How could you go to heaven when everything you do as a woman is sin? Don’t breathe too loudly. Don’t laugh. Don’t walk a certain way. Don’t dress some other way. Don’t be friendly. Don’t smile at or socialize with men. Don’t raise your voice or talk back to them. Don’t make a scene. Why is it so difficult for your simple mind to understand that all that is asked of you is one facile thing? To be invisible.
The way I dealt with stress in the past was by putting my stressors in order, from the most stressful to the least, and then working on getting rid of the first on the list while completely blocking the rest out of my mind. One stressor at a time. You can’t drown that way. But lately, my stressors have been so interconnected that it’s impossible for me to deal with one without the other. They’re too many & are all of great significance. On top of that, a few major stressors of these are entirely out of my control. Ones without simple & quick solutions. Ones the cure of which lies in time. But time takes time & I’m running out of energy. I’m getting tired, slowly losing the power to tread water, to keep my head above the surface.
I write tonight, and for the first time, I write because I want to, not because I have to. I WANT to tell you. Words are having a party in my heart, or maybe in my head. I can’t exactly tell at the moment I’m sorry but it’s so loud, they’re so loud. They’re dancing, singing, drinking & jumping around. Perhaps they’ll go silent in an hour, or twenty four or maybe in a week or much more, but tonight, they’re happy. Tonight, they celebrate the beauty & wonder that is them. And assuredly unbothered, tonight, I stay up with them, to gaze & admire.
I thought when you said you wanted me, that you meant you wanted only me. I thought that I was your result, the end of your search, but I was wrong. To you, I was just a paper in a magazine. A funny girl who the sight of didn’t make you gag, one of many. You’re bored now, onto the next page.
I get optimism now. I understand the need for it. Sometimes you can’t afford to be pessimistic or even realistic about a situation. You can’t afford considering the worst possibility. It cripples you to even momentarily think about it. It does not exist. Life is all happy endings. Your situation is the exception to the rule. It’ll never happen to you. Repeat this to yourself. Repeat it so you could wake up in the morning, go to work, eat, fall asleep, and be able to continue to breathe.
He asked me the question, and in the midst of the following tension, in my hesitation, he looked away. He let the moment pass, too afraid to hear the answer. I had the wrong one. His eyes told me he knew it already, but my eyes still rushed to confirm it.
I hate this body. I hate it but not in the sense that I’m not comfortable in my own skin. Not in the self-loathing, insecure, human ‘I’m so fat & ugly’ way. I hate this body for all that comes with it & all it prevents me from doing. I hate it for the sole reason that it makes me weaker (or at least perceived in such a way). I hate that I can’t fully be the person I want to be because of it. I hate that I’m supposed to fear men and hate it more that there’s a good reason for it.
But what I hate most is the realization of the fact that the purpose of my creation is secondary. God created Adam then Eve. He ultimately made us to please men & bear their children.
You carry a “precious jewel” between your legs. One that’s more precious being untouched, but even after, remains of some value. As long as men exist, that thing between your legs, the sad reason for your imprisonment, is desired. As long as you carry what they desire (for the length of your life), you’re not safe. And as long as you’re not safe, you’re not free.