i've been having an emotionally difficult week. i'm not sure of the reasons; could be a combination of coincidences added to the hormonality of spring and the appalling stress levels of my cohabitants. could be any number of things. but the fact is, i'm a sharp coiled wire right now, and it has one target.
in a somewhat seasonally appropriate way, i've got a mad desire to see all heterosexual men put to the sword.
you might reasonably ask how i could feel this way. after all, there are many good men in the world. it is true, absolutely. but i can't deny the homicidal instinct i've been having every time i walk out of this house and find myself facing a wall of predators.
predators. it's a good word. if you are a queer man, you might understand this. when, for example, police look to try and catch criminals who choose victims who aren't their friends and neighbours (most prefer the taste they know, apparently), particularly those who offend in sexual matters, they find that criminals follow the same patterns that, say, leopards do when hunting gazelles.
predators. sometimes i think that almost every interaction i have with an adult or near-adult breeder male involves a predator-prey relationship. walking in the city, i am stalked. i am seen as someone to impress. men swagger, boast, use their loud voices to get my attention. or sometimes i'm a passive part of a scenario - a prop ignored in pursuit of another piece of meat.
today - well, really it's yesterday, now - i took the bus. four handsome, nice-looking 20-somethings sat in the seats nearby me. and what came out of their mouths, these nice white boys going to elite cambridge/boston colleges, was the most ferocious output of nausea-inducing bile about the women in their lives. i think the least offensive sentence ran along the lines of, "so when i can't find a bitch to fuck, i come home and knock on my neighbour's door. it's my emergency cunt."
seriously, i can't tell you more about that conversation - between the adrenaline rush i got and that envenomation burnt out my synapses, i kind of blank. i do know i got off the bus and walked quite a long ways home instead. i was afraid i was going to go all khazzoom on their asses. while that turn of phrase is admittedly amusing, the impetus behind it deeply disturbs me as a human being.
for those of you just tuning in, this might seem like a fairly psychotic turn of events. i 'specially hope hen zilch (no relation) does not take offense, nor what male readership we have. i know my anti-popes ("ding, dong, the witch is dead" and "nazi-nger") " and anti-mother theresa ("bitch-whore from hell") tirades caused much consternation, but as someone who attended catholic school, i know my shit, so step off, fuckers. but when it comes to being female - shit, i wish i could make every man born live as a woman.
you have no fucking idea what you are missing. you can't understand it.
i should know. i used to live as a man.
and boy, while i wouldn't give up my womanhood for a fucking million dollars, i sure know what side of the street has the greener grass and what side of the toast hits the floor first. being female is a recipe for the most humiliating of experiences, and they happen with such regularity.
i wrote, back when i was in san diego, about the numerous times i was assaulted with credible witnesses and no charges were filed, threatened with rape like five times in one afternoon, stoned by mexican teenagers (twice), and i think i even mentioned the final experience i had - holding a gang of my male neighbours at bay with a large knife and the stone face i've perfected over the years that says you might get a piece but you'll lose eyes, testicles and maybe your life if you do, so make your fucking choice. i used that last look back in high school to stop an large, intoxicated and homophobic marine from an attempted rape - he actually backed off and slinked away from little lone emily.
that look isn't something you practice and use. it's method acting. i don't even know when i'm using it. it appears on my face when i am so full of rage i am trying with every ounce of my will not to shove that broken bottle or sharp knife deep into the predator's belly because i'll be the one fucked and in prison. it shows on my face, and the fact it has shown up on more than once occasion, when i am such a lame-ass that i rarely do anything more dangerous than go to the library or to rent a video, tells you something very significant about the level of harassment i have experienced as a woman.
so. predators. how many of my exes were sexually abused? how many had been date-raped? how many had been sexually exploited, sexually assaulted? fuck, if i had a quarter for every woman i was close friends with or dated over the years who suffered any of those things, i'd have spinning rims on my fucking Benz.
and the bottom line is that i don't know how to take it anymore. i don't. i fucking don't. i got off the bus and went in to grab a salad at a fast-food place and this crazed fuck stared at me and called me a dirty cunt over and over and over again like it was a fucking mantra. and i - i wanted him dead. i am over amelioration. i am over self-restraint. i am over being understanding. i don't fucking care. i want it to stop, and i'm tired of asking nice.
these days - well, since the middle of my sojourn in san diego - i wear a folding knife, a utility knife. because i'm afraid that i'm going to need it some time to keep myself from being raped and/or assaulted. do you regularly wear a weapon? do you go out at night with a friend because going out alone is unsafe? do you have to knee men in the groin on the public transit because they are trying to dry-hump your leg?
i am sick, literally sick to my stomach, at this. and i don't know why right now it's a flashpoint, but at this moment, i think i have that stone cold killer face on a lot. because when that inbred motherfucker whistles at me and tries to touch me, i'm trying not to reach up and gouge out his eyes with my thumbs.
and yes, i have a therapist, so shut the fuck up.
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