Congratulations on finding my blog! The only blog you’ll ever need for the rest of your sorry, blogging life.
What you’ve actually found is a dumping ground for a Basic White Girl’s disordered ramblings. So if you’re interested in that, buckle up and I’ll introduce myself.
I’ll go by M here (hint: it’s my first initial) because it saves me some typing, not that I refer to myself in the third person all too often.
I’m not particularly interesting, pretty, or talented Just your typical twenty-something with freckles and a knack for using words that are more perplexing than necessary for the given context.
I reckon that some of my posts are difficult to understand without a little background information, so I’ll try to provide some here:
The initial intention of this blog was to be a platform for me to fly my newly-found feminist flag. When I started college, I was awakened by the evils of the patriarchy and systematic oppression and micro-aggressions and all that jazz. And I was enraged.
So I used this very webpage as a platform to shout my complaints into the web-based oblivion. I tried this “no makeup” challenge in which I tried to prove that people treat you better if you’re pretty. (They probably do, honestly.) Unfortunately some of us will never be more than a 6 no matter how many times we go to Sephora to learn how to contour our faces.
I’ve always been a loner. I had a handful of friends in high school, but they mainly invited me to hang out so that they could tell their parents that they weren’t alone with their boyfriends, making out in the guest bedroom, even though they totally were. Meanwhile, I was playing Mario Kart alone on the couch.
And so, I had nobody to vent to about my awakening. Hence this webpage of concentrated word vomit.
Since starting the blog, I’ve had experiences that have completely shifted my paradigm.It all started when I was thirteen; the birth date of my anxiety. I grew up fat, up through the seventh grade. And then, seemingly overnight, I was a 5’2, 70-lb skeleton. The high of starvation fueled me all the way through the 8th grade. Being skinny was a super power. I could palpate almost all 206 bones on my own body, and my self-restraint was evidence of my superiority.
Then, I snapped out of the glamour before it could drag me six feet under.
This year of self-inflicted starvation has fundamentally and irreversibly changed me, but it’s not the only earth-shattering experience I’ve encountered.
Our next stop on The Journey Through My Existential Crises, I lost my faith in God. My de-conversion from Mormonism was pretty much just like everyone else’s, and I have no interest in discussing it further here. (If you want to learn more, check out r/ExMormon. It’s basically a forum dedicated to an outrage in geriatric clergymen and selfies of “newly liberated” women exposing their “Porn Shoulders”)
Shortly thereafter, something really dramatic happened.
I got raped.
Not like a “I regret banging this guy now that i’m sober” kind of thing. Yes, I was drinking. I was newly 21, sue me. It was our third “date,” and he insisted on having me over at his house, even though I communicated via text message (which would have been really helpful evidence if law enforcement gave a shit about sexual assault) that I wasn’t open to anything physical. My drink was prepared without my presence. I was all but paralyzed for six hours while he robbed me of my virginity, broke the condom, and tried to insist that I stay for breakfast.
So I’ve been detached from myself and others for the last two years. Men aren’t my favorite thing. People aren’t my favorite thing. And numb is the new normal.
And now I’m a cocktail of anxiety, trauma, and desperation.
These are my stories.