I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut

This blog post was going to be about the election.

This blog post was going to be about why I don’t think any of the “nasty woman” t-shirts and tote bags or “pussy” related jokes and projects are helpful or funny.

This blog post was going to be about how none of it is fucking funny.

This blog post was going to be about all the times I’ve watched other women diminish themselves for the comfort of men.

This blog post was going to be about all the times I’ve diminished myself for the comfort of men.

This blog post was going to be about all the women I know (myself included) who accomplish amazing things through incredible effort, and then expend equal effort to tell everyone around them that they’re not all that amazing, that they didn’t do that much, that they had a lot of help, that really it was just luck.

This blog post was going to be about my ability to anticipate and accommodate the needs and wants of people I love and care about.

This blog post was going to be about how I’ve been conditioned to think that my wants and needs aren’t anyone’s problem or responsibility but mine.

This blog post was going to be a list of horrible things that boyfriends have said to me–why am I such a drama queen, why do I always have something to say, why do I always have to cry when I get upset, why am I so loud, why can’t I find someone else to talk to,

This blog post was going to be about how I felt when I read about the woman who was groped on an airplane and then told by the police that “it’s not the crime of the century.”

This blog post was going to be about when I found out that someone didn’t believe an acquaintance about what she said happened to her, and it made me cry in the tote bag aisle at Target.

This blog post was going to be about what happened to me.

This blog post was going to be about how every time I tell a friend what happened to me, she says, “It happened to me, too.”

This blog post was going to be about the time I tweeted “BELIEVE WOMEN,” and a man whom I thought was my friend responded, “Let’s ask Rolling Stone about that.”

This blog post was going to be about the time I was walking with a group of male friends, one of them made a rape joke, and the others laughed; I was the only person who called him out on it.

This blog post was going to be about how I can’t watch debates or news footage without having anxiety attacks.

This blog post was going to be about the sob that fell out of me without warning when I heard Michelle Obama say,

And to make matters worse, it now seems very clear that this isn’t an isolated incident. It’s one of countless examples of how he has treated women his whole life. And I have to tell you that I listen to all of this and I feel it so personally, and I’m sure that many of you do too, particularly the women. The shameful comments about our bodies. The disrespect of our ambitions and intellect. The belief that you can do anything you want to a woman.

It is cruel. It’s frightening. And the truth is, it hurts. It hurts. It’s like that sick, sinking feeling you get when you’re walking down the street minding your own business and some guy yells out vulgar words about your body. Or when you see that guy at work that stands just a little too close, stares a little too long, and makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

This blog post was going to be about the great lengths it appears people will go to to avoid voting for a woman for president.

This blog post was going to be about how my excitement at the prospect of voting for a woman for president is diminished by my terror at the prospect of having as a president a candidate who thinks I am inferior, unworthy of respect, an object to be used.

This blog post was going to be about the fact that that candidate probably would say that I’m not attractive enough to be an object worthy of use, and would see nothing wrong with that statement at all.

This blog post was going to be about the fact that women already knew. We knew. We fucking KNEW that society was like this, that people were like this, that many, many men were like this, but nobody believed us until now.

This blog post was going to be about the fact that most people still don’t really believe us.

But I’m crying now, and I’m tired. I’m so tired. And if you already agree with me, you know what it would say, and if you don’t agree, I won’t be able to convince you. So I’m not going to write it.

yikes-aroni

I forgot to tell you that on Saturday my friends and I were at a restaurant a few tables away from a couple who thought that The Onion was a real paper, and consequently, that this actually occurred.  It was simultaneously funny and depressing.