Angela/Angie. 18 years old. UK.
Expect a very random blog with the odd personal post thrown in every now and then.
I see your shifting gaze, that disgusted glance. I know you’re questioning my parenting from across the elementary school assembly.
Let me tell you a little story about the kindergarten student with bright purple hair, my little Raven Marie…
A month before school started she decided to play hair stylist with the craft scissors, and to save what was left I had to opt for a pixie cut. She was absolutely devastated. It was about three hours before she stopped her harsh sobbing and hiccups.
She has thought that the length of a girls hair was what made her “girly”. I know I’ve personally had many hairstyles around her before, including a purple mohawk, which many people criticized as not being “girly” enough. Media, other children, other parents, and society made it worse. She would randomly burst in tears while out in public for the first week of her new style, screaming that she looked like a boy. That everyone would think she’s a boy.
At one point she took off her bow in her hair, threw it at a cashier and screamed, “I DON’T NEED THIS BOW TO TELL YOU THAT I’M NOT A BOY, BECAUSE I’M NOT”
Proudly stomping away in her blue jean overalls, head held high.
Once we edged closer to the first day of school she kept asking questions like, “Do you think the other kids will like me? Do you think they’ll be my friend? Will they think I’m a boy? Will they pick on me because I have boy hair?”
So I went to the grocery store, bought some dye, and spent the whole night transforming my bright blonde little girl into a plum punk rock fairy. I then assured her that if any of the kids didn’t like her, they were just jealous.
As for you, mothers and teachers with the wandering eyes filled with disgust and judgement, I’m in the business of raising a free spirit.
Here’s to you, Raven Marie. I love you.
Look at how fucking adorable that kid is holy fucking shit
Veyil udikkunna vazhi arikath thanal orukkan vaa (x)
I’m grateful for my very multicultural upbringing tbh. Although it can get confusing at times, the exposure allows me to explore a variety of perspectives… like you’re less likely to stereotype I think. Also makes life a little bit more interesting :)
“Tell me what happens the first time you see a woman naked.”
“The first time you see a woman naked will not be like you imagined. There will be no love, no trust, no intimacy. You won’t even be in the same room as her.
You won’t get to smile as she undresses you and you undress her. You won’t get to calm her nerves with nerves of your own. You won’t get to kiss her, feeling her lips and the edge of her tongue. You won’t get to brush your fingers over the lace of her bra or count her ribs or feel her heartbeat.
The first time you see a woman naked you will be sitting in front of a computer screen watching someone play at intimacy and perform at sex. She will contort her body to please everyone in the room but her. You will watch this woman who is not a woman, pixelated and filtered and customized. She will come ready-made, like an order at a restaurant. The man on the screen will be bigger than you, rougher than you. He will teach you how to talk to her. He will teach you where to put your hands and he will teach you what you’re supposed to like. He will teach you to take what is yours.
You must unlearn this. You must unlearn this twisted sense of love. You must unlearn the definition of pleasure and intimacy you are being taught. Kill this idea of love, this idea of entitlement, this way of scarring one another.”
The thing that sucks about mental illness is that if you aren’t depressed enough, suicidal enough, bad enough, nobody cares. Nobody cares until you reach their standard, and that standard is when your problem is bad enough to effect them
The amount of people who can relate to this makes me equally incredibly sad and immensely angry