The Hardest Article I Have Ever Written: State Of The Relationship Address

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Most of this article was created about a year prior to this publishing. I’ve written a lot of things throughout my life. I’ve written articles against the government as run by both republicans and democrats. I’ve railed against religion and the belief of god in general. As someone who is a critical theorist I have written articles wading through the topics of gender, sex and identity. When I was an animal rights activist I penned numerous articles against hunters who in turn wrote me death threats. I’m sure I’ve offended those on all sides.

I don’t say this to brag. In fact most of my work has gone largely unnoticed so I couldn’t if I wanted. Rather, I say it so you know the gravity of the statement that will follow; that I’ve never been more scared to write what comes after this sentence.

This is because over the course of two years I learned to fear someone who was also my partner. It was an emotionally abusive relationship that stemmed from her insecurities and while we had some particularly good times, in the the end those moments couldn’t overcome her unhealthy behavior and the damage I accrued.

I don’t write this to demean anyone. I mainly want people to know what this type of behavior looks like because even though I hope people don’t have to go through this, someone reading this is. I want you to know that you are not alone.

I’m also writing because, terrified as I am, I feel like publishing this is a measure of control that I need to implement in order to take back my life. I think as you read my story from over the span of two years this will begin to make more sense.

I have been writing in genderless terms as of late and I wholeheartedly love it. I’m going to place that aside for the moment because it’s important to realize that while this is a story of abuse, it’s also a story of a woman delivering abuse upon a man. This is especially important because some people seem to think this scenario isn’t possible or that when it happens that it’s not a big deal. Men are supposed to be tough and women not so much. So how could a woman pose any threat. As men we should just shrug it off and move on. This is how patriarchal ideas harm men by denying us our own individual realities.

This effect is even more amplified in my case because my abuser is charismatic, outgoing, seemingly selfless, popular, well connected and extremely short. When people see a picture of her they always say, it’s amazing that someone that small could cause so much chaos and yet every word that your about to read is true.

Overview

My relationship story begins as most do, in my case a boy meets a girl and they hit it off. As we went things progressed quickly and little did I know that the outline of my next two years had been played out in the first week we were together.

The week was a whirlwind. It started with the first four days being amazing and the last two culminating with her getting angry and breaking up. This short cycle of ups and downs was one of the overarching themes of our relationship. It was the pattern that would repeat nonstop.

As I said, there were some good times and the good times were great. In truth, these times and hope are two of the things that kept me going. During these moments I would hear that I was wonderful and that she loved me more than she had anyone else.

When the dark behavior rolled around she would say I didn’t care about her, and was using her. Sometimes she would breakup and sometimes not.

With such extreme polar opposites it became hard to believe that either state of being was true. I was the subject of her emotions during the highs and the lows. When she was down I was more of an emotional punching bag than a partner. Everything she felt, whether good or bad, by her reckoning I was the reason for it. Instead of taking responsibility for her emotions I was the one expected to work through them. I found myself in the position of always reacting to her and it was exhausting.

Isolation

One of the ways her insecurities manifested itself was to whittle down the world in which I lived. She viewed most outside people as hostile to the relationship and so would monopolize my time. I love to spend time with a partner, perhaps even more than most people do, but this was extreme.

Though we didn’t live together (at first) I would spend a week straight with her, leaving my bed with her in it and coming home after work to meet at my place. After this week I would want a little time to try and center myself and escape the emotional cycles for a day. My request would cause her to become distant or even angry. Numerous times she stormed out and went home then bombarded me with messages for the rest of the evening.

I did manage to get some nights to myself but I still couldn’t get the space I needed. Throughout the evening she would message me so often that I couldn’t focus on anything else. Generally I like a stream of messages from a romantic interest as it makes me feel connected. In this scenario though the messages were bombs waiting to detonate. If I didn’t respond quick enough or in the right way I would face her frustration and fury.

It’s not hard to see how this resulted in a fight via text. Numerous times she threatened to, or actually did, break up. Each scenario usually culminated in her calling me on the phone where we would have to hash everything out for an hour or so. The lesson for me was, if I take time to myself then I can expect tumult which will mean I won’t get the space I need. Additionally, taking time for me might possibly cause her to end the relationship.

Sometimes rather than hit me with the stick she would dangle a carrot from it. She would find an event that I might like to go to and ask me out for it. If I said yes, either to my interest in the event or from her pressure (and my fear) then my night alone was over before it began.

It should be clear from this that trying to get some space and tend to my emotions was a fruitless endeavor. I was spending so much time trying to take care of her that I couldn’t take care of myself. My emotional stability began to crack and fall away.

Even trying to spend time with her wasn’t easy. It could become quite literally absurd. For instance, one morning I said “let’s go do something together.” Her reply was that she didn’t want to. She just wanted some down time to read. I thought this was fine and said “okay, if you’re going to read I think I might go to the park down the street and do some bird photography.”  As I was packing my gear she started to get dressed and I asked what she was doing. She said, “I’m going to go out since you don’t want to do something together.” I told her that the only reason I was going out for photography was because she didn’t want to do anything. If she wanted to spend the day together then that would be great since that’s what I really wanted to do today anyhow. Somehow that wasn’t good enough. She said she would just go spend the day with her ex-boyfriend.

Getting time with my friends was a struggle as well. According to her I shouldn’t spend time with them because they were too dumb, too young, or as was often the case too female. Now . . . I choose my friends carefully, perhaps too carefully sometimes as it limits my contacts. Still, my friends are anything but stupid. They are generally emotionally and socially aware folks. As such, they are part and parcel of my well-being and help me stay in touch with reality when I get off track.

My partner knew this and successfully managed to isolate me from them all. A female friend would later say that she stopped messaging me because she knew it would create problems with my girlfriend. She wasn’t wrong. When my phone alerted me to a text (or if someone responded in some way on social media) I instantly became scared of the inevitable questions that would follow if it was a female. She wanted to know who it was, what the person wanted, when the last time I talked to them was and what about.

One day my girlfriend gave me an ultimatum. I had to renounce one of my female friends if I wanted to keep our relationship together. The reason for this was that I might fall in love with this friend despite every bit of evidence suggesting this would never happen. Case in point; shortly after this my friend got married (not surprisingly, to someone other than me). I resisted the demand at first then reasoned that the success of the relationship was worth it and that this was a good way to prove to my girlfriend what she meant to me (spoiler alert: it wasn’t).

Control

In place of my friends hers were inserted. When we would all get together it was talk of cycling and gossip with no apparent concern as to whether I was involved in the conversation or not. I’ve rarely felt so alone and unstimulated as I was in those moments. As I would later learn, those that my ex placed close to me were there for a reason. More henchmen than friends, they would be called upon at pivotal moments throughout the relationship.

For example, I was given a list of three people that I could talk to about our relationship. Her best friend was the number one person on that list. Soon after that, my two friends proved too much for her to handle. I could now only seek the council of her friend.

Once when I did go to her friend, I tried to relate what I had been going through and my attempts to understand it. Her friend replied, horrible things happen in a relationship, just move on. Perhaps it wasn’t the friends fault. She was just too close to my girlfriend to see my reality.

Social media was another pillar of independence to fall. If I posted anything (even a nice sunset pic) when we were together without tagging my girlfriend she would get mad. Accordingly, I made sure she was tagged in the things I posted. Numerous times I visited her page to see what it looked like with our events posted to it. None of them were there. I had spent the effort to make sure she was tagged in everything we did and she didn’t approve them to her page.

In fact, there was rarely an instance when someone could look at her page and tell she was in a relationship at all. It was important for her to maintain an omnipresence on my page that eclipsed everything else, but she would become very upset and claim she was a private person when I wanted some modicum of recognition on hers.

Because most of her friends on social media didn’t know she was in a relationship she would still have men flirting and asking her out regularly. Interestingly, she rarely told them outright that she had a boyfriend. I came to think that this was part of her plan. That she needed me to stay invisible should we break up so she could resume dating anyone she might have been cultivating a connection with before.

At the very end of the relationship she was using my phone and writing my Facebook posts instead of me. Seeing words on my wall that weren’t in my voice was disturbing. I tried numerous times to get a little recognition on her page or wrest control of mine from her. My attempts were met with hostility that usually ended up in her getting what she wanted.

Her control overflowed into this blog as well. If I wrote something about myself or my ideas it would be subject to criticism and so I only posted links with small bits of commentary. I even penned an article about how to look at conflict differently and while I still think it has merit as a mental exercise (in a healthy relationship) it was indicative of me trying to get a grasp on reality at the time (thanks gaslighting).

When I found out I had herpes I wanted to use this blog, as I am now, to become a voice for others. It was clear that she didn’t want this. She actually said that it would reflect poorly on her. She didn’t want people to know she was dating someone with herpes, she would seem dirty. She stayed with me mind you, but with statements like that who needs company.

Love Bomb In Reverse

It also became evident that the kindness extended to me came with strings attached. She attempted to use nearly everything as leverage at some point.

Money was the main method for her to exert control (or so she thought). As a trust fund kid (and probable millionaire) it wasn’t hard for her to come up with money. Once she told me that since she buys things for me she expects a certain kind of treatment in return. On another occasion, after one of our breakups, she bought me a pair of shoes that I didn’t really want. She insisted I have them so I could look good when we go out. Then she asked me, “you’re not going to break up with me tomorrow are you?”

I would repeatedly tell her that if I need something I’d find a way to buy it and that she was not my provider. I asked her numerous times to stop buying me things and let her know that money doesn’t buy behavior. I suggested we only do things together that we could both afford, but she didn’t want to live that kind of “limited” lifestyle. Nevertheless, I was repeatedly given things only to later have them used against me. Those items would ether be taken back when she was upset or used to remind me that she bought them for me at a later date.

She would also exert control over what was sentimental. When she was upset she would remove the meaning from our relationship tokens by saying things like songs that were special to us didn’t mean anything anymore. In the end I’m pretty sure there was nothing sentimental left that she hadn’t decided was meaningless.

Sometimes there were nice gestures that became weapons to wield against me. She threw me a surprise birthday party once and I told her how much I appreciated it. No one had done something like that before. I was extremely grateful and for one of the few times in my life felt appreciated (I struggle with this). I posted to social media of my own accord about what a wonderful night it was. Afterwards, I was scolded for not showing enough appreciation. She said it was a waste of her time and money and she will never do it again.

Gaslighting

Whenever I tried to stand up for myself I was told I was mean. By now I didn’t know if this was true or not, my reality had been supplanted by hers. The distortions were palpable and I just didn’t know if I could trust my thoughts anymore.

One of the only things we had left, which was the physical part of the relationship started to come under fire as well. We generally had sex at least once a day. If one morning, for instance, I said I didn’t want to have sex right now, let’s see about later in the day then she would get angry with me. When I would relent and have sex for the “good” of the relationship then later that night she would tell me she didn’t want to have sex and that she only did because I wanted to. The insinuation being that I had forced her.

I was also blamed for other things that I shouldn’t have been. A couple of times after huge disagreements, we made up and she said “you make me so mad sometimes.” I knew she was blaming me for her behavior, but I didn’t want to start another fight after having just ended one so I kept quiet.

Every now and then she would say something that confirmed my reality. When it looked like I might break up she would tell me that she was the reason I was broken, that she couldn’t control her emotions and that she was going to go back to therapy (she got kicked out of group for not doing the work and went a couple times to private sessions).

These admissions kept me in the relationship because it confirmed what I was feeling for once. Whether this was strictly a moment of truth or another way to keep me in the relationship I truthfully cannot say. Either way, I stayed.

Belittlement

There was subtle and outright verbal abuse as well. A pair of my friends ask me to officiate their wedding and she couldn’t wrap her head around why they would ask me to marry them. Silly me, I just figured it was because they valued me.

Once when we broke up one of her friends got ahold of her phone supposedly without her knowing and sent me a message saying “they all hated me and always had.” Obviously she had been talking negatively about me. Nothing was ever said to this person by my girlfriend because “they were going through a hard time.” If my girlfriend couldn’t protect me from herself then why would she do so from other people. It let me know my ranking in her life.

When she was happy she would say that her friends liked me and when she wanted to hurt me she would say that they didn’t.

Once when we broke up she told me that the only reason she was with me was for the sex. Dating me was like dating a homeless person she said (because I was working class and she was rich). I knew she was using this as a means to try and distance her emotions from me so I let it slide when I shouldn’t have.

Breakups

Over the course of two years we probably broke up around a dozen times, usually at her insistence. During those times I would repeatedly ask for space. Despite asking, telling, and virtually pleading for her not to, and me often getting mad over it, she would keep talking to me about the prospects of who she was dating and lining up to sleep with next (sometimes hours after we broke up).

Half the times we broke up she would end up in the hospital for various things (gastroparesis, a cold, dehydration, passing out, a seizure, and twice because she said someone drugged her on a date). I realize now that they were probably fabricated. Her extensive experience as a head trauma nurse gave her a working knowledge of illnesses and medical protocol. Nonetheless, these crises would usually draw me back to her side.

After one breakup she ended up hospitalized and they had to keep her overnight. She asked me to stay. I told her I had plans and that I just came to visit, but she pleaded for me to remain. I cancelled my plans for that evening and spent the night in the hospital with her. The next morning after we woke she told me to leave and that she never wanted me there in the first place.

After our penultimate breakup she used the opportunity to tear asunder anything that I might still find dear to my existence. It was a way to remove everything she had “given” me.

In the course of those two years I had used every day of my vacation time and more helping her to establish a new career and volunteering with her for a foundation which helped women in cycling (something that was near and dear to my heart). She became the executive director of the race team and when I refused to get back together with her she removed me from the staff. Granted, I didn’t really want to work with her anymore, but a conversation rather than an edict would have been courteous.

All of her friends with which she was so fond of me cultivating relationships walked away en masse. Overnight about 30 percent of the people on my social media unfriended me. She had one of them message me to pile on the harassment and ask for a cycling kit back that they gave me because they didn’t want me representing their team anymore.

She contacted my ex-wife and tried to plant the seeds of dissension by saying I was a downer and mean. She told my ex that all her friends saw it and she was “just trying to help the poor guy (me) out.” The picture she tried to paint of me wasn’t what my former wife had remembered or ever experienced. In some ways though she was right. I wasn’t the same person that my ex-wife knew. I had been through two years of emotional abuse and I was tattered and worn. Still, my ex-wife knew the score because she had also witnessed the ways in which I was striving to be there for my girlfriend even when I shouldn’t have.

My ex-girlfriend came into my place of work repeatedly; once she screamed at me in front of the store. Another time she walked through my area to ask me where something was in the store. I’m sure it happened to be a coincidence that she was dressed up for a date which she also used the opportunity to tell me about. I saw her staking out the coffee house I frequent and circling the employee parking at my break time to find me. She started using an app to get around the fact that I blocked her in every way I could. She also left letters on my car and mailed them to where I lived.

In a move that chased me from where I lived she began dating my roommate two weeks after our break up. She was sleeping over every night with him. I couldn’t get away from her and he was too miserably lonely to see what was really happening.

They camped out in the room right outside my door with the television blaring. The effect of which was a constant reminder of her presence. All I wanted was space. I was a hostage and boxed in on all sides. It got so bad that I started keeping a bottle in my room to pee in when they were awake so I didn’t have to use the restroom and risk seeing her. Sadly, it had come to that.

One cold rainy evening I called my parents sitting outside the house in my car afraid to go inside. I don’t know how much they understood because I was sobbing uncontrollably. I was trapped and utterly fucking miserable. It was clear that she wanted me to lose the place where I lived because she had recommended it to me. It was one more thing she had “given” me that she was determined to take away. She asked when I was moving out so that she could move her stuff in. I let her have it and took the first new place I could find.

If you haven’t wondered by now it will probably come as no surprise that she would go on to say on that breakup that I was sexually abusive to her. It was the final thing she could do. Because I’m pro-feminist and a writer/author, floating the idea that I was an abuser denies me credibility and an audience. I’m sure it was also the story she used to get her friends to run away from me.

In one way I guess I should be happy. She posted this latest “revelation” to social media and I finally made it onto her Facebook page. She also started tagging me in derogatory comments linked to my photography page on Facebook. Having pushed me out of every part of her life it was all she had left to do.

I began reaching back out to those friends that I couldn’t before. I realized what my ex was afraid of and it was their experience and judgement. One of the first things a male friend of mine said from back home was “I believe you Jeremy, I’ve been exactly where you’re at.” Time and time again nearly everyone said that I should get a restraining order (I almost did), that I was being gaslighted and that I was most certainly emotionally abused.

I cried so many times because finally someone fucking believed me and for one of the first times in a couple years I realized that I wasn’t crazy and that my experience was actually real (something I still have trouble believing). Having contact with my friends helped to recenter me and see a few things clearly. Well . . . mostly that is.

The Ultimate Breakup

I thought I could hate her forever for what she did to me. The hate felt pure, it was strong, and I was strong because of it, or so I imagined for a second. I thought that hate would be enough to keep me away from her for the rest of my life. I was wrong on all counts.

Eventually I just got tired of being angry about what happened and so . . . we got together for a beer. Then we met again the next night. She said I seemed happy again and told me she was sorry for everything she had put me through. She said she broke me and put me through hell over the last 18 months and realized if I went through that without leaving then she could finally trust me and wanted things to work out.

Then because this is what we did, we got back together. To be honest, I’m not sure why. I think it was just familiar. My friends had cautioned me about dating her again. They were right to be worried about my safety of course. The time apart had let me center myself enough that I knew I could handle one last chance. If it didn’t work or became unhealthy I could leave this time without the crushing aspect of our last breakup.

So, by the end of that second night we were together again and her boyfriend/my ex roommate was out (although it took her another 10 days to tell him that). She said she didn’t want to hang around her friends anymore; that she didn’t enjoy spending time with them because they were immature. I think her friends were easier to cast aside than to admit we were together and that she had lied about me.

A couple of weeks or so later the new place I had moved into didn’t work out as my then roommate proved to be unstable (can I pick em or what). My girlfriend said I should move in with her. It wasn’t a good decision but I had to go somewhere quick. Living together wasn’t good for us. It wasn’t our time to live together and I knew this from day one. I would need to get my own place, but she would have to realize it as well. When I suggested that it would be healthier for our relationship to each have our own places she told me that if I moved out we were done.

That ultimatum was very unfair to me. The only move that could save the relationship was the one that if I made would also end it. There was no good way forward. When I was trying to decide how to navigate this conundrum she started demanding I get out and contacted a lawyer about having me removed. I moved out once more to the first place I could find. Luckily, I landed in a good place to live this time.

Two weeks later she would tell me she was okay with us having separate places and that moving out was the right decision. She wanted to start dating again. What I told my friends was correct. I could step aside if it didn’t work that one last time. I declined, I was more than ready to move on. There were too many wrongs and too much pain that I couldn’t overlook and rightly so. To be frank, I was treated like a piece of shit she stepped in and I had been wiped off of the bottom of her shoe for the last time.

The Friendship Attempt

Even friendship was unsuccessful.

As I stated before, my repeated statements that I didn’t want to hear about her new love interests went unheeded. She would say, “but if we’re friends we should be able to talk about this.” In most situations that would have been true, but not one where we had been recently separated and that type of information had previously been (and still was being) used to hurt me.

She was also fond of telling me about all the things that we would have done together if we had remained a couple. “We would have had a race car (a mutual interest of ours) and I could have built my dream project vehicle” as if offering me things would bring me back. It was clear friendship wasn’t going to work. I decided to cut off contact.

After a month of no contact she bumped into me at a stock car race and made sure to remind me of how she bought the coat I was wearing. I guess I’m still indebted to her. She also tried to find out where my new job was with the bait of giving me sales. It’s worth noting that one of the perks to my new job was that it is 40 minutes away so she can’t just pop in to see me. She inquired as to where I lived now. Some people never change. Except that I do and I don’t want to be around that level of control and insecurity anymore.

Ten months into no contact letters still end up being mailed to me or are left taped to my truck window in the middle of the night (so much for not knowing where I live). She sent me a photo of me sitting in my truck at a stoplight, one which I had just bought and she had never seen, with the caption “I see you.” Accounts where I forget to block her have messages waiting for me. I don’t read them; I already know what they say. One of the messages would read that she has dated and no one is like I was and she compares everyone to me and they come up short. Another would say how she missed me as a friend, then it would go on to take abusive shots at me by saying it’s for the best that we’re separated because in the end she didn’t care for me anymore and was just having sex for the good of the relationship. Then she would make mention that she doesn’t want to date because she is seeing (insert new guys name here) and she’s working on building a relationship with him. She’s so happy now that she’s almost beside herself.

Even her letters follow her desperate emotional cycle from which I fought to extricate myself. They are an attempt to keep me close so that something between us can start up again. If we were to start a relationship again then that wonderful guy she was on about will end up in the trash along with those letters. I’ve seen her do it numerous times before. At least he’ll have some reading material.

Even though I don’t read these messages, seeing them has the same effect as if I did. My heart starts racing, everything comes rushing back and I get that flush feeling like after you’ve taken a hard fall and you realize you’re injured. Fight or flight takes over and though I’m gradually getting better, it still takes a toll. The letters, emails and cards regardless of what they say are a steadfast indicator that I’m still responsible for her emotions. She still won’t let me live my life and yet I’m only happy when I’m free of her.

James Baldwin said it well, “I cannot believe what you say because I see what you do.” Her words aren’t worth hearing. She has apologized for her behavior dozens of times and has said that she is the reason I’m broken. That doesn’t matter anymore because those realizations and her apologies won’t heal me and they definitely won’t stop her from turning around and abusing me tomorrow if she feels the urge.

The only thing that will stop this pattern from repeating itself is me. Happily, I have.

Out Of The Void

If you’re mentally and emotionally exhausted just from reading this then you can understand how I was on the verge of a mental breakdown from living it. Unfortunately, this was only a portion of the things I endured.

Whether knowingly or not, I think she kept me close for whatever emotional need (to love or to hurt) she had. I believe her when she said loved me and when she said she felt as if she wasn’t good enough for me. Those competing impulses: the feeling of longing and of potential loss, kept her from acting from a place of love and it put me in a dangerous and abusive place. Truth be told, I’m not really sure she knows what it is to feel love.

Prior to this my moral compass had guided my life and made me feel healthy, surefooted and steadfast. During and after the relationship though I was set askew and couldn’t trust my own thoughts. My reality had been questioned, altered and controlled.

Because I wanted to keep the relationship together I had to stop trying to establish healthy boundaries. Now that sentence is pretty messed up I realize, but true nonetheless.

I know now that I was enacting a failing strategy. No amount of care I give or well-being I sacrifice for an extremely insecure (possibly narcissistic) person will sooth their behavior. There will always be some other concession they need to be made and I will always be the one making it. Here’s a life tip: when someone in a relationship continually refuses to take responsibility and be accountable for their emotions then you either respond as if the burden is yours (normalizing the behavior) and begin the cycle of codependency and potentially abuse or you call them out, and in the absence of change walk away.

Her insecurity manifested itself in a need for total hegemonic control of the relationship. I went into this relationship the happiest I had ever been. I came out a nervous and shattered individual with some symptoms of PTSD. Putting myself back together again has been real work but it has certainly been work worth doing.

The Takeaway

I’m a believer that there is no such thing as a wasted experience. If I learn something from less than ideal circumstances then it can guide my behavior in a way to make a better life.

In my case I was open to abuse because I believe in being vulnerable. I also critically examine my behavior and seriously consider the critique of my partner. I want to be there for my partner and that trait was wielded against me in the most pernicious of ways. I still strongly value vulnerability and openness but have learned that those traits without healthy boundaries are a recipe for abuse. I can still be open and loving and expect something similar in return. I’ve already used this lesson to side step what would probably have been a few dating/relationship disasters.

Certainly I can’t go back to the happy me before I met this person. That exact time has passed and I can never return. However, I am becoming happy again and I will continue to do so with new experiences under my belt. It will be a new, even better, version of me with the my past as a guide.

After all, I have learned that there are far worse things than being single.

 

Postscript: Since these events I have reassembled myself into something very much like I was before this trauma. Recently I have been spending time with someone who has been doting on me in a way people used to. Not only that but she is one of the most extraordinary people I have ever met. She and my friends have helped me realize that all of the good in me is still present. I don’t feel like a pile of ashes on the ground anymore. I’m the nourished sapling that has sprung from ruin. Knowing that makes me very happy. May you also rise from your ashes.

 

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Why Being A Grammar Elitist Ain’t All That

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A tip for dating or relationships in general: policing someone’s grammar is a dick move. Here’s why following grammar protocol doesn’t show the good form that you imagine it does.

So-called correct grammar is an appeal to upper class views of what is proper and just in our language. Except that language has never really worked that way. Do you think the railroad workers, saloon owners, or sex workers in the 1800’s spoke perfect English? Me thinketh not. It was more a mixture of broken Chinese, Spanish, French, Irish (Gaelic), German and a whole other host of languages. And yet, these are the people that built America and they got shit done without needing to resort to the queen’s english.

Proper grammar is an elitist approach to the english language. It’s a way of thinking one person is better than another because of how they speak. Grammar elitists place their self worth and others on education without ever once imagining that not everyone has access to the same level or quality of education or sometimes any education at all.

It’s also a form of racism and classism which ignores the cultural influences that can exist in local neighborhoods and regions. Speaking like an upper class WASP (White, Anglo-Saxon Protestant) who is well versed in fine speak is not likely to garner you any special level of appreciation from a Tennessee mining community, the Dark Corner, Flint, Michigan or even in New York City.

Granted, it’s a fictional character but Malcolm Reynolds on Firefly spoke about being immortalized saying, “It’s my estimation that every man ever got a statue made of him was one kind of a son of a bitch or another.” It’s not at all proper english but it’s a wonderful quote (one of my favorites I might add) which easily exhibits wisdom. Everyone who is idolized has a darker side that often gets swept away by the need for a hero. Proper word choice isn’t necessarily a display of intelligence, but rather an example of someone following rules just for the sake of it.

The important thing is that we try and understand what the other person is saying and not how they are saying it. If someone from my home town told me “I found bout 5 five pounds of shroons the other day over on Kuhlman Hill.” I’m not about to correct them and say “you mean to say mushrooms” because I would be a colossal prick and their meaning is easily obtained.

Focusing too intently on grammar can also hide our chosen identity when we develop a stalwart adherence to pronoun choice such as him and her as opposed to zir and ze or they. We disrespect people and who they are over word choice.

The final reason that grammar (and word choice) doesn’t matter is that those whose job it is to keep us abreast of the english language aren’t at all concerned about what is proper. This very month Merriam-Webster introduced the words “safe space” and “microaggression” to the dictionary. Since that will piss conservatives off to no end they might be pleased to know that “riding shotgun” is now included as well. The point of cataloging language isn’t about proper usage, but about documenting what is happening. That word that you despise if it persists will one day make it into the dictionary. The kicker is, it was a real word long before that happened.

So the next time you decide to chide someone for not living up to your language standards perhaps you should critically examine those expectations and their privileged origins.

The Future of Queer in America Looks Bleak

Whenever conservative politicians say “we want to protect everyone’s rights” they mean the ability for other conservatives to discriminate against those they dislike without reprisal. It’s a wink and a nod to various forms of hate, disgust and intolerance. Not only that, it will most likely be our future.

Trump Attorney General still wants to pass law to permit anti-LGBT discrimination

We have yet to see how the Anti-Justice League of Trump will act when faced with protests and dissent. I don’t see a lot of budging on their part. However, resistance and each other are what we have right now. Let’s be there for one another, stand tall and fight like hell.

Identify Bots on Grindr and Beyond

Since I dissed on Grindr yesterday I’ll leave you with a helpful article to navigate it safely should you decide to stay with the app.

http://www.pinknews.co.uk/2015/08/11/warning-these-grindr-profiles-are-actually-robots-trying-to-steal-your-info

I find it’s actually really easy to weed out the robots on here. Some clues are the height listed as the article mentions, an amazingly chiseled photo of some dude, poor English, or the fact that the conversation immediately jumps from hello to sharing pictures.

Always make your first question something that another person (or robot) can’t answer with yes, or cool, or just hanging out. So if they say “what’s up?” Reply with “Well, I just finished listening to my favorite band. What type of music do you listen to?” When the reply is “Good, I’ve just been working out and I’m horny” then you know you’re talking to a computer program or a total fucking moron. Either way you can ghost them and move on.

A Sunny Day Gone Wrong

I love this and her entire article –

“…suggesting that, for men, any sexual overture is welcome. I asked how he’d feel if a fellow weighing three-forty cornered him somewhere isolated and manhandled him. Suddenly this struck him as way more sinister.”

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-crotchgrabber/amp

Men and the Culture We Create

In talking to women I’ve been able to notice a few common threads when it comes to their dealings with men. One in particular has troubled me from the moment I realized the implication.

Usually we’re talking about dating and the horrible behavior that people bring into that sphere of interaction. Too often women tell me things men have said to them or done to them that were truly abysmal and then passed it off as being normal.

While I am appalled by the behavior of the men, I’m equally if not even more horrified by the culture we have created in which this behavior is deemed normal or expected and goes unchallenged. Whether it be guys that feel entitled to grope women or the actual site of women walking with their keys in their hand ready to use it as a weapon against men, we have created a environment where toxic masculinity is just thought of as normal. This social construct disturbs me to my very core.

This article and the author’s experiences brought the horrors of guy culture to the forefront of my mind.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/what-i-wish-men-knew-about-that-creepy-guy-at-starbucks_us_572b6ddde4b016f37894e05d?

I Don’t Shit Rainbows

NFb6j

If you were to read my dating profile you would see that it lists a number of progressive ideas about sex positivity and gender self-determinism. Listing that info is a double edged sword. On the plus side, these are views that women don’t encounter much while perusing through men so it definitely sets me apart. Also, listing this allows me to attract quality people. Someone who is homophobic isn’t likely to show interest in me if I list myself as a pansexual feminist. A thinning of the herd that I’m wonderfully happy with by the way.

However, I often feel as if I’m fetishized to a degree. I get the impression that some of those folks expect me to be the most evolved person to walk the face of the Earth. If I show up to a date and I don’t have rainbows shooting out of my ass (a known carcinogen by the way) or pieces of the mountain top I was meditating on still stuck to my clothes people get disappointed. I can appreciate the enthusiasm but the expectation feels unrealistic and oppressive.

What I do is for others in a general sense and I don’t fucking care if it looks like what someone else expects it to. For instance, I identify as cisgender because I agree that failing to do so creates an accepted group (those happy with their assigned gender) and an outcast group (those happy with their non-assigned gender – i.e. transgendered). The same goes for allosexual. I don’t feel like asexual (or demi or graysexual) people should feel like anything other than normal so I categorize the level of my sexual desire. By doing things like this I’m helping to create the kind of world in which I want to live.

Did you catch that last part? The world I want to live in. My actions are for me too. How’s that for enlightened? Even if what I do primarily has a benefit to others, it also helps me to become the person I wish that I (and everyone else) was. It makes me happy to be who I am. It’s that whole, be the change you want to see shtick.

Ever since I was called a racist at 17, all I’ve ever wanted to do is be a better person. That impetus has brought me to where I am now and I’m reaping the benefits. I’m happier than I’ve ever been and for the first time I’m starting to cultivate a group of friends with shared values. My friends, dates and other random people tell me the nicest and most heartfelt things and I know it’s because I have done the same for them and that I’ve created an environment where they trust me. Moments like those bring tears to my eyes when I think about it. I’m finally having the intimate meaningful connections with people that I’ve always wanted to have. It’s such a wonderful place to be.

However, I’m not perfect. I’m still just a clump of electrical and bacterial processes that we call human. As confidant as I am I still have insecurities that can occasionally lead me to be emotionally unhealthy. I’m working on it. Sometimes I get excited about a topic and I realize that I’ve been talking for 5 minutes and unintentionally monopolizing the conversation. I’m working on that too. I’m a radical sometimes to a fault. I’m wondering how to work on that or if I even should. I also use profanity. I’ve no plans to work on that at all because if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

Okay look, I realize that most of you who read this will never meet me (I mostly blame you), but you can extrapolate this into your own life. Whoever, you’re in the process of idolizing make sure you do a reality check on what it means to be human.

People are wondrous and beautiful creatures and we exist in a myriad of ways, but obviously we’re not perfect. Sometimes our imperfections make us beautiful. Other times, it’s how we deal with those imperfections that make us shine. Either way we all have work to do and that’s okay.

Mal, a character from the television series Firefly, said it best, “It’s my estimation that every man ever got a statue made of him was one kind of sommbitch or another.”

Hell, I don’t even have a statue made of me unless you count voodoo dolls and burning effigies.

Masculinity As A Crutch

“I think the white-knuckled grip some men keep on what defines a man” is “clinging to an old idea of the world, one they can control, one that isn’t new or different or equal or, let’s just say it, actually happening.”

One of my ideas for writing has been to do something like this article by David Greenwald. Until that is penned (and even after) you should really read this.

https://medium.com/@davidegreenwald/against-masculinity-498339cb8f42#.msue0qrsc

Note: I took a few liberties with the quote above such as splicing two sentences and removing a question mark, but I think it is the essence of the paragraph from which it was pulled. I just thought you should know in the spirit of honesty.

Fear Not and Do the Dishes

Read this first.

http://www.medicaldaily.com/more-chores-husband-does-more-likely-marriage-will-end-divorce-242815

I read this article because I instantly knew it would be a steaming pile of shit and that it would be a good example of how people misconstrue research. I was partially correct.

I studied sociology in college and so I have a passing familiarity with research and statistics, though by no means am I an expert.

However, I knew the headline alone was crap. It read, “The more chores a husband does, the more likely the marriage will end in divorce.” That is categorically wrong as it implies that one led to the other. There are quite a few studies similar to this where couples who believe in non-traditional roles will have lives that often follow non-traditional paths. In this instance, if a hetero couple doesn’t believe that females should do all of the house work then they are also less likely to view marriage as a vow that can never be altered or revoked and so can be more likely to view divorce as an option.

To the article’s credit they do mention this. That doesn’t make up for the headline or the leap they take next.

The authors say that this research contradicts other studies which talk about how men are happier when they share more of the home chores. How does this contradict? Because divorce is supposed to be unhappy or undesirable? Let’s keep in mind that sometimes divorce is both a desirable and happy occasion. Happily ever after can include divorce.

Still, let’s assume that divorces are horrible and that no one has ever been happy at the conclusion of one. What do we really gain by this? We’ve all likely been in relationships that have failed, but does that mean that we were unhappy all the way through? Of course not.

I can vouch from experience that when I didn’t pull my weight around the house I would feel bad about myself and the role I was playing. When I did step up and shoulder my share of the responsibility I felt so much happier about what I contributed to the relationship and how it removed a burden from my partner. The fulfillment I felt when helping was independent of whether my relationship continued or ended.

So in the end this article is the steaming pile of shit I had imagined it to be, but at least the authors caught a whiff of it before then passing it off as something of quality. Men; doing the dishes won’t lead to a divorce, but acting as if both people have a determination over the path their life takes just may. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Gay Guys Can Be Shitheads Too

sloppy-guy

So my physical relationship with men has been a roller coaster. I’m attracted to men, but it’s something I’ve only been able to explore fully in the last 9 months or so. That means my experience isn’t where I want it to be. Of course, there’s no shortage of men who want to fuck me or be fucked by me, but this is difficult as well because I’m interested in a much narrower grouping of men than I am women. Not to mention that a lot of guys with sex on their mind throw all courtesy out the window when they’re trolling online and I deserve more respect than this. Yup, that means I don’t want to see a picture of your dick. Try the novel approach of actually having a real conversation (and not about sex).

I just ended a horrible, albeit super short encounter (supposed to be physical in some way) with a guy I met on Grindr. Okay settle down, I hear you and you’re right. The Grindr crowd is a fairly toxic population but I’ve met a couple of good people on there and had awesome sexual experiences with them, plus I can usually weed the shitheads out. Actually, I’m about to talk about a guy I had ruled out once before. I should have stuck with my earlier ruling.

Anyway, the short explanation of what went down is that I wasn’t attracted to him. After we had agreed to meet he had an event to attend and would be over shortly after. I heard from him next when he said he was just finishing up eating tacos. Since highly spiced meat doesn’t do wonders for someone’s breath I asked him to take some courtesy measures. He said, “I’ll have to run by home then.” Great, he wasn’t planning on doing this in the first place that’s reassuring. I don’t think it’s too much to expect someone that you’ve never met to have good oral hygiene when making out is on the horizon. Once he arrived home he said he was freshening up a bit. Given that his house wasn’t one of his intended stops before coming over what kind of disrepair was this guy in before he went to tidy up?

I found out soon enough once we got into the light. He showed up in a shirt that I’m pretty sure was wrinkled and stained and not in a designer clothing kind of way. He was scruffy which I had expected, but it was unkempt.

His conversation wasn’t any better. He had photography listed as a hobby so I was trying to chat him up on that but it wasn’t working. I showed him a few of my pictures, but still nothing. He actually showed disinterest in any conversation. He seemed put off that I didn’t want to swallow his dick as soon as we walked in the door. Was I reading him wrong? Of course not, but at the time I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

We sat down at my behest and started talking. Oh wait, did I say we? I meant me. He put his hand on my leg and his other hand down his pants. Classy right? As an aside, I’ll also be hosting a seminar on how to find all the good men. In case anything happened (which at this point seemed pretty fucking slim to none) I initiated the STI conversation. He withdrew his hand (both of them) and dejectedly said it was a buzzkill to talk about it, but he was clean.

Whelp! That pretty much does it for me. At this point I was at a loss of what to say but I wasn’t about to have sex with whatever this was in front of me. I started by saying that I’m not sure I want to do anything. His reply is that if I’m not sure I want to do anything physical then that means I don’t. It’s the most he had said in my presence and he was right. I said that while I was in the mood earlier that I just wasn’t feeling it currently. He immediately got up and walked out.

He was there for 5 minutes total. If he hadn’t been so impatient and actually entered into a conversation maybe I could have seen that he was a nice guy and given him a shot or made out or something, but of course when someone storms out after they find out you’re not going to have sex with them you can rest assured that they weren’t a nice guy.

I waited for what was inevitable. I knew I would be bombarded by angry vitriolic messages that would hinge on his insecurities and demonstrate his true nature. Basically, I was about to receive confirmation that I made the right choice. Like clockwork they came streaming in. He said I wasn’t genuine, my photography was shitty, I look older than my photo (it’s about 2 months old and only adjusted for color), basically he attacked anything and everything he knew about me.

I told him that it was my mistake because we should have met somewhere first to gauge our attraction and that it just wasn’t there for me. The insults kept streaming in after that, something about how I wasn’t attractive either, but I don’t even really know what was said. I blocked him. There wasn’t much point in having my phone light up all night to keep me on edge about messages I wasn’t going to read. I had done what I needed to do and his meltdown was his own problem. I don’t owe anybody sex. I don’t care if I do meet someone on the skeeziest hookup app there is and talk about sex till we’re blue in the – uh . . . face. If at any time I (or someone else) says no then that’s definitive.

My take away from this is that I should always meet someone out for a drink first to gauge who they are and my level of attraction as much as possible. This goes for hookups too. I should probably only select guys from my narrow band of interest. I hate to be like this and I wish my attraction was more varied, but it’s not apparently. Also, and this is key, I should probably delete my Grindr profile and the app. For now though it still remains on my phone beckoning me to reach out and find Mr. Wrong.