Diary of a Mad Grrrl... Feminism And Fear

Angry feminist rant.

FEMINISM AND FEAR.

We love our bodies. We love ourselves. We are women hear us roar. At least, thats what we can ourselves in the daylight. At night we must look over our shoulders in darkened parking lots and be reminded of the inequality of fear. At night the truth comes out, under the influence of diner food and bottomless cups of coffee we admit things that in the daylight we would never dare say out loud.

I love my body, I love myself....... I hate my breasts. I have been fighting a lifelong war with my body, and I am afraid that I do not love it as much as I profess to. At age ten I wore a b cup and it got worse from then on. At age 12 I did not want to be a bombshell, I did not like the stares, I did not like feeling like I could not run, I did not want to give up ballet because I felt like a retard in a leotard with all those skinny flat chested girls. At night I would cry and wish I could take a knife and cut the stupid things off. I wore huge baggy shirts and hunched my shoulders and hoped that no one would notice. I felt betrayed that a part of my body would impose things on me that I did not ask for. Even now there are times when I look at the seemingly permanant reddened ridges on my shoulder and want to cry. I still wish they would go away though I am too afraid to go under the knife. I do not like the idea of a surgeon cutting into me and removing my parts. I fear that men are interested in me to satisfy a breast fetish, something hardly unheard of in my life. While I am highly "sex positive" (why are feminists the only people that have to identify as "sex positive," as if it is assumed that only women who hate themselves enjoy sex. Feminists practically invented the idea of women enjoying sex, and now we have to specify that we are "sex positive."), the idea of being a sex object creeps me the hell out. At the same time, there those are moments when I can hate to get dressed in the morning because every shred of clothing I put on seems to make me look like a sack of potatoes (this vanity issue is extremely hard for me to reconcile with my values and embarrasses me to admit). Its a strange double edged sword, and every day I perform some hare kare on myself. I do not want to care. I want to be able to love my body and myself, and most of the time I do, but there are moments of insecurity. I want to feel beautiful, but I do not want to be a sex object. Get a pocket pussy if thats what you want. I am not inflatable.

Outside of the personal and the intimate, in the world at large, those in charge are men who imagine they have an divine right to control our bodies. Yes, their "god" has placed them in power to force us to bear children and to tell us whom we ought to love, etc. etc. They are smart enough to cheer the few women that have made it in their male system of priveledges, but the priviledges of a few do not justify the lack for the many. There are days when I fear that "The Handmaids Tale" was a prophecy of things to come. I fear the growing power of the Christian Right.

Even on our own side. Chauvinist remarks, false allegations of sexual intercourse and "come on baby do it for the revolution." Wouldn't it be nice if we could trust our brothers in the struggle to be more, well... feminist? Some of them are. Some of them are the most enlightened and incredible people I've ever met in my life. But there are those misogynist rat bastards that will quote Emma Goldman in one breath and in the next be critiquing the behind of some woman they don't know. Who view women as fodder for the revolution (fuck you, Proudhon). I wonder how they feel they are so different from the establishments they are fighting against. They will fight avidly for women they do not know and will never meet, and spread false locker room-esque rumors about the ones they do. Oh sure, I believe in free love- hell, if its not free it ain't love. It doesn't mean I'm gonna fuck you. Thats not free love- that's free nausea. Its a totally different feeling. Asshole.

I am woman hear me roar. Hear me admit that at times I am afraid. Fear is inequality. For all we have fought for liberation and equality, men still do not have to fear women as we fear them. They do not have to fear rape as we do. They do not have to look over their shoulders in parking lots. I fear that I shall never fully reconcile with my breasts. I fear that I will never trust that the man talking to me gives a damn about what I have to say and is not simply wondering about my bedside manner. I fear those who wish to control my body. I fear a revolution led by misogynist manarchists. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself, and I am afraid of unresolvable fear.