[So I should probably go ahead and warn you all in advance - MAJOR DADDY ISSUES INCOMING. There, you've been warned. Please feel free to groan in disgust and stop reading there if you like - gods know I won't blame you.]
Well, now I've got that little disclaimer out of the way, let me go ahead and continue. As I said - it's not so much the personal disadvantages to myself (which in all honesty I've grown to almost cherish in a sort of self-love/loathe relationship due to the ways I've had to better myself or find greater strength to overcome them) that I especially despise - it's the detrimental, irreparable breach my birth caused to an old, perhaps not-too-noble but definitely note-worthy line. I suppose the same is true of every daughter - she breaks a chain that runs back to the beginning of humanity in her family - father, son, father, son, father, son and so forth. Perhaps it's my love of continuity and pattern that drives this loathing like a thorn into my side, perhaps it's some misplaced family pride. Hell, it could just be my own perverse misogynistic self-loathing trying to find some new excuse to fuel itself, some new outlet. All I know for sure is that I hate it. I hate the day of my birth, I hate the end it heralded. All I can do is pray my father sowed a few bastard sons before me - that our line might continue in blood if not in name. To be that one defective link that breaks the chain is a thought I can hardly bare.
I don't believe necessarily that being born a son would make me happier, make my parents love me more, or make my life easier - but at least our family's name and blood would live on. I sigh at how strange this must sound to most - bloodlines and pedigrees and all that nonsense does seem to have been mostly abandoned nowadays. Growing up my father's child and pupil instilled me with certain outdated mindsets and mannerisms mostly better left to some eclectic not-quite-existent past, a Zeitgeist of a time and place that probably never was, leaving me to live a life distanced from the masses, to walk my own uncertain path in a world slightly off from theirs, a reality extricated from their expectations and experiences. I t makes relating with others difficult, but gives me ways of seeing things most wouldn't think of, not to mention with the way Victorianalia and old-world-made-new fashions and thoughts seem to be coming into bloom over the last decade or so (especially these last few years), that I find myself on the cutting edge of old-fashioned-om.
I digress, though I suppose that is what one's expected to do in musings. Never the less I had a bit more I wanted to say on the topic of my non-manhood. Daddy issues that would make Freud giddy and misplaced outdated sensibilities aside, I'm still not sure how I feel being a woman. Growing up I loathed it, hated everything about it. I told my mother at 5 how much I wished I was a boy, and with her being a die-hard feminazi she was immediately horrified, blaming media and mankind for my situation, telling me to be proud of my non-dangling genitalia, going on and on and on about how men are the root of all evil and how perfect and infallible womankind was... the typical misguided American feminist spiel I've grown to loathe so. On an amusing note, she tried desperately to change her tone when I came out as a (at the time and on up till Nathan) lesbian a little less than a year later. Suddenly she was singing the praises of penises and grandchildren. Typical hypocritical bullshit, pardon my language. As was trying to say before my hideously coffee-addled brain wandered off again, I hated it. I hated being a girl, I hated being weak, physically and emotionally.
It was something that drove me with a burning passion, a desire - no NEED - to better myself, to be more of a man than the men around me, to be stronger, tougher, meaner, smarter, better in every way I could manage. This Amazonian zeal guided me through the better part of my childhood and adolescence, and still leads me to a lesser extant today. I have little doubt it will be there throughout my life, shaming me when I need it to, driving me to become better at all things I try my hand at. Were I born a boy, I don't know if I'd still have such a drive, perhaps I'd be content in my life, complacent - a thought I find truly horrifying and disgusting. Perhaps my gender-based handicap is less of a curse and more of a mixed blessing. Regardless I've slowly and begrudgingly learned a certain respect for it - or at least for the drive it instills in me. Besides, what use is there in lamenting the irreversible?
I've even grown to enjoy some female traits and interests, namely beauty and fashion, something I'd long enjoyed in my partners but never considered for me until these last few years. Speaking of said past relationships, some of you may wonder how it is I can so loathe womankind yet enjoy their company as I once did....frequently. Simple - I've held them always to a different standard. It also helps that it's their bodies and not those of men (well, not usually) that interest me. The beauty and grace of their frames, the light in their faces, the propensity for such deep kindness or cruelty - the way they know their way with words around a person's heart - these things excite in me a certain undeniable interest. The company of women is what I lust for carnally speaking, but it is the company of men I prefer where my heart and mind are concerned (though there have been and forever will be exceptions to this as there are for every other rule spoken or silently known.) Cherchez la femme they say - look for the woman, and when there's trouble for me it tends to be true - it's either my feelings for a woman or as a woman that have got me stuck in whatever mess I find myself in. This rift between me and my sex tends to kill any relationship I strike up with girls, and those that last are far from healthy. It's an abusive cycle like any other - but as I've mentioned earlier, patterns seem to hold a certain spot in my heart that I can't shake. I never claimed to be a good person, only self aware.
My relationships with men can hardly be called healthier - my ardent admiration for the ones I love seems to manifest itself in spats of envious cruelty between spells of obsessive ardor and boot-licking. To be fair it does take a certain kind of man for me to fall for, only those I could in some way call my better (which is where that envy randomly kicks in) and usually only those as damaged or strange as myself. I'll say this though - making those guys smile is the one of the few motivations that could outstrip that of my loathing or anger. It's the closest thing I have to balance in my twisted heart and mind, and I'm lucky enough to have two of those guys under the same roof as me.
Bitter ravings aside, I TURNED 21 EVERYONE!! And I promise it was one Hell of a party, in both senses of the phrase. I won't say more than that, at least not this post, other than to mention that despite my best efforts I failed to get drunk, and we had to drive someone to the hospital in the morning - the perfect end to a perfect disaster, though admittedly as far as disasters go it was a pretty fun one. Also since my last post I've been appointed as High Priestess of Slaanesh among a certain group of friends (Slaanesh is the Chaos god of excess, debauchery, decadence - The Dark Prince of pain and pleasure, patron of both terror and beauty, Herald of Indulgence, She-Who-Thirsts and knows our thirsts in kind... you know - my kind of fellow.) Other than that there's not much to say - I've gotten back into sewing, I'm on a diet, Miette's getting fixed today, and that Legion obsession I mentioned shows no signs of dying down anytime soon. Other than that, all quiet on the Endiry front.
Well, I've probably done enough damage for one day, or several really. Sorry for unloading my emotional baggage on anyone who's actually read this far, and sorry to anyone who now knows me better than they'd like, though I did try to warn you all I'm not right in the head. Anyways I hope you all have lovely (and hopefully not as twisted as mine - unless you're into that kind of thing) days, dreams, and darling things to hold onto in your lives! Auf Wiedersehen loves!
You know, it's interesting because for as long as I remember, when I was young, my two goals in life were to be the best friend to people I could be and to be completely the opposite of the stereotypical female--what I saw to be emotionally weak, frail, manipulative...someone I didn't want to be nd tried to distnce myself from at all costs. It took years for me to even be okay with crying...to me, it was a weakness...ocassionally, I still have issues with it.
ReplyDeleteFeminaziism or radical feminism is bullshit just as misogynism is. Females are just as diverse physically, mentally, and emotionally as males. I think the most important thing to remember is that we're all in this together and demonizing or idolizing the 'opposite' side wont make things better for anyone. Respect for everyone is critical.
Yeah I know what you mean about crying. I still can't handle crying in myself or others. As for idolizing the other side, well like I said - daddy issues that would make Freud giddy. As for respect, I believe only those who earn it are worthy of respect. I try make sure to have different ways for people to earn my respect, but at the end of the day I still find myself disgusted with humanity in general. I should also make it clear I don't idolize all males - only those I would consider men, a dying breed I fear.
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