naked eye

I was a sex object when I didn’t want to be and she—
She was powerless to protect me.

I learned the way a woman is supposed to be
By sneaking into the living room
Only to catch my dad watching porn.
I didn’t know there was a name for what he watched
at night
in the dark.
I just remember the feeling in my stomach
Seeing topless women roaming around,
bouncing up and down,
making funny sounds.
I remember the panic in my chest,
the shame forged in the pit of my throat.

I learned the way to live in denial
Of what I would later learn to recognize as betrayal
When, at a young age,
I happened upon photos of women all addressed “To Tommy”.
Who the hell is Tommy?
I thought my dad’s name was Tom.

Without permission I was touched,
I was watched,
I was invaded.
Nobody tried to stop him.
Nobody cared to listen to my silent cries.
I was a play thing,
A show piece.
Just as they were.

And every time I die inside.

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Rx

We put insecurity in a box and call it beauty.
We put harassment in a box and say it is a compliment.
We put humiliation, degradation, and objectification in a box and label it opportunity.

We put little girls on stage in bikinis, high heels, big hair and make up, sexualizing them; normalizing competition among females; claiming it’s all just harmless fun.
Who doesn’t want to feel pretty?

We groom them, undress them, terrorize and invade them; we take away all but their sense of opportunity to feel beautiful, which they’ve equated with an opportunity to feel loved. Instead what we leave them with is the deepest sense of shame.

We dismember them; put them on a pedestal and berate them when they fall. 
We use them for our advantage, by force if we so desire because 

they are just a necessary means after all.

We are the reason they will do anything to numb the pain;
the reason they will turn tricks because it’s all they’ve ever known.
We are the reason their tragic reality exists.

We are the reason young girls will have sex in front of a camera with strange men referred to simply as “Dick”. Because their names don’t matter; she’s learned to use them just as others have used her. Sex becomes a drug.

And we hand her the prescription.

itsy bitsy or teeny weeny?

Bikini Contest.  The other night I came across a video with this title when I was on YouTube listening to some tunes.  My children spend a lot of time on YouTube, much to my dismay (especially my daughter who is 11), so sometimes video suggestions will pop up based on things they’ve watched.  This video, I could tell, was geared for (presumably) a young teenage audience.  So, I decided to be a responsible parent and check it out.

What I discovered was that this video was posted by some self-consumed Barbie doll wannabe teenage twat who decided to try on and share with the world all 30 (yes, 30) bikini swimsuits that she owns.  Answer me this: who… the hell… needs 30 swimsuits?!?  And all bikinis none the less!  …that’s not very practical.  Also, who has that kind of time or money?  (Obviously not me so I should probably just move on…)

This poor stupid girl started off by saying how all of her friends were doing these videos, so she decided to join in on the fun (so this is a thing that other stupid girls are also doing apparently).  She proceeded to show her viewers each bikini, one by one, and described them in detail, as if we couldn’t already see what they looked like (it was riveting, let me tell ya).  She demonstrated what each one looked like by trying them on (offering a close up of her chest) and got really excited over STUPID shit.  Thirty goddamn bikinis later, she’s encouraging her viewers to “like” the video and “follow” her on YouTube.  But it was her closing remark that really made me sad and mad at the same time.

It was something along the lines of “even if you’re a creepy guy who just wanted to see some girl walk around in a bikini, that’s okay, you’re still a follower!”  She then winked and gave the camera a thumbs up.

What the…………. fuck?!??

I’m sad that there are actually young girls and women out there who feel they need this kind of validation in their lives…. the kind that comes from complete strangers who care nothing about them but rather what they look like underneath the next to nothing clothing they may or may not be wearing.  I’m sad that it doesn’t bother but rather excites this girl to know that strange “creepy” guys are using her to get off, but will later forget all about her.  BECAUSE SHE MEANS NOTHING TO THEM and because she will be replaced with the next girl feeling frisky enough to take her clothes off for an audience.  How sad that that is yet so important to her concept of self.  …And that there are girls and women who think and feel and behave this way EVERYWHERE.

I’m mad that this type of media not only shows a lack of self-respect, but also a lack of consideration for the young girls who have been victims of sexual violence as a result of the smut regularly available on the internet to creepy guys everywhere.  [Sort of as an aside, I was actually surprised recently to learn from a friend who worked in probation with pedophiles that when asked, offenders will oftentimes say that what they did to their sister, niece, cousin, neighbor girl… they learned by watching online videos; their curiosity got the best of them.  I guess I always assumed these fuckers were repeating what had been done to them or what they watched happen growing up.  But that isn’t usually the case as it turns out, at least in my friend’s experience.  And yet how often do we support this type of violence that is most often directed towards women and girls by supporting the porn industry in some form or fashion?]  I’m mad that I’m forced to raise my daughter in a world that begins sexualizing girls at a young age, exploiting them in a myriad of ways, only to turn against them in the end for getting old and fat.

So this evening I had a well thought out discussion with both of my children in which  I very deliberately said a swear word.  This isn’t something I do often.  Oh sure, I’ll let something slip in a fit of frustration or hostility or if I’m just not thinking.  Very rarely do I contemplate a swear word before using it around them.  But I felt, after watching this video and others like it, a word that is taboo and profane to them was exactly what I needed to describe what I thought of this online trend in order to leave a lasting impression.

And so I said to them, “hey… kids…  this video is SHIT.”  I made sure to repeat it several times and continued to explain the impact that videos like these have on both girls and boys and how it can affect their perceptions without them even realizing it.  Videos that are self-serving and attention seeking, that contain nothing but petty commentary and pointless dialogue (or just down and dirty raunch) just to hide the fact that a girl is insanely insecure (and why wouldn’t she be in our society) do nothing to enhance one’s character or improve the lives of others.  It is pure and utter… SHIT.  I just hope that none of the brainwashing has set in for either of my children yet. My 8-year old son just laughed when I brought it up (“Who would want to watch someone in a bikini?!”); my daughter insisted she didn’t see it and steers clear of those types of videos.

Nevertheless… this mama bear is tightening up on what she allows in her home.  I can’t control what my cubs see in the real world, but dammit if there’s going to be a lot less SHIT around here interfering with anyone’s potential to be their best, most confident and most ambitious selves.  I’m sorry but, trying to determine which of your 30 bikinis is the most liked by people you don’t even know isn’t very ambitious.  There is a lot of shit going on in the world, more relevant than the SHIT you contaminate it with, stupid fake pretty girl!!

 

 

I Think I’m Alone Now

When you step out to face that creature, you will step out alone.”
–White Queen to Alice

Perhaps one of the main reasons my mom never left my dad is because she was afraid to be alone. After all, being alone can be…terrifying.  Especially if you have kids.  Because then, not only do you experience the threat of loneliness that often accompanies solitaries, but you also bear primarily all the responsibility in taking care of your children, entertaining them, educating and guiding them, and looking after their emotional needs. That’s scary!! Even for two people. But many a single parent have been successful at doing it alone. And now I’m one of them. I’m proving to my mother, to anyone petrified of braving parenthood on their own, that it can in fact be done. AND that a person doesn’t (shouldn’t) have to be defined by their relationships, especially if those relationships require a loss of self.

As for the loneliness, it’s very real. Especially when you’re still in love. But at the same time, I enjoy being alone. I’m good at it. I’m used to it. Growing up I always felt isolated from my family. My older brother who once offered to protect me from bullies grew to resent me and became a bully himself. Maybe because I had friends and got good grades and he didn’t. Or because our dad mostly left me alone while my brother suffered constant berating.  Repression has a way of bringing out the worst in us. He used to barge into my room while I was undressing.  At first I dismissed it as coincidence, but I got wise to him quick; he was doing it on purpose. I felt so uncomfortable in my own home, my own room even. I learned that no where and no one was safe. I couldn’t change my clothes or use the bathroom without fear of him peeking in to get a look at me. I learned where I had to stand to undress while blocking the door and staying clear of any cracks he could peep through. (And it’s just now occurring to me–his nick name for me when I was a teen oddly became ‘peep’. I thought it was endearing at the time. Now it’s horrifyingly derisive.) Suffice to say, I was never close with my brother.  

In fact, I’ve always felt disparate from everyone in my family. Their perception and expectations of me were never in accordance with who I felt I was inside. So naturally, I learned how to isolate myself as I painfully tried fitting into their mold of me. It was either that or risk being rejected having revealed my true thoughts and feelings, desires and interests; having failed to be who I was “supposed” to be.

My dad was never around (he worked 2nd shift, how convenient). And even when he was, he wasn’t at all available. He isolated himself (one of few things my father taught me to do). My mother was the only source of love I knew but I felt the threat of its revocation whenever I attempted to be myself in front of her. Whether it was listening to Madonna, inviting a black boy to our house, piercing my nose, or being friends with a lesbian, my mother who promised to love me unconditionally in one breath, threatened to disown me in another if I so happened to step outside the lines of what she deemed appropriate, acceptable behavior. I’ll love you IF isn’t unconditional love.

Consequently, I quickly learned that being alone was preferred to being with others. Because when I’m alone with myself then and only then do I really feel free to be myself without the threat of rejection and without the need to conform. I can do what I want when I want. I can associate with whomever I wish. I can listen to any music I like. And no one has to know. Some people are meant to be alone. I suppose, maybe, I’m one of them. And the sooner I accept this, the better off I’ll be. Looking for something (someone) that isn’t there brings nothing but heartache.

And anyway, far too many people try escaping their fear of being alone by investing themselves in a relationship at all times; it is as if they are afraid of themselves. Because being alone teaches you about yourself. Being alone allows a fresh perspective of the world and your place in it because it finally becomes possible to look at everything through your eyes, not someone else’s. Being alone enables you to examine your wishes for your life and motivates you to get going because there is no one holding you back and no one to blame when your accomplishments don’t meet your expectations. I know I don’t want to hold anyone else back or be a burden to someone. I suppose this is a fear I have about not being alone.

I always felt that being part of a family was a huge burden to my dad. He never wanted to be bothered. He preferred to watch TV or nap. These two activities normally went hand in hand as he would lye in his recliner watching TV intermittently between snoozes. If he wasn’t doing that he was out sleeping with other women (apparently). Or in the garage tinkering around. Or getting ready for his next fishing trip which seemed to occur every weekend (just to ensure he wasn’t home I suppose). When childcare would fall through or for whatever reason my dad would have to watch me unexpectedly, he’d be terribly frustrated if it interfered with his fishing plans.  Rather than cancel his trip, he’d take me with him. And I hated it. I wasn’t allowed to talk and I wasn’t allowed to move. Heaven forbid I spook the fish! Once he took me ice fishing in the middle of winter, which was torturous because it was FREEZING. But I didn’t have a choice. It was all about him. It was never about me. Or family. Getting him to come along for family gatherings has not always been an easy task for my mother either. Not to mention, he couldn’t be troubled to be there for my mom when she was in labor with me.

If withholding his love wasn’t enough to clue us in, then withholding his time and interest in our lives was certainly a lesson in how I am nothing but a burden to him and, I began to translate, to others as well.

Makes it hard to speak up about things when you’re worried you’ll “spook” or upset someone by having thoughts, feelings, opinions, needs. Makes it hard to feel anything but better off alone.