Hello again, Thankless Children (I’m trying out a new subscriber nickname, what do you think? Is “Ingrates” better?). How have you been? I’ve not been great. You might even say that I’ve been dangerously depressed. Don’t worry, though, I’ve enlisted the help of professionals. It turns out that I don’t have any more room left inside my soul to cram feelings into, so I guess now I’m going to talk about them.
Today I want to talk about how strangers treat me, and the way it makes me feel.
I’m trying to conduct my life in a constructive, meaningful way. I’m trying to base my self-worth on things other than my appearance. I think a lot of people are. So when I’m walking down the street, just trying to be a human being, and a stranger feels the need to tell me that they approve of my appearance, I get angry.
I don’t want to be lauded for my ability to exist in a fashion that pleases your eyes. It’s demeaning to be reduced like that. It undermines my actual achievements and forces the standards that you’ve set for me down my throat. And then I have to try to recondition myself. Again and again, day after day, I have to chisel out your unsolicited opinions on my worth and mortar it over with reassurances. “I am smart. I am kind. I am capable. Success does not hinge on whether or not I look good while I climb. My looks are the least important thing about me. I have so much more to offer.”
If you see me walking, and you think I look sad, and you think that I ought not to, and you want to tell me to smile, consider that I may be sad. I am a person with a life and problems of my own, and making sure that I look happy and pretty for you isn’t going to make me feel better. When I’m contemplating stepping out in front of a bus, the very last thing I’m concerned about is whether or not I’m adhering to your standards of beauty. I’m busy thinking of all the people that love me and all the things that I have to look forward to if I can just hang on. “Smile!” Like my only real problem is whether or not I’ll find a husband.
You are harassing me. Even if you don’t swear or touch yourself, even if you say “beautiful” instead of “hot”, you are bombarding me with the notions of value that I work so hard to reject. You are interrupting my day to bring me down from “Person” to “Thing”. You are an assbutt and I hate you to death.
Alright, we fell apart at the end there, but it was a pretty good attempt. Stay tuned for hopefully some fun content, maybe about cheesecake? As long as WordPress doesn’t act the fool again.