30 Days of De-Objectification: Worthless

30 Days of De-Objectification:

Worthless

Trigger Warning:

Discussion of sexual assault 

Mention of self-harm 

I am going to reveal something very personal.

Twenty going on twenty-one years ago, in the early morning hours of November 1, 1997, I was sexually assaulted by my ex-boyfriend.

I was in my early thirties, but I was very naïve. Even though I broke up with the guy because he had a very callous sense of humor and everything physical that happened with him had been coercive, I thought it was the right thing to do to remain friends with him. After all, I had broken up with him. So, I thought that we would start our new friendship with my taking him to a work friend’s Halloween party.

Not only was I very naïve, I also had untreated type 2 bipolar disorder, which would not be correctly diagnosed for another six years.

I took my son, who was seven years old at the time, with me because my co-worker had kids around his age.

I proceeded to get extremely drunk.

One of my other co-workers was flirting with me.

My ex-boyfriend became extremely angry.

To avoid having him start a fight, I took him out of there. I also did something which makes me flinch to remember to this day. I took my son with me over to my ex-husband’s parents’ house. I drove drunk with my child in the car. I didn’t know who I could call.

After dropping my son off with his grandparents, I went back to my apartment with my ex-boyfriend, so he could get his car. I went to bed fully clothed. I woke up undressed with him on top of me. I begged him to stop, but he didn’t. When he was done, he said “well, now we’re back together again.”

For the next year, I had panic attacks every twenty minutes for about five hours from the time I woke up. I didn’t want to go back to sleep because I knew it would start all over again when I woke up. Eventually, I would become too exhausted to stay awake, and the cycle repeated, every day, for the next 365 days.

I was falling apart. Nobody thought what I’d been through was “that bad,” because this bastard didn’t grab me and throw me on the ground or beat me up.

I felt like garbage. I felt worthless.

I was very vulnerable, and about six months after the event, I went to another co-worker’s party, where I became involved with one of the most predatory men I’d ever met. This creep expressed sympathy for what had happened, but he really just wanted sex. He took advantage of the fact that I was extremely vulnerable and my self-esteem was completely in the toilet. He would be affectionate towards me and then threaten to withdraw his “love” if I didn’t do what he demanded, which included watching a lot of pornography. He got a sick thrill out of my disgust over the bestiality videos he enjoyed watching. He eventually took up with another girlfriend and flaunted her in my face. He told me I was his “only girl,” but said he needed “a cheap piece of ass” too.

I ended up at his door one night with bloody wrists. I still have the scars.

Neither of these men saw me as human. I was a thing, an object. I was garbage.

Twenty years later, I still feel like I’ve been thrown in a sewer whenever I talk about it.

It is never right to look at another person and see an object rather than a human being.

It doesn’t make it better if you’re a girl objectifying a man.

There are some who will say “well, look what these guys did to you! We should turn the tables and have our revenge!”

I don’t believe that will make anything better.

I believe that objectification is never right.

I believe that it’s particularly awful to exploit and objectify vulnerable populations.

I took care of old and sick people for a lot of years.

I feel protective towards people in that population.

People who have lost their health and their ability to continue their careers should be honored, not objectified.

One of the residents at the retirement community I used to work at started hallucinating. One night she called me to her apartment in hysterics. She said that there were men who had come out of her closet and beat her. She said that these men told her that they were going to have sex with her. She said: “you’d think they could leave a seventy-five-year-old woman alone, wouldn’t you?”

These men in their sixties, seventies, and beyond don’t want to be objectified by teenage girls.

They have enough problems.

Don’t treat people like things to do with as you see fit.

Don’t deny others their worth.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Shadorma: Get Sick and Die

Hookworm

Despite the

 Worst efforts of the

 New order

 To insure

 My early death, I live on

 And I will fight them

~The Real Cie~ 

Notes:

This piece was inspired by this post about the treatment of sick and poor people in Lord Dampnut's Amerikkka. As part of the working poor class, and as a disabled person, living in Lord Dampnut's Amerikkka is terrifying.

30 Days of De-Objectification: Teen Idols

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Photoshop creation by The Real Cie

30 Days of De-Objectification:

Teen Idols

It’s hard to think of instances where being a teen idol helped a performer without harming them in some way. I can think of far more instances where “teen idol” status was destructive and, in some cases, deadly for those upon whom it was bestowed.

It is the nature of young people to be hopeful and eager to please. These qualities render them easily victimized by unscrupulous individuals who, in fact, care nothing about their well-being.

People who were child stars and/or teen idols either depart show business entirely once their heyday is over, or they spiral down. It is unfortunate that the public tends to laugh at the misfortune of these fallen stars rather than to feel sympathy for them. Schadenfraude is ugly.

Off the top of my head, I can think of a couple people who came away from child or teen stardom unscathed. The first is Shirley Temple. She left show business.

The second is Shaun Cassidy. Shaun saw what the star-maker machine did to his older brother David, and he didn’t take his own teen idol status terribly seriously. In one interview, he revealed that he always preferred being behind the camera to being in front of it. Shaun’s sensible approach as well as support and guidance from David and his mother, Shirley Jones, helped ensure that he came through the teen idol experience unscathed.

Unlike Shaun, David’s life was troubled. He never enjoyed the pretty boy pop star persona created by his management team. Backstage, he would often play songs like “Voodoo Child.” He was interested in performing harder rock music, but, thanks to his teen idol status, he was never taken seriously as a musician. Throughout his life, David struggled with addiction and had trouble maintaining relationships.

“The Two Coreys” are another example of the destructive nature of the way child and teen stars are treated. Corey Feldman is alive, but he is hardly unscathed. He realizes that he is the butt of jokes. He has stated that he doesn’t consider the assaults he endured (groping and lewd suggestions) to be as severe as those endured by his late friend, Corey Haim, who was raped.

Corey Feldman is a sweet if somewhat eccentric personality. It would be shameful to ridicule him in any case, but, considering the abuses and losses he’s endured, it is doubly so.

Brittney Spears is thriving at this point in her life, but that wasn’t always the case. Exploited at a young age, the pressure to maintain a “sexy” persona and flawless physique eventually caused her to have a psychological breakdown. Fortunately, Brittney received positive support and is doing well. I applaud her for publishing the unretouched photos from the Candies shoe campaign she modeled for. I’m glad she’s still here.

When I see someone like Justin Bieber acting out, I may feel on one hand that he’s making himself look foolish, but, on the other hand, I understand why he is behaving as he is. A lot of pressure is put on people like Justin to be the image that was created for them. People want Justin Bieber to continue to be the cute, mop-topped teenager that he was when he was discovered, even though he is now in his mid-twenties.

It is one thing to expect people to behave civilly. It is another to ridicule people, set them up for failure, and then expect them to behave normally. Someone like Justin Bieber hasn’t had a normal existence in a long time.

As the late Carrie Fisher said, youth and beauty are not accomplishments, they are accidents of time and DNA. It is high time that society ceased behaving as if youth and beauty are the highest of accomplishments. Beauty is subjective, and youth always fades, unless a life ends prematurely.

We need to be kinder to one another as a whole, and we need to stop perpetuating the attitude of exploiting and burning out teen and child performers.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: The "Right" Kind of Mentally Ill

This "corroded" image is the result of running an unflattering selfie through a bunch of filters and maxing out the distortion where possible until I achieved a disturbing "decayed" look.

This is a response to the Ravishly article, "What if I'm Not the Right Kind of Mentally Ill?"

I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill. I'm not the Lifetime Movie mentally ill, a sweet, pretty, lost little girl who just needs a good man to love her enough to rescue her from her mental illness.
I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill that gets better and inspires other mentally ill people that they can get better too. I still struggle with suicide ideation, made worse by the fact that, because I'm not the "right" kind of mentally ill, I've been unable to be successful in any career that would allow me to sustain life. (My current physical issues don't help either.)
Being the wrong kind of mentally ill means that people get frustrated with you not "trying hard enough" and not getting "better." So they tell you that you brought all your problems on yourself.
My life is littered with the corpses of friendships and relationships because I am not the "right" kind of mentally ill.

~The Cheese Hath Wrongly Grated It~

Haibun: Borderline Groupthink Callout Hell

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Inside my own head

 Or going out of my mind

 What the hell is real?

~The Unreal Cie~

Content warning for profanity and lots of it. 

So if profanity upsets you, don't read this shit.  

I generally have the borderline aspect of my incredibly fucked-up psyche under much better control than I used to. However, stress can trigger this aspect. Although the manifestation is less destructive overall because I have more capacity for reasoning things out than I did when I was younger, my anxiety levels still fly right off the scale, and I feel like my heart and head are going to fucking explode.

There you go.

I don't know if it's just me, but it seems that people these days are incapable of disagreeing without becoming violently disagreeable, at least verbally. I've never particularly enjoyed debating, I find it stressful. However, I was always taught to be civil. These days, people feel entitled to go on the attack anytime someone disagrees with them even a little.

Politically, I lean way to the left. However, I find the the far left equally as troubling as the far right. If you don't adhere to their exact thought patterns, you get accused of all kinds of things. 
Last night, I made the mistake of leaving what I thought was an innocent comment agreeing with an author who stated that he felt a jackass comment made by a right-wing pundit was inappropriate but it wasn't sexual harassment. I stated that I felt it was important to make the distinction between hyperbolic posturing such as this and actual sexual harassment, and I got piled on. If you want to see the article in question, it's here. I'm not going back there. 

The first person vehemently accused me of not believing that zir rape was rape, and it devolved from there. One person felt the need to explain to me that forced anal penetration was rape. Well, no shit, Sherlock. I am aware of this. Another demanded to know if I broadcast my off-the-cuff hyperbole on television. Obviously not, Shithead. I told him that I generally use a bullhorn.

I attempted to voice my disagreements in a reasonable fashion, but they were having none of it. Callout culture and groupthink have made it impossible to have a non-toxic debate. I fucked off, allowing the screaming meemies to think they won teh internetz!!!1!!

I try to avoid this kind of environment, because I find it extremely (I hate to use this badly overused word) triggering. I honestly didn't think there was potential for this sort of backlash as I thought I was dealing with adults. I expected disagreement, but I expected it to be rational in presentation. Man, was I wrong!

I was already under a lot of stress, and now I feel like my body is full of stinging insects. It's one of those days where I'd like to just take a low dose edible and take a load off, but I have too much to do.

For me, the edibles work a lot better than benzodiazepenes. There is no rebound effect (most benzos), no mind-numbing dullness (Valium), no extreme sedation. I wish I could just do that. But, nooo. So here we are.

I feel like the current call-out culture has given people permission to behave in an odious, entitled manner and to have no manners.

As it is, I sometimes have trouble even checking my comments for fear that I will be attacked.

I really don't belong on this planet.

Damn. That was the shittiest Haibun I ever wrote. Sorry. 

 

A Crappy About Me Meme

Hair: What hair color looks best on you and what’s your natural color?

I’ve been enjoying the darker henna shades of late. My hair is naturally gray.

Skin: Do you tan easily?

If by tan you mean “burn to lobster red,” then, yes.

Eyes: What is your favorite show to watch?

God, I don’t know. I usually fall asleep and then have to restart them. I am happy for Netflix.

Nose: What is your favorite perfume/candle fragrance?

Anything not too overpowering.

Mouth: Do you want to kiss anyone right now?

Oh, you’re looking for your beeswax, I see. You won’t find it here.

Tongue: What was in your last meal?

Truffle mushroom Swiss burger and crispy Brussels sprouts.

Windpipe: Do you sing?

Badly.

Neck: Do you wear necklaces?

Yes.

Ears: How many piercings do you have (if any)?

Two left earlobe, one right.

Cheeks: Do you blush easily?

Yes.

Wrists: Have you ever broken a bone?

Don’t go jinxing me.

Hands: Are you an artist/writer?

You can think I’m one if you want.

Fingers: Do you play an instrument?

Very badly.

Heart: Are you in love? If so, does the one you love know?
I already told you, your beeswax isn’t here.

Lungs: Do you smoke cigarettes?

I did for a cumulative total of about 20 years. I quit in 2006.

Chest: Are your maternal/parental instincts strong?

Yes

Stomach: Do you feel confident in your body image?

Thanks to our society’s very narrow perspective on beauty, hell no.

Back: Are you a virgin?

Yes, I am the Virgin Mary. My son is Jesus.

Hips: Do you like to dance?

Yes. I do it badly.

Thighs: Has anyone ever called you fat or ugly?

Now why the shit would you want to ask something like that under the category “thighs.” Talk about contributing to size shaming.

People who attack other people’s appearance are petty. Fuck ‘em.

Knees: Have you ever cheated on someone?

I’m not sure what that has to do with my knees, but, yes, many years ago. I have always felt terrible about it.

Ankles: Have you ever been arrested?
Yes.

Feet: Favorite pair of shoes?

I tend to wear soft clogs. I have foot problems.

Brain: Anything you want to ask

Why did I do this?