The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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maybe a small sandwich
children of dune - leto 1
seperis
You ever have one of those days where it hits you like brand new that there is no way out of this? I can't think of one, and I have tried and tried.

This is human nature at it's most fundamental, I get that, and I get the rage on body shaming. I get that, it sucks when a woman doesn't conform to teh ideal and even more when she really doesn't, especially when it comes to weight. It's a nightmare, more of one that's in progress since birth for a woman, because the closer you get to the ideal the less nightmarish it gets, much like an improvement from being boiled in oil and now enjoy the Elysian Fields of slow strangulation: I myself aspire to an upgrade to dropping my oil temperature ten entire degrees and fuck the bitches who are gasping for air over there and tell my torturer how awesome the temperature is and those sluts over there created their own deep fryer life, turn it up by five degrees on them, right? and maybe I get another five degree drop because I am a fine daughter of the patriarchy and women's body's are public property because that's what they told me and they like me better now, five fucking degrees lower, fuck yeah, I'm almost in. To potential slow strangulation, one day, if I'm very, very good.

Or I might say "...this room has no door. Why doesn't it have a door?"

Context and original post: Maybe a 'Small' Sandwich

On an emotional level, I do get this; this is women's bodies and my God welcome to Hell there. On a vital self-awareness level, however, the gut-punch is the punchline at the same time: you will never, ever be good enough, and in case anyone, anywhere, thinks that even for a second, we as women have a duty to stop that shit.



Yeah, no, I'm okay with eliminating 'body shaming' from the list of insults I use toward other women. I'm crazy like this--literally--but perhaps instead of inflicting damage on any woman using the go-to weapons of the patriarchal model that requires an impossible beauty standard and enforcing or denying that model in a hilarious catfight that no one will ever fucking win (but is so good to watch; what men do to us we punish each other for, well done), we could go with dismantling that shit altogether.

It's much worse for overweight women, no lie; it's gross and stupid and highly misogynistic and it reinforces the idea that a woman's body is public property whose appearance must fulfill a specific standard or it's worthless. It's reinforced by media, by men, by loved ones, by everyone, and even better, even more awesome, we do it to not only ourselves but each other. If a woman manages--against all odds--to hit the sweet spot of female almost-perfection, it's like a drug of "finally, I'm getting this woman thing right" and for reasons (patriarchal) women who don't, can't, won't are totally fair game forever. So sayeth the patriarchy, and once you think you may be in, you'll do anything to stay there. Well fucking played.

Now, I've been both ultra skinny--due to genetics and suicidal depression but whatever, still fulfilled the model so 'eat a sandwich bitch' on one side and 'frigid bitch' when I wasn't drunk enough to not get away from a guy who found that hot shoving his hand down my panties from the other, yeah, the sandwich thing wasn't that a big deal in the greater scheme of mental illness and my life, I was way more worried about accidentally cutting too deeply into my wrists 'by accident' but I'm gonna admit it didn't help--and overweight due to medical conditions which why does that matter, it's my body, but that's the disclaimer I have to use for my weight 'why it's like this' in case its' not quite right because this is a thing that people are entitled to know, right?--'ever think of losing some weight' holy shit variety in sexism is magic this is hilarious but now at least I have the full woman experience, truly I have grown as a person--and I can tell you either way, this is how it works: being a woman, you're (painfully, constantly, always) fucked over, there's no way you can get your body right, and so now, I'm not willing to tell any woman, ever, "stop complaining, at least you get it with lube".

Generally, the goal should be to not reinforce the line of thinking that a woman's body is public property and therefore you are entitled to commentary on it or its lack.

But what do I know: I'm just a woman.

Please, go tell that skinny bitch to eat a fucking sandwich (you think you got it right? You don't. You never will.) while on the TV behind her the six foot supermodel with a major eating disorder and weighing 115lbs is lauded as the most fucking perfect thing ever, and the skinny bitch can call you a fat bitch who will never get a man (At least a man somewhere will maybe for a few short hours let me feel I'm doing this right, please God am I doing this right, what am I supposed to be how do I get this right but I know it's not you, I know that much, it's literally the only thing here I have to work with), glance at Vogue on the table beside her and the hil-larious website with pics of Wal-Mart shoppers and for fuck's sake don't have a single moment of self-awareness because that shit? That's funny. Send me a ticket: are we having fun yet? We've only been doing this forever; it'll never, ever, ever get old and will never, ever change. We're not going to let it.

She's the problem. Whoever she is. She will always be the real problem here.

Posted at Dreamwidth: http://seperis.dreamwidth.org/1006613.html. | You can reply here or there. | comment count unavailable comments

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<3333

Because this post is just one more thing for me to add to the list of reasons you're amazing.

It's so stupid--and minor because this was mental illness related honestly--but I remember this vaguely (this was not a good time for me): I was living in a dorm sharing a bathroom with the entire floor and went in there to cut myself with a boxcutter a couple of times a month and felt lettuce was too much of a commitment for my stomach to bear, and someone made a remark about like--it was something about how my jeans were too big or something but nice, and I'm sleeping sixteen to eighteen hours a day and skipping class and walking around campus at night and wearing long sleeve shirts in Texas in March and April for no reason whatsoever but Jesus, I looked good. I"m five ten and I almost hit a supermodel body type for my height when I got my weight down below one twenty and likely at teh worst of it 110, but it was when i made the mistake of boxcuttering in my room that someone was like "are you okay?"

I kid you not, I remembered that while reading this tumblr and started laughing because back then? Back then, that was kind of awesome; sure, I was mentally ill and suicidal, I lived on teh third floor nad literally used cigarettes to keep me from considering the jump--finish this one first and this one until the impulse goes away--and hid a boxcutter in my backpack for comfort but whatever, they noticed my jeans were too big well fucking done me.

Twenty years later, I get the feeling there is nothign at all right about that.

[hugs tightly] No, there's nothing okay about it at all.

Twenty years later, bb, I'm glad you're here.

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