Dear Men

Before I start, a disclaimer:  For the purposes of this posting, "Men" shall refer generally to cisgendered men who are attracted to women.  "Women" or "we," on the other hand, will refer not only femme-identified people, but all people who present or are perceived femme regardless of sex or gender identity.  This is not meant to be exclusionary, but rather is because I need to be understood by idiots. Dear Men, You are not "a nice guy." I know you aren't because of how hard you're trying to convince everyone around you that you are. The louder you scream "not all men," the easier it is to identify that you ARE DEFINITELY one of THOSE men. The PROBLEM men. Dear Men, If your response to a woman saying "This is why we are afraid" while posting an article about A MAN SHOOTING AN INFANT because he was rejected by a mother is not with disgust and grief and remorse and heartfelt sympathy, but is

Love Is (Not) Our Resistance

Okay, kids.  We have some things to discuss. The status quo is unacceptable.  We have a room full of rich fucking white men deciding the fates of everyone who ISN'T a rich fucking white man.  A bunch of entitled pricks who everyone says think they know better what we need than we do. But here's the thing:  They KNOW that what they're doing is harmful.  Let's stop pretending their intentions are altruistic.  Let's stop pretending this is about anything more than power and money.  It isn't that they think they know better than we (and our doctors) do--It's that they legitimately don't give a shit about what we need.  What they want is FAR more important than what we need.  What they want is to have all of the money and all of the power, and for women and PoC and poor people and queers to literally serve them or die.  (We queers are in the "or die" category, except for the hot women, who need to have the queerness raped out of them.) Some of

Punch Up (Or: Why It Doesn't Fucking Matter What You Meant.)

It's really not that difficult a concept.  Some things shouldn't be joked about.  It isn't because I'm One Of Those Feminists with no sense of humor, it's because joking about things normalizes them.  And honestly, that's dangerous. So let's try to dumb it down a little. Don't make fun of people who can be hurt by it. Now I'm not talking about 45 getting his feelings hurt about a television comedian making rude comments about his mouth's relationship with Putin's hairy manhood.  He'll make poop-tweets about how he's being treated unfairly, and try to violate the First Amendment by censoring said comedian, but at the end of the day, he's still shitting on a golden throne that shoots warm water up his oddly pale arse so he doesn't have to worry about cleaning himself.  On his private jet.  Which he's taking to his golf resort.  On the taxpayers' dime. Make fun of the politicians.  Make fun of the 1%.  Make fun of

Rape Culture: I do not think it means what you think it means

I'd like to say a few things about rape culture. Mainly what it is, what it isn't, and why your knee-jerk reaction isn't necessary. Rape culture exists. And we pretty much all contribute to it. Yes, even I do. Rape Culture is an environment in which rape is prevalent and in which sexual violence against women is normalized and excused in the media and popular culture. Rape Culture is NOT a bunch of dudes standing around drugging drinks and talking about how they can't wait until a chick gets raped. Those dudes exist, but that is NOT what rape culture is. When I say "you contribute to rape culture," it does NOT mean that you're okay with rape. It doesn't mean that you like it, that you think it's not a huge problem, that you wouldn't do everything in your power to stop it if you get the opportunity. It means that you contribute to a ubiquitous and pervasive society that frequently reduces women to sex objects. My frequent use o

For my friend, and anyone who needs it.

One of my friends has a hard time with today. Ten years ago, he lost his wife to untreated mental illness. Today, he told me how brave I am. How much he appreciates that I'm getting help. How I'm his hero. He reminded me of why I'm doing what I'm doing. Because depression doesn't just hurt me. It can hurt everyone around me. It hurts everyone who loves me. It isn't just about me. And if you're going through it, it isn't just about you. So for my friend, I'm going to talk about how goddamned hard it is to ask for help. Because "asking for help" sounds so easy. But it's not, and I'm not going to bullshit about that. It's hard. But god, it's important. You can't expect to fix everything yourself. You just can't. It's too much pressure, and you don't always have the right equipment. It's like trying to hang a picture with a bulldozer, or build a bridge with a shovel. It just don't

The Me In The Mirror

I had a thought last night that was so terrifying that I could only feel it for a few minutes before everything went numb. I was thinking really hard about my symptoms, and trying to determine when they really started. I think I decided it was 2008, the year I was last raped, and the year that my brain broke so badly that I don't remember most of that summer. It's largely an unfocused blur. There are bits here and there that I recognise, but can't identify in detail. That was almost six years ago. I was 23. Now for those of you who are around 30, like I am, stop a moment and think about who you were at 23. I bet you were a very different person, because...well, that's what your 20s are for. Generally that's when we start turning into the person we're going to be for the rest of our lives. When we become adults for real, instead of for legal. For me, it's when I think I broke. And if I've been broken since then, I have to wonder... Will

How To Actually Help [me minimize my awkwardness at normal questions]

I know, I've been neglectful again. Like Silent Bob, I only speak when I feel it's truly important. I hope that this means that you take my words a little more seriously, when I do speak. Recently, I've fallen into the deepest, most crippling depression I've ever experienced. At least that I'm aware of. (There WAS that one summer that I don't remember. But who knows what I was like then?) I mean it's bad. When I say "crippling," I mean that it's hard to function in the most basic ways--Feeding myself, bathing myself, getting out of bed. You know. Socializing and working tax me more than I knew was possible. I've recently started suffering "crashes" after extended periods of being in a good mood. After the happy activity ends, I feel myself start to deflate. If the crash is bad enough, it results in me curled up somewhere in my underwear (How did that happen? I don't even remember getting undressed!) crying for l