For Goodness Sake, Let Us Be Young

My ex just tried to make me feel bad because this guy I slept with turned out to be bisexual.

Like, oh no, I so definitely regret that amazing sex we have together now.

Dude, get the fuck out.

Not only do you try to shame me for having sex outside of ~committed long-term monogamous relationships~ but now you’re being straight-up homophobic. Also I’m pretty sure your subtext was that he must’ve never really been into me because he puts DICKS in his MOUTH. 

Yet whenever I point out something problematic that you say or do, you pout and complain that I should know you’re not one of “those guys.”

Get out. I tolerate you because our social circles are so intimately tied together and I’m not giving up going to my favorite coffee shop just to avoid you, but this friendship thing is really not working out.

Whenever I pass WSU while driving or talk to friends who moved to Lawrence I always feel a weird bittersweet longing and wonder what my life would’ve been like if I hadn’t chosen to move to Tulsa.

I am constantly uncomfortable with my friends being scattered across the state and the country. I am uncomfortable that I am never in one city for more than a few months at a time. I am uncomfortable because my life seems to be at an odd, transitory stage between dependent teenager-hood and independent adulthood.

About once a week I’ll lie awake at night anxiously wondering if I’ll find happiness once I leave Wichita again. As if I derive all of my lifeblood and energy from being at the coordinates of 37.6922° N, 97.3372° W.

About twice a week, though, I’ll feel hopelessly restless and melancholy, ready for some great change or some great drama or even just in an academic setting where I at least feel purposeful and driven. And I’ll think that I can’t wait to get out of Wichita so I can experience something new. Yet I spent most of my time in Tulsa pining for Wichita, where everything was easy, familiar, and brimming with positive memories.

Although I’m not sure exactly how to go about it, I need to spend the rest of my summer finding peace within myself. I need to find the self-reliance to feel content & happy no matter my surroundings and the confidence to never doubt my ability to do so.

Things I really, really hate:

• People deciding not to be involved with politics or vote on the basis that “both parties are ruining our country!” (an understandable sentiment, but apathy is not the answer)
• People saying that the “liberal media machine” is just as fear-mongering and hateful and biased as conservative media (and by conservative I mean racist, borderline fascist neoconservative)

ugly-feelings:

sometimes i just want to get a fake orange spray tan and bleach my hair blonde and wear hollister and a&f and american eagle and uggs exclusively and wear frosted lipglosses and make ducklips faces and care about jersey shore and gossip girl. because apparently “nice” dudes hate when girls that because it’s “fake”, it’s “slutty”, it’s overdone/tasteless/”dumb” but fuck you. everything is fake. all persona is persona including what you’ve been conditioned to perceive as a “neutral”/”inoffensive” appearance.

because i don’t want your “respect”, and i certainly don’t need your advice on how to “respect” a body. i don’t need your fake concern about skin cancer and burns on my scalp when my body doesn’t even feel like mine sometimes. when breast cancer becomes selling sex to teenage boys who wouldn’t tell you about the lump in your breast they felt while they were feeling you up. your concern for my body will always be mediocre until it is mine to create/destroy/create, and even then it wouldn’t even matter because you do not inhabit this flesh, or these organs, or this mucus/snot/bile/blood/spit/fluid/fluid/fluid. so stop trying to crawl into my bed of skin, asshole. stop trying to own my ugliness. you can’t have it. too bad, so sad.

i don’t want you to wait before i leave the room to talk about how gross i am. i want my skin to be greasy and leave big orange stains on every man who touches me and who i choose to touch. i want my hair to make you puke. i want my clothes to remind you of how capitalism lives in tube tops and booty shorts just as well as it does in jeans and a t-shirt or whatever the fuck makes you feel like the girl you wanna fuck is real “authentic”, real “down-to-earth” or whatever. i want to remind you that every picture is posed. no expression can be pure when you can see the camera and the camera can see you. i want you to know that i spent three goddamn hours straightening my hair and putting on my eyeliner over and over again and removing it over and over again so there’s light grey rings under my eyes and when i reapplied my lipgloss for the 20th time tonight in the backseat of my best friend’s car it hit a pothole so it’s smudging against my lipliner and i’m still not “sexy” to your pretentious jonh lennon art school ass. my labor is MINE, and it’s ugly because god loves ugly. i wasn’t put on this earth to give you a hard on. i want to scream and drink and grind to shitty club music because i want to scare the living shit out of you. i want you to go home and post a facebook update about how “our generation is doomed” and get twenty likes from all your pretentious john lennon art school friends and all your fedora-wearing self-entitled pasty sarcastic bros and all your edgewatch xvx police officers and all your “nice guy” indie rock microbrew date rapists who all secretly wish they could make a man want to remove himself from this earth just by getting a spraytan.

i don’t want you to want to fuck me, BRO. i want you to have to look at me. i want to be the bright orange flesh you don’t want to fuck but you also can’t ignore. i want you to be very, very scared of what is going to come out of my mouth. i want you to cringe at the sound of my voice because it is both too feminine and too loud. your disgust makes me even louder, even more powerful. and it’s so funny to me, so funny to me, because you know and i know we are both just pretending we aren’t aware that deep down you so badly wish you could be a monster, too.

Rape Victim Denied Emergency Contraceptives. Doctor Cites Religious Objection As Reason

nessfraserloves:

raging-liberal-hard-on:

abaldwin360:

Remember when doctors did what was in the best interest of the patient? Remember when refusing to provide care could get you fired or even arrested? Well, those days are coming to a close as doctors and nurses have been freed by the GOP from any ethical or moral restraints. These days, a medical practitioner can simply ignore a patient because treating them goes against their “religious beliefs.”

read more

And people are still convinced on this “war against religion” bullshit? 

“But Ness, there’s nothing wrong with religion!!1”

Oh yeah? If these people didn’t put their blind faith in an ancient text that gives them the opportunity to cherry-pick passages that encourage shit like this, maybe this woman wouldn’t have been victimized for a second time.

CAN WE ALSO POINT OUT that this is a doctor who is so misinformed they think that plan-b causes an abortion? Yeah. Just let that sink in.

Also, fuck you.

“But Haley, what’s so wrong with religion anyway?”

Nothing would be wrong with religion if people practiced it as their own personal beliefs and didn’t take it upon themselves to use religion as an excuse to interfere with other people’s lives - usually in a catastrophic way.

NOT ONLY do people call upon “religion” as an excuse to interfere, but it is also legally sanctioned to do so. Not to mention how (monotheistic and Judeo-Christian for the most part) religion is granted incredible status and privilege in our culture to the point that denying it in your own life is often social and almost always political suicide.

It is incredible how my mom can manage to make me feel like the most stupid, insignificant, selfish, lazy being on the planet just because I didn’t warm up her dinner to her desired temperature.

I should be numb to it by now. I should know that 90% of what she says about me is completely irrational.

Still, when she berates me for being lazy (even immediately after I get home from working on my feet for 8 hours), I can’t help but remember the time she said the only reason I’m successful academically is because she let me be lazy about everything else my whole life.

No one else has the power to strip away my pride in my biggest accomplishments and reduce me to a petulant, sulky child.

I want to fight back. I’ve tried yelling back but anger & loudness doesn’t really soothe a 19 year-long guilt trip.

I am not tolerating anyone in my life who tries to tell me my feelings aren’t valid. I have treated myself so poorly in the past by denying the legitimacy of my emotions and there is no way I’ll let myself be treated like that by someone else, let alone someone who is my “friend” or thinks they have my best interests in mind.

One of the key components to me finding peace & happiness with myself is to allow myself the full fuckin’ range of human emotion with no guilt, shame, or denial. This is a big, gigantic, humongous deal to me and I expect that the people I choose to include in my life understand and respect that.

If you think I’m just having “crazy mood swings” or I’m being too emotional or too hysterical or oversensitive I kindly ask you to first critically think about how maybe cultural attitudes surrounding women, the social constructs of masculinity/femininity, and the devaluation of femininity have shaped your views. Second, I kindly ask you to think about how messed up it is on an interpersonal level to tell someone they just need to get over some emotion that they took the time and effort to express to you. Third, I kindly ask you to fuck off.

Because I’m not tolerating that anymore.