me or they have their own stuff to deal with. In fact I do know they have their own stuff to deal with. But a phone call would be more than welcome. I know that since I am feeling depressed I should call them, but you know what, I am tired of always picking up the phone first. Sometimes I want to see how long it will be before they call me, how many days it will be before they realise I have not called them. Sometimes even if I do call them they won't call me back. Does it matter? No. The whole thing will just make me even more depressed. It's a lose-lose situation either way. I hate feeling dependable on others and yet I can't live alone. That's how humans were made and hardwired: to depend on others. To have a family and friends. I loathe my family, or simply put up with them with amused annoyance, and on days like this I feel like I always give to my friends more than I receive. And I am not sure if something can be done about it and what that is. I probably need to meet more and different people, or just accept my situation. 

I should go out and take a long walk just like I do when I am feeling so low. I resemble a bird with a chain around its leg. No matter how far I go, I am forced to always return to my nest, to home sweet hell. 

I am not sure what can be done about me in general. Time passes and I feel like options close instead of opening in spite of my efforts and everything I do. I know I am depressed and see everything distorted right now and I should not worry about it too much. I should ride the wave and let it pass. Because it will pass. No matter what happens, I will press on.

I just wish I didn't feel that it is pointless. I wish I did not feel so empty inside. That's all.

The 'curse' of feminism.

I did not write this, but it expresses my views and experiences on the subject. So I might as well put it on my blog.

Article taken from here:

http://viralwomen.com/post/honey_i_want_you_to_stop_being_a_feminist

My mother phoned a few weeks ago, and she sounded purposeful but hesitant, like she had finally worked up the courage to tell me something important. 'Honey,' she said, her voice broken with concern. 'I want you to stop being a feminist. I love you too much to see you turn into a terrorist'. As she went on about her concerns, I quietly amused myself with the thought of coming home to a room full of concerned faces and a big banner reading: INTERVENTION. Muffled sniffles of my loved ones. 'We fear it's gone too far,' someone would say. 'You need to stop being so conscientious of the social inequalities and hierarchies of power that plague this world. Before it's too late.'

I've been a feminist since before I knew there was a word for it, and it has always baffled me how it was even possible for a person not to be. If feminism is the belief that women are as human as men, that women should be able to own their bodies and make choices about their lives, who could possibly disagree with it?

It seemed so outrageously simple to me, and it confused and saddened me that so many men and women who were so clearly aligned with my beliefs, not only refused to identify as feminists, but out of some obscure understanding of feminism as a grainy, black and white montage of women burning bras and chopping off their husbands' dicks, went as far as condemning it as a destructive movement, or dismissing it as an irritable fad that needed to cease. Why weren't these people feminists? It was a question I just couldn't crack. Eventually, in the midst of flipping the bird at a group of particularly rowdy cat callers, the answer came to me: because it's easier not to be. 

Feminism is hard. Being a feminist isn't as simple as putting up your hand and saying that you think women are humans too- though that's a start. Feminism is not a mere political orientation; it's a process- a long, difficult, exhausting, and often disheartening process of unlearning every problematic 'truth' one has internalised over their life, about sex, gender and race. It involves a lot of self-education and self-reflection, which requires initiative, and a very thick skin.

A person who identifies as feminist never does so because they've been taught that it's a swell thing to be, but rather the opposite- they are feminist despite society's efforts to demonise it. You don't declare yourself a feminist expecting a pat on the back; you do it knowing there'll be backlash, knowing that your friend will roll her eyes every time you exhibit even a trace of it, knowing you'll make yourself a leper in the eyes of your cute-as-hell date, that as soon as you say the word he'll cringe away like it comes with a side of herpes and a sixth toe.

We all exist in the thick of it; of rape culture, of slut shaming, of glass ceilings, body shaming and the normalisation of humiliation porn- and it takes a certain kind of person, a certain analytical mind, a certain amount of open-mindedness and courage, to question a culture from within it. It's incredibly hard to question what you know to be true. To locate and then pick away at your own internalised misogyny, and to try to break down how it came to form such a fundamental part of your understanding of gendered identities. To sit there and think, 'So why do I think that wearing a short skirt legitimates rape? Why do I think women's hormones make them inferior professionals? Why do I think that women are bad at math? That sex is something masculine; what men enjoy and women endure? Who told me that? And most importantly, why?'

I feel like being a feminist is a lot like having shards of shattered glass in your body that you have to painstakingly remove one by one. Some shards are hidden so deep, lodged so stubbornly that it may take you years, or even a lifetime to locate, let alone remove. Unlearning internalised misogyny is something you must do alone, and navigating the twisted labyrinths of your own prejudices is not a happy pastime. The truth is that it hurts, so much, to be a feminist, and to consume or be involved in feminist dialogue.

It is gut wrenching to learn about the 8-year-old Yemen girl who died of sexual injuries on her wedding night to her 40 year old groom. It is soul crushing to see the slut shaming and victim-blaming that followed the brutal assault of actress Christy Mack, who is now in need of a facial reconstruction after having her skull crushed in by an MMA fighter's vengeful fist. It is infuriating to learn that sex education practitioners still pass around chocolates around the classroom, to demonstrate how the more a woman is touched, the 'dirtier' she becomes, the less fit she will be for male consumption, and thus, the less she will be worth as a human being.

It's impossible to become immune to images and tales of misogyny, and it's incredibly painful to have to seek out these images, to follow stories of the shaming, abuse, rape and death of women, day after day, to expose old wounds and create new ones, in the name of education. It is so, so difficult, and nobody tells you that.

Feminism is not for the faint hearted. God, I wouldn't wish it upon anybody. But alas, I believe in feminism like I believe the earth is round, like I believe that burritos are delicious and that Mark Ruffalo is beautiful. So for all of you poor bastards that have been cursed with the belief that women are full human beings who deserve to live as they please, and feel the need to label yourself with the dreaded F-word, my deepest condolences to you.

If you feel like you're consuming or contributing to feminist dialogue only to be filled with sadness and dread, hang in there. If you feel like you're constantly defending your character against people who deem feminism to be a pollutant of it, aren't we all? If you feel like you're a little sammie swimming upstream, it's because you are. And you're a damn soldier for it. 

Gia London

(via stuff.co.nz)