Everything About Me Is Wrong

I don’t talk much about my depression in day-to-day life. I don’t talk about it here, and I don’t talk about it in RL. Sometimes on my LiveJournal, though I’ve tappered off over the years. If there is one thing I have learned in this life, is that people don’t want to hear about the sad. Most of the times when I do talk about it, I either get no response at all or a dismissive “things will get better” or “keep your chin up”. I know people think they are helping, however they are not. Anyway, my therapist thinks I really need to learn how to disclose to people and talk about things. Thus, I am going to try to do so. I’ll start in the written format, since I’m most comfortable there, and hopefully it’ll build into face-to-face stuff. I hope my disclosure helps people. I hope somewhere out there people can relate. And if not, well, it’s my blog so it doesn’t really fucking matter ayway (only it does, though I try to tell myself it doesn’t).

Today I would like to disclose that I feel like everything about me is wrong. Even the things I like about myself are wrong. I feel a constant separation from the world at large. I know, I know, everyone feels isolated and alone but we’re really not and if we could just talk and love one another then everything would be okay. I call bullshit on that one. As a 26-years-old (Is that the right way to write that? I can never figure it out.) woman who doesn’t drink, doesn’t have sex, doesn’t adhere to gender roles, is married to man who doesn’t adhere to gender roles, comes from poverty, and is an anarchist and humanist, I call bullshit. Do you have any idea how hard it is to meet someone? To make friends? I know, I know, everyone has problems meeting people, yet on the fundamental levels (at least, the levels we’re taught are fundamental) I don’t fit in. I don’t go out with people for drinks, I don’t hang out in bars like most people my age, I don’t like alcohol. I think it’s poison. I can’t hook up with my girlfriends to share tales about meeting men or having sex. I don’t think anyone’s life should revolve around matching up, and I really think there is more to life than having sex. That is not to say I think people are wasting their time, I have no judgment on how someone else lives their life, I just can’t relate and share and form friendships over it because it is foreign to me.

I find it near impossible to have friends which are married. It seems the only thing these people are concerned with are having kids, getting 9 to 5 jobs, buying houses, and trying to make a nuclear family. I’m not interested in that. I know every married person in the world isn’t doing this, just every married person I’ve met. Ha! Anyway, I don’t prescribe to any of that stuff. I’m not interested in having children, a day job, a house or living in a “typical” family environment.

Anyway, I won’t address every detail. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I do want to point out that ontop of this stuff, there is a level of intolerance in our Society. Everyone seems to hate someone for something. Discrimination is build into our every day language to the point where most people don’t realize it anymore. However, I do. I recognize it all the time and when I point it out, I feel as though the response is that I’m just being crazy PC. My husband thinks he is being all good male because he says he doesn’t like it when a woman wears make-up. Well, dear husband (and I tell him this too), it’s really not any of your business what a woman does with her body. Of course he concedes and acknowledges this, however if it would have been any other person things likely wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. Especially one who isn’t open minded. I know that I don’t /have/ to say things to people when they’re being discriminatory. Yet, I feel it is my duty as a human being who cares for other human beings to stand up against what isn’t right. I’m not an activist per se, I just believe for “evil” to win all it takes is for good people to stand around and do nothing.

So yes, my strong convictions cause me to be apart from the pact. I know there are many bloggers out there who talk about this same thing. How they are accosted for being too PC. It’s a hard knock life. Let me go even further. I have these “fundamental” things that keep me separate, I have these convictions that keep me isolated, and I have this profound sadness that makes it near unbearable to be in the world. I watch this discrimination that is built into our world, the way people scapegoat one another and hate and destroy and tear apart, and it literally breaks my heart. I feel the weight of it in my body. Every time. I just want to tell people if they stop, if they just stop pointing fingers and accept everyone’s autonomy and allowed people to make mistakes and be wrong than so much sadness could be erased. I’m not saying it would end all discrimination, that would be silly. I do think it would make the world a happier, more loving place though. And yet I cannot say these things, because I come off like a preaching, self-righteous, jerk.

So the world hates me. The world hates me because I am fat. The world hates me because I am Jewish. The world hates me because I do not want to be a mother, because I will not assume my role as “the wife”, because I refuse to bond over hating my body and diet-talk. The world hates me because I believe people should be able to kill themselves if they want and because I think patriarchy kills souls. The world hates me for so many things, and yet this wouldn’t be so traumatic if I could love myself. The world hates me for being a victim and for not picking myself up by my bootstraps as fast as they deem appropriate. Yet, I feel like I can’t and still live in the world. I feel in order to appreciate who I am, I would have to become a hermit and move away from all the hate people sling at one another. Because when anything semi-liquid is slung, there is back splash and spray and it gets on me and makes me hate myself. I hate that I can’t connect with people, or that I have to choose between connecting with them and being who I am.

So I am left with the same question that has been plaguing me for years, what is left, what do I do? If I can’t even find love for myself, or the goodness in the world and people, what the hell is left?

Conform to beauty standards, or…

Someone on one of my blogs recommended Manolo for the Big Girl because it was funny. I decided to add it to my feed in order to evaluate for myself. Then one day I came across a post where Plumcake asks what big girls who don’t dress “chicly” are afraid of. This upset me. It is yet another person calling out those who “don’t fit” and trying to make them feel ashamed and broken. It’s another hierarchy being created. Oh yes, we here at Manolo for the Big Girl are fat, but we’re “fashionably” fat because we do our hair and wear cool clothes and buy high heeled brand named shoes. Just like the healthy fattie discussion. Anyone who doesn’t adhere to this is obviously just coping out. There is no excuse not to dress up and look good! What is wrong with /you/?

Needless to say, I removed the feed and was going to leave it alone, especially after reading the comments which all rang in about how horrible it is not to dress nice and look one’s best. I wanted to leave it alone, but the post kept rising up in my thoughts and causing me to get upset and even more offended. So I returned, and saw that Plumcake had received an outraged response to the post and then asked her readers what they thought. Again, more comments about how shameful and inferior women who didn’t follow fashion were. There was even a comment associating how a woman dresses to her house not being clean enough to accept guests. I mean really folks, have we regressed to the 1900s here? I know the role of women has changed, and the work isn’t done, but we have made a lot of progress and this just breaks my heart.

I admit I posted a comment, which was likely too emotional and not logically sound. I hate letting my emotions get away from me, yet I couldn’t leave it alone. I encourage you ladies to voice your opinion of the situation, either here or there. I do not want to encourage any flamewars or nastiness, so please don’t go there to do that, just honest, open communication about this subject.

Creating Community

Lindsay over at Babble-on wrote a rather interesting (if lengthy) post concerning whether or not the fatosphere could be a community (and while I would normally link to this, Lindsay has decided to remove her blog. She will be sorely missed.) based purely on the definition of community. It has earned a couple of readings from me.

I am usually a lurker in the world. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I don’t really enjoy disagreeing with people. There are a lot of reasons for that, but it is another blog post altogether. So I generally don’t feel very “accepted”, as it were, into the fat acceptance/activist community. I also find that while I read a lot of the blogs, and they’re extremely well written, touching, and all that, I don’t really relate. As I’ve told Lindsay before, I am often the minority of the minority, something I like to refer to as 1%ers. While I understand that not everyone agrees with everyone else, usually though, people are able to find their group. I haven’t found mine yet. Anyhow, to my point.

I created this blog in order to create a sense of community in a way. I want it to be both accepting and political. I am an asexual, poly, married, fat woman who tries to live naturally and loves animals. However, you don’t have to be any or all of that in order to be here. I believe in the freedom of speech, the right of religion, and limiting the government. Yet, I welcome all opinions and thoughts. That doesn’t mean you can go on a tirade. I won’t allow people to be attacked or insulted, but conversation, debate, discussion, etc., are all welcome no matter what your stance is. Whether you’re fat or thin, dieting or not, a vegetarian or meat-lover, you’re welcome here. I post what I’m interested in, what intrigues me, thoughts I have, but that doesn’t mean I believe only my beliefs and thoughts and ideals are acceptable.

I want to provide an ear for people, a forum, a connection, because there is so little of that nowadays. So whether you’re just looking to have a shoulder to cry on, someone to connect with on a certain idea, advice on what to do with a lover or friend or parent, or just to read and explore, then please feel free. I’m open for any questions you may have, and I hope that my readers will be as well (though they have the option not to be, of course).

There was also a post by Big Liberty concerning being a Bad Fatty Revoluntary. I like this. I see a lot of posts on the Fat-o-sphere feed, and The Fat Liberation, about being healthy. Healthy this, healthy that, healthy, healthy, healthy. I don’t really prescribe to this mentality. Though I don’t knock it, it’s just not my cup of tea. I believe a person should be able to smoke, drink, drug all they want to. I believe we should be able to eat whatever we want, exercise or not, have sex or not, basically do whatever the hell we want without getting shit for it all the time. Yes, I do understand that we’re all interconnected. I don’t believe in hurting someone while we’re doing what we want, this isn’t about anarchy or complete chaotic freedom, it’s about autonomy and choice. I am likely a bad fatty. I don’t exercise, I like soda, I eat processed food. I’m not telling everyone else to do these things, just letting you know that I am one of “those” fatties. However, I still deserve to be treated with respect. My health is none of anyone else’s damn business. However, if you’re a health fatty, you’re more than welcome to be here.

There are a lot of issues I’m uncertain of. I don’t know if I agree with HAES. The concept sounds good to me, but I’ve been hearing a lot of negative things about the people who advocate this type of lifestyle. For instance, there was a post on Fat Lot of Good concerning Linda Bacon’s Health at Every Size Book. A commenter claimed to have attended a seminar by Linda and made a couple accusations (please read the comments to find out). Linda’s response was not very promising to me, and so I reiterated those questions only to have LInda respond that she would not “join the fray”. I admit I am confused by this. An advocate of the HAES movement refusing to discuss what she teaches. There was another review on the Fatosphere, which I can’t find now but if someone wanted to link to I would greatly appreciate it, which discusses the book “Eat Well”. Which is another pusher of vegetables, whole grains, and whole foods. I tend to find these things incredibly classist and completely against the concept of HAES and FA. I don’t understand why people in the movement are trying to define, yet again, what is acceptable fat and what isn’t. I’m trying to do more research, but I am leaning towards a No. However, if you’re a HAES practicer, you’re welcome here and I hope you’ll chime in when I get things wrong or am confused on issues.

I’ve gotten a little wordy, as I tend to do. Bottom line, everyone is welcome here and everyone’s opinions and thoughts and conclusions need to be respect. We may not agree, but we can still support one another.

Celebrate America’s Next Top Model’s Acceptance

I am not ashamed to say I watch ANTM and I enjoy it. It’s one of my dirty little pleasures, as is most reality television. I’m not blind to the stereotypes it perpetuates, and I’m not blind to the ego of the panel, and I’m not blind to the other negatives. It, like everything, is not perfect. However, I do feel that it takes on a lot of issues, and offers a lot of good things.

For instance, on the latest cycle (11) there was a transgender contestant, Isis. Isis had amazing talent and was actually recruited by Tyra. I think this is an amazing thing. While I know the fashion world tends to be more accepting of a variety of people, we have to keep in mind that this show is nationally broadcasted. It is a show which has touched nearly every country, including several international spinoffs. That means millions upon millions of people see Isis, a beautiful transgender woman, in the mainstream where normally transgenders are stashed away in the dark. Isis could have went really far in the competition, though I think she psyched herself out which caused her early dismissal. I also think it allowed people’s concerns and fears to be publicly broadcast, and perhaps even encouraged discussion about the subject.

Let me tell you, some of the contestant’s responses were cruel, and disgusting and shallow. I’m sure the producers cut out the more jabbing of comments, because it is a show afterall, but the fact it showed any negative responses at all is a positive thing, IMO. I think this demonstrates just how ugly these thoughts and words can be. I think it shows how closed-minded people are, and I think when the girls later view their performances they’re going to be embarrassed. While I don’t want anyone to be shamed for what they think and feel, I believe that shining a spotlight on someone can sometimes provide a little insight. Though I wish theirs was a little less public, it is what it is.

I know Isis had some problems with being uncomfortable on set concerning wearing a swimsuit because she is pre-surgery, and I wish someone would have told her that the staff has her back. I think if something were exposed that shouldn’t be, the photographer would have ripped a new asshole in the person who dared any negative response. Then I think Tyra would follow suit. As self-centric as Tyra is, I believe she is a good person and wouldn’t have any of that bullshit. That doesn’t speak to the rest of the show’s crew, especially Sutan (one of the hair/make-up people) who has appeared on the show in drag. I wish there would have been more people who stepped up to Isis and was like “don’t sweat it, I’ve got your back” and maybe she wouldn’t have sweated the small stuff.

Of course, I completely understand where her fears and anxiety come from. She is a victim of terrorism and has to deal with the thought, every day, that it might be her last because of some silly ass fool who can’t handle who she is. So many of the contestants made statements about how in control and self-confident Isis is, how she doesn’t let shit get her down. I had to smirk when they said this, and comment to my husband, “Yeah, if they had to come to peace with the fact they could die, just by living, they would be more confident in who they are too”.

I know the show is about modeling, and the acceptance issue isn’t even close to being at the top of the agenda, but I do wish more of the downtime could have been focused on this elephant in the room. I feel as though since Tyra never brought it up with the girls, everyone was just pretending it didn’t exist on the outside. Yet, I am thankful that the invisibility was lessened, because even one inch is positive movement.

(Paying homage to my idea of Reward instead of Punishment. I would like to also cheer ANTM for the plus-size winner last year.)

Introduction to Asexuality

I have been meaning, for quite a while now, to post something concerning asexuality. It is something I’ve only been introduced to for a few years, and just recently started to relate to. Now that I use it as a way to describe myself, and have recently begun entering into the world again, I find that most people have no idea what it means. Most confuse it with celibacy, which is simply abstaining from sex. I assure you it is not just that. It is also not my choosing to avoid the sexual aspect of the world we live in, nor am I suffering some mental distress from past indiscretions. Sex does not scare me, I am not worried about no one wanting to have sex with me, nor am I using it to exert power over people. Asexuality is simply a word to describe someone who does not experience sexual attraction.

I have never been a sexual person, except for a brief period when I was 14 and my hormones were raging. Even then it was with one guy, and when I look back I think I was using sex like most every teenage girl does, to gain intimacy because I was simply /desperate/ for it. I am not asexual because I lack experience. I have played sex games with my cousins when I was younger (and being so confused about my sexuality then that I often spoke about having a sex change operation), and with girlfriends (which lead me to ask if maybe I was a lesbian). I fell in love with boys and wanting to hold hands and kiss, and I have fallen in love with women and wanting to spend my life just being with them. I have had phone sex and intercourse, watched porn and real life sex acts. I did my time having cyber sex and experimenting with the kinkier variations of hetero and homosexual sex. I was quite good at all these things, not to brag or toot my own horn, but the truth is the truth. I credit my natural tendency to listen and respond to people, my incessant curiosity which allowed me to speak about sex and learn everything I could, and my desire to except everyone’s kinks and desires without passing judgment. I always had the feeling that it is what it is.

Despite all this experimenting, I still was just not interested. I never masturbated in my youth (my first time was when I was 19) and had never had an orgasm. It was not for lack of people trying, it was just something my body was not responding to. I thought there was something wrong with me. I was too emotionally frigid (and was called that by some people before), or hadn’t found what would really bring me out. I spent several years thinking I was a submissive that needed to be dominated and told what to do, because otherwise I would do nothing sexual. I would fake my way through the motions, respond to my Dom in the way he wanted and wait for something in me to stir. It never came.

Now, I didn’t start this post to outline my sexual past, though I feel some detail is needed to see where I’m coming from. I know it doesn’t sound simple to the sexual people of the world, but to me it is. I do not experience sexual attraction.

There are a lot of people like me, and just like any group there are some major and minor differences betwen us. There is a subgroup most of us line up in which distinguishes whether or not we seek out romantic relationships (not sexual, romantic). I am romantic, if anyone cares. There are some people though, who are perfectly happy without a mate. No it is not the single women like Sex and the City portray who have just given up on the dating scene, they just don’t care anything about pairing (or grouping as you will) up. Those of us who are romantic have the same romantic preferences as the sexuals of the world. Some of us like the same gender, some like the opposite, some don’t care either way. There are asexuals who are transgender, and others who feel they have no gender at all. We are just as diverse and chaotic as the rest of the world, we just don’t experience sexual attraction.

There are some of us who are grossed out by sex, others who find it a perfectly acceptable activity. There are some of us who are sexually assaulted because we don’t understand the sexual world, and there are those of us who fight against sexual abuse and stand up for our more naive counterparts, as well as the million of other sexual abuse sufferers. There are some of us who do not understand when someone remarks about a “hot” celebrity or stranger on the street, and others of us who have learned to navigate and communicate with the sexual world.

And while I don’t mean to draw a separate line, because there is so much about the sexual and asexual cultures that are the same, we are also very, very different. I find myself apart of another group which is the redheaded stepchild of the world. Some asexuals have experienced exclusion from sexuality support groups in their area, considering asexuality not a “real sexual orientation”. We do have an orientation even if it is disbelieved just yet.

So that is what asexuality is, and I hope that helps clarify things for people. I also suggest checking out the AVEN website for more information.

A Question for Debate

It is argued (and is the opinion of this blogger) that it should be sociably acceptable to identify with a gender that is not the one a person was born with, and one should be able to become that gender if they desire. Can, and should, the same be said for race?

The Fat Monologue by Ampersand

Ampersand over at Alas, a Blog was kind enough to showcase his Fat Monologue art piece. So often the fatosphere is populated by females, it’s nice that folks like Ampersand and Paul (Big Fat Blog) make sure their voice is heard. It always concerns me that our male counterparts are often left aside and that many feel they don’t have a solid place within the community.

I actually have a blog post bubbling concerning men and their stereotypes and all the crap they’re given. I just haven’t been able to let the words flow.

The Significances of Hair

I have had long hair all my life. Usually it is shoulder-length, but has never been shorter than the chin, at least not until 2005. That is when I decided to shave my head. I did this for a lot of reasons. My Great Aunt was dying of cancer, and had lost all of her hair because of Chemotherapy. I’m not very good at socialization, but I wanted to connect with her in a way that let her know everything I was feeling and maybe let her know that even though I didn’t come around as much as everyone else, or sit by her bedside to hold her hand the last week before she died, that I loved her and she was a profound part of my life. It was also during a time when I wanted to question gender roles and female stereotypes. My husband and I challenge gender roles in nearly ever aspect of our relationship, and yet I find myself constantly questioning my femininity because I don’t cook or clean or do other “womanly work”, nor do I typically look like a woman “should”. I have never been a fan of make-up or nail polish, I don’t care about fashion or cute shoes or trendy purses; I couldn’t care less about starting a family or getting my hair done. I had felt like my second X chromosome was asleep. A hair cut, at first glance, doesn’t seem like much of a statement, but it was monumental. Not only I was challenging people’s interpretations of what a woman with a shaved head is (a butch lesbian? a transgender? a freak? a goth?), but also my own.

Hair has always been a major talking point through history. In the 18th century women either had long curly hair, where they wore a hat, or extreme wigs or hair which were piled high upon the head. In the 19th century, women who were out in society wore their long hair up as was proper, though country women (seen as less refined) wore it down, the length was still in question. In the 1960s, women had long, free flowing hair in rebellion of the culturally acceptable style. As far as I can tell, the only time women were ever encouraged to have short hair was during the 1920s – 1940s when flappers and Big Band Music was in style, although any shorter than chin/mid-cheek sparked questions and concerns. As a reality TV watcher, shows like American’s Next Top Model, and Paris Hilton’s BFF show girls breaking down into hysterics if anyone dares suggest they cut their hair short, dye it a new color, or do anything outside of the girl’s comfort zone. Many times I’ve heard the young women proclaim, “I don’t want it to change who I am!” What an absurd idea really.

As far as the feminist movement has come, there is so many little things which seem to be overlooked. Rosie the Riveter, an icon for the women during WWII who had to go to work, is shown with her beautiful clear skin and perfectly done up hair despite the hard days spent in the factories, and Wo! Magazine’s call to femininity with a thin, naked woman who has flowing hair and holding up the world. It seems the farther we fight society for our freedom, the more we lock ourselves into certain boxes.

Shaving my head provided the confidence for me to try several other variations including shaving my eyebrows and rocking a Mohawk. That’s not to say that this transition was easy and went along smoothly. My husband wasn’t 100% on board at the beginning, and we struggled and discussed and debated. While I was outwardly convincing him, I was internally trying to find my own strength and acceptance. I had to know that no matter how much I didn’t look like what society deemed a woman, that I still was. It seemed like as soon as I was comfortable with the idea, my husband followed suit (or perhaps he realized it was something I was going to do either way, so he better hop on board or risk the consequences). Now, my current hairstyle has settled somewhere in the middle and my days of asking “Is this womanly enough?” have dwindled.

A Look Into the Past (The Fat Kid)

Going through some of my childhood things, my grandmother ran across a school project I did in 1992. That would make me around nine years old. Some people may find things like this a treasure or comfort. It still breaks my heart to this very day. There are several things contained within this project, labeled “My Biography”, but I’ll stick with the ones that focus on body image and childhood neglect.

Within the first three pages of this project is a little questionnaire where we had to write about our favorite things and answer questions like “One of the best things about me” and “What is your favorite food”. The last question says “Twenty years from now I hope I” and I filled in “look like a model”. Another statement given was “If I could change one thing about myself, I would change” and I remarked with “my looks”. Another page poses the question “I wish my family would” and my nine-year-old response? Exercise more than we do. The next page reveals a cartoon person which, I assume, we kids were asked to fill in information about ourselves. Our likes, our looks, our goals, whatever came to mind. One of those things is “to lose weight” and another is “I act cool and dumb sometimes”, though the dumb sometimes it poorly erased.

It would seem with all I’ve learned concerning fat acceptance, and how the world feels they need to shame fat folks into being thin, and how everyone is filled with the notion that they should fit into some ideal beauty standard, seeing this type of thing in my past shouldn’t surprise me. Yet it does. I have cut out segments of my past, so the memories of these types of feelings aren’t vivid, but I can imagine. I picture my poor pudgy self feeling so isolated and alone, wishing only that someone would accept her, love her and find her beautiful. That poor little girl who tortures herself every time she eats, every time she meets someone new, every time she is called a name or messes up. A nine-year-old little girl with such low self-esteem and horrible body image that she is screaming out for someone to notice. No one did though. No one read this biography and told her she was beautiful, or smart, or wonderful. No one held her in their arms and promised everything would be okay.

This type of thing breaks my heart, and it angers me. I didn’t realize the “obesity plague” was so strong back then, though obviously it was, if not so well publicized. I can remember all my life my mother putting us all on one diet or another, discussing carb intake (I think she was ahead of time with that) and calories and how we should eat better. Of course, this was the same mother who taught me that “from scratch” meant from a box and fed me fast food at least four times a week. She always had a comment for fat people, and while never directly at me, it affected me. My father was much the same, while he didn’t worry about diets his constant objectification of a woman’s body (look at the tits on that one! I love a big ole butt! Your mother was built like a brick shithouse, that’s why I met her) told me loud and clear what I was worth.

Whenever some person or media outlet or doctor talks about shaming fat people into being thin, it makes me think back to this little girl. It makes me remember the deep sorrow and how those type of scars, while never seen, are even less likely to heal no matter how much time they’re given. I want to show the world this little girl, and every little girl like her, and ask them to sit down face-to-face with her and say they honestly believe that shame is needed. I want them to explain why she deserves to be mistreated, abused and beaten. I want to hear them justify the need to starve both her body and spirit. And then, then I want to puke in their mouths. I want to blacken their eyes and rip out their stone heart, in order to beat them over the head with it.

Yet I still can’t help but ask myself why. Why did these people not hear her shouts for help? Why did they not take notice of this girl, in her nine-year-old way, tell them she was miserable and hated herself. Why they didn’t read her essay about her family, specifically the way she described her mother (“She is 32 years old. She acts like she’s 50 years old. I told her that it’s not that bad.”), and think to themselves “My, there must be some problem here, perhaps we should extend a kind hand”. Of course, that would mean telling the fat, unruly kid that it’s not her fault she is the way she is. That would mean admitting to the fact that fat is not the worst thing in the world and she doesn’t have to completely change who she is to be someone worth something. That would mean telling a mother that starving their child one minute, and then letting them eat a super-sized Big Mac Meal and large Oreo Blizzard is probably not healthy for that child’s growth. That would mean accepting themselves for who they are, so that they could accept a nine-year-old child who reminds them of themselves.

Cheers for Candis Cayne and Transgenders

I watch Chelsea Lately. I know, activists everywhere groan with that admission. Chelsea, like Margaret Cho, are often times filled with “isms”. They’ve been made famous for shocking people, saying unladylike things, and being rude. I think that’s what appeals to me, because they break the mold of what a “woman” should be, and have made their way in the world without the need of a man. In a way that is feminism, but in another… well yeah. So, the other night I was watching and Chelsea and she had Candis Cayne as a guest. Candis is a very beautiful transgender woman. Chelsea doesn’t normally have many mainstream guests, so I was pleasantly surprised when they talked about Candis’ appearance on the ABC primetime drama Dirty Sexy Money. Not only does Miss Cayne appear on ABC as an actress, but as a transgender in a torrid affair with Billy Baldwin’s character.

I was impressed with ABC, because historically these types of roles were not played by actual transgenders. In fact, transgender characters as a whole were unheard of. So for a national television network to embrace such a character, and an actress, shows that society is definitely making a step forward. This is not to say there is no prejudices left, or that everything is hunky dory. I don’t have blinders on, but when someone does something good they deserve a cookie.

So congratulations to ABC, for doing the right thing, and for Candis Cayne for breaking the mold both on television, in beauty pageants, and in life.

Feminism, Priviledge, Race, and Other Stuff

I am Jewish. My people were ostracized, murdered, raped, beaten, enslaved, starved, branded, insulted, and completely out of control. My people still are murdered, raped, beaten, branded, insulted, discriminated against and they still have little control. In America, we are still without the ability to worship as we wish and not be made to feel ashamed. Jewish slangs still run wild, statements of a false messiah still shoved in our faces with “In G-d We Trust” on the currency we’re forced to use, a court system which requires us to swear on The New Testament to show our truthfulness, and the inability to wear our religious symbol, the Star of David, without being called heretics or witches. It is not okay to be Jewish in this society.

I am Native American. My people were enslaved, beaten, raped, murdered, starved, insulted, ostracized. They were forced off their lands and made to conform to the ideology of the settlers. They were stripped of their religion, clothing, education, social structure, and in essence, everything and forced to conform to ideals which they didn’t believe in. In America, we still are without these basic rights packaged into the “American Dream”. We live on reservations, and are “given” land out of the goodness of the government in which we can “be free” as we were all those years before the settlers came.

I am Fat. My people are insulted, beaten, raped, ostracized, and publicly ridiculed. We are lab rats where scientists strive to medically “fix” us, and shame into hating our very existence. We mutilate, torture, starve, neglect, and otherwise abuse ourselves, even when our captures stop, because we are told that we are wrong. We go out into the world every day and know people cross the street to avoid being around us, that women rush home to vomit what they’ve eaten because the idea of being us is terrifying, and that we are considered diseased.

I am a Woman. My people are insulted, beaten, raped, ostracized, regulated, enslaved, branded, starved, and have little to no autonomy. We have been subjected to this for ages. We have no say so over what goes into our body, nor what comes out. We are schooled to believe we cannot exist without a male counterpart, and that if we dare try to go against this education then we deserve whatever happens to us. We are ignored by the medical community, and any illness that just happens to pop up is considered due to hysteria, lack of childbirth, lack of marriage, lack of make-up, lack of hairspray, lack of femininity.

I am a Human Without Sexual Orientation. I am not attracted to a specific gender or sexual reproductive organs, I fall in love based on the soul attached to the body. My people are ignored at whatever lengths are necessary. If, by chance, we force attention upon ourselves then we are beaten, raped, murdered, insulted, and pushed back into the shadows with every fiber that people can muster. We cannot share intimate gestures with our partners, unless our couplehood can be seen as heterosexual in nature. Our lovers cannot match their bodies to their souls without being questioned, regulated, violated, governed and “allowed”. We cannot be who we are without being put under a microscope, studied, prodded, and analyzed.

I am Poor. I live below the poverty line. My mother and father do, my grandparents do, and my entire family line does. My people are ridiculed and punished. We are unable to find the stability to know when our next meal will come, if we will have water to bathe our children before school or to groom before finding a job. We are unable to get help without being made to feel as though we are lazy, worthless, and a drain on society. We are accused of using our children to weasel money out of “good citizens” when we simply cannot afford birth control or do not believe in it. We are uneducated and cannot keep up with the rising demand of degrees in the job market, and therefore are left without adequate pay to support ourselves and our families. We sometimes have no homes and are forced to rely on the kindness of strangers, when those strangers are taught to hate and fear us. We are pitied instead of helped, and ignored instead of understood.

I am also White. This racial identity cancels out the other elements of who I am. I am simply White. At least, that is a lot of what I am hearing from folks. Despite the fact I come from a long line of persecution, suffering, and minorities, I am still White. I am told that I should seek absolution every day for the things my ignorant, hateful, and wrong ancestors did and the things people of my race still do. I am told to be ashamed of my race, because we are granted privilege and freedoms. I am told I will never understand what it is like to be judged based on the color of my skin, and I will never know hardship or misfortune. I am told that everyone is colored by their individual privileges but mine is the worst of all, simply because I was born the way I was.

I am not denying that my race has privilege. America was built on the White ideal. I am not denying that I will never understand what it’s like to be a WOC (Woman of Color). I am not denying that some fucked up shit happened due to some fucked up white people, and I’m not denying that our world is still fucked up.

I am denying being ashamed. I will not be ashamed of my race. I will not spend every day making absolution for the things my forefathers and current fathers (and mothers, and brothers, and sisters and folks I would never want to be related to me in any way) do. I will not feel less simply because someone who has similar characteristics to me does things I do not agree with. I will stand with my fist raised to fight against any wrongdoings I see. I will stand with my White sisters as they fight to put down the apron, be equally compensated for their work, live a life where they are free to be unmarried and/or without child. I will stand with my Black sisters as they fight to live in a neighborhood without violence, to rally against the beauty ideals set down by their oppressors (as if white women have a hard time conforming then black woman aren’t even given a chance), to become educated and accepted in the professional world, and to gain every right that a White person has. I will stand with my Latin sisters and Chinese sisters and Russian sisters. I will stand with my Men who fight to be able to show emotion other than anger and power, who want to wear dresses or “feminine” colors, or want to raise children.

I will stand and I will fight.

So please, stop telling me I should be ashamed of who I am. Stop telling me I do not want “you” in my fight and that I do not include you in what I’m fighting for. Please stop making accusations about who I am and what I am about without knowing me. Please stop grouping me into a stereotype. I understand when you say “white” you really mean “Middle Class White” or even “Middle Class White Man”. I understand you are angry and frustrated. I understand that you are wronged and feel left out. Instead of lashing out at me, insulting, persecuting, please embrace me and let me embrace you. Please join hands with me and fight with me against my oppression and allow me to fight with you against yours. Please remind me of my ignorance when it happens to flare, and let me remind you that suffering is not exclusive to race, religion, gender, or ability.

I will fight with you, I will fight for you. I will listen to your hurt and shame and fury. I will be there for you and I will do whatever I can to become educated, to self-realize, and to alter my thinking process, actions, or misstep if needed. I promise to celebrate you, if we can celebrate our differences.

Just please, stop hurling accusations at me for things I do not do, for things I cannot control, and for people I do not associate with. Please stop believing we are all the same, and that our intention is to misuse, misunderstand and ignore you.