Ellen’s Box – It’s not me, it’s you

I haven’t been able to write anything in weeks and it has driven me up the highest of metaphorical walls. There are so many words in my head that I simply cannot get out on paper; I feel – and please pardon the pretentious connotations aligned with this expression because it is actually really sad – completely blocked. *sob*

In feeling this, and being angry with this, and literally sobbing (a lot) about this, I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason behind my blocked-ness is – and please don’t roll your eyes – males. I obviously know that my feelings are my own weight to carry and obviously I’m responsible for myself etc etc, but I wouldn’t and didn’t feel shit until I interacted – somewhat intimately – with specifically man kind. That lesson I wrote to my younger self in my last column: ‘try not to become hardened by men’? Yeah…haven’t managed that yet. THE SHAME.

I hate how much of an influence males have upon me. Not because they bewitch me or anything (as if lol) but more because I know that male opinions matter to the way I feel about myself. They don’t necessarily outweigh those of my female friends, but they still count. I wish that they didn’t; I wish I could completely not care.

If a man confirms that I’m attractive, I do feel better about myself. If this confirmation comes with sex, even more so. As soon as it disappears, though, as it has in the past, I feel unconfident, unattractive and unable to stop feeling either of those things. As ever, it’s worth acknowledging here that this is just me personally – I hope it isn’t a relatable set of emotions and I know that it’s my own shit to deal with; I’m working on it, I promise.

But back to it. How is this feminist-y? Am I even a feminist anymore, after having just revealed that I’m well fazed by what the opposite sex think of me? Well soz trollz, yes I am, very much so. These feels, justifiable or not – that’s your call, are actually applicable to feminism. They’re a product of the patriarchy, although realistically, what isn’t? EY?

Every time a boy parrs me off, it (intentionally or not) becomes my fault. He’s either ‘too scared’, or I’ve arrived ‘too soon’, or he likes me ‘too much’…HOW DO I RESPOND TO THIS? I’m not a monster babe, and I mean I’m sorry that time exists (???!!!!) and, as for that last one, lol, that’s not a thing, well I mean it is, it’s a lie, so OK.

What I really want to be saying is: when did it become my responsibility to deal with your shit?

Women are conditioned to feel guilty. It starts with little girls being told “he’s mean to you because he likes you” and progresses to women being divorced via text message because they have been gang-raped. Comparatively, my woes are meaningless. Privilege? Very firmly checked.

Point remains though, men’s shit becomes women’s shit. And men can be more aware of this without being told by someone who isn’t their mother (what?). It might all be relative, but whilst it’s my shit to decide that actually, I probably fancy myself more than I fancy you and that actually, I don’t care what you think about me, it’s your shit, man, to decide that you don’t want to be a shithead. And if you can’t make that choice, then shit off.

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