The Ocean Is Pretty, But It Will Fuck You Up.

I’m a crier. I cry a lot. It’s not that I cry at the slightest hint of emotion, I don’t cry unless I’m genuinely, deeply upset. But there’s the problem: I feel too much.  It’s like I’m standing on a shore and my emotions are waves rushing towards me and over me. The bigger the waves are, the harder it is to stay standing. Sometimes it’s a torrent and I’m pulled under, I can’t breathe, I can’t speak. I don’t have the words at that time to communicate or ask for help. I try, but the words don’t come. I want to show someone how I feel, I want to transfer a snippet of my experience to another person’s mind just for a moment, because then someone would understand what it is really like. For them to experience that helplessness, the feeling of being trapped, that suffocating pressure on their chest.

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And here we have a representation of the inner turmoil I feel while waiting to find out who Negan beats to death with Lucille on The Walking Dead. It’s gotta be Glenn, right?             Photo credit: Luis Ascenso

To say that I’m ‘over-emotional’ or ‘too sensitive’, is misleading, as it is often said as a synonym for ‘weak’.  Such expressions are often hurled, when what is really meant is “Your emotional response makes me uncomfortable and I don’t know how to react, so you must be faulty,”.

I am not weak, if I was weak I would have broken long ago. I’d be a drooling mess in a funny farm or worse. But I’m not, I’m still here. I’m fractured, but I’m still holding all the pieces in place. I am what Psychotherapist Joy Malik, calls a Deep Feeler. I am easily overwhelmed by my own feelings and the feelings of others.  My feelings are real and valid, they are not something that is enhanced intentionally. It is as much physiological as it is mental. Malik said, “For those with high sensitivity, strong emotional responses are natural and need to be processed in order to metabolize them.” And so I cry, and I write.

I write my most honest thoughts privately, and share publicly some of my struggles. I do this in writing because talking about them out loud is difficult. Being upfront about your emotional and mental health is not easy. It’s mistaken as self-pity. Some think I’m an over-sharer and should keep things to myself; have some class and dignity.  But the fact is, it’s taken me years to get to the point where I can be open about it, where I can say .”I’m not okay today” . I’m not ashamed of it anymore, nor should I be. I want to show my children that it’s safe to speak up when they’re not OK. The world is changing and the stigma is gradually lifting, but there’s still a fog of taboo that needs to be burned off. It’s time to clear the air.

You Are A Pervert, And So Is Your Gran


You know what’s great? Objectification.  I looooove objectifying men (and some women, looking at you Catherine Zeta-Jones). Objectification is the act of viewing someone as a sum of their parts and what they can do for you sexually. To say that objectification is male chauvinism is grossly inaccurate, because I, and every other straight woman, sometimes {read: frequently} look at a gorgeous specimen of masculinity and secretly think, “I want to chain that up in my basement and keep it for my personal use.”

Hm? What’s that? Oh, you don’t?

Well you, Ma’am are a filthy liar!

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Case in point: Remember when Travis Fimmel was a CK model?

We are just as prolific at objectification as men are, the only difference is, we are subtle. Men don’t really do subtle. They try, but they’re just not very good at it, bless them.

Example:
Where Marjory might walk past a strapping young lad and think to herself, “What I wouldn’t do to get on that tasty piece of man meat….”, old Theo would look at the lads’ arm-candy and blurt out, “Did you see the rack on that!?”. This of course would lead to Marjory calling him a pig and giving him the silent treatment for the rest of their vacation. Then granddaughter, Chantyllisha, will lecture poor old Theo about the perpetuation of rape-culture in a patriarchal society. Anyone within ear-shot would consider Theo a creep, when all he did was fail to engage the safety barrier between brain and mouth.

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I mean, fucking hell, LOOK at him!

Yes, women are judged on their looks more than men are, but times are a-changing. Women are becoming more vocal. Some would say more vulgar – I would say more honest. The filthiest person on my Facebook feed is a woman, and I think she’s awesome. The fact is, Theo is no more a pervert or a threat than Marjory. This will come to light in a few years when Marjory goes a bit senile and her brain-mouth barrier fails. Chantyllisha will hold that old whore’s hand and tell herself that Granny doesn’t know what she’s saying when Marge offers the sexy orderly a good going-over. Then they’ll both sit back and imagine what he’s hiding under his uniform.

I say, objectify away! Don’t be an asshole about it and make people uncomfortable, but by all means, admit that you’d like to bone Jason Statham; nudge your buddy when a particularly pert butt in yoga pants walks by. We’re all horny perverts, and that includes you.

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He just gets better and better as time goes on, how the fuck does he do that?