I got this message this morning after I posted this piece this morning, which I think is a lovely, kind, open-hearted piece, and I hold some small hope for being able to tell a story about myself like that someday.
I didn’t have a good reaction to receiving this message; I felt like someone had thrown blood on me. I felt implicated and like I was a trigger. I feel like a trigger a lot, a walking talking trigger, because it is very hard not to trigger something in someone these days, especially if you walk around angry all the time and struggling with that anger which I am and which I do. I felt angry because this person is anonymous but out there, and I didn’t have the option to offer sympathy or respond personally without putting it all out there.
I wanted to tell this person that I know some of how they feel, in this specific instance, because I feel the same way when I see trend pieces about stupid shit like long hair on men and Burning Man. I get angry when friends say that they find manbuns sexy because I can still see hair untied from its knot hanging over me when I say stop and nothing stops. When I click a link that says, “look at these assholes at Burning Man,” I look at every picture to see if I can see him, to see if he’s burning. It’s almost been a year now and I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want to throw blood on people. I’ve thrown a lot of blood, and never in the right direction.
I woke up in the middle of the night last night because I felt like someone had just left my apartment. I was embarrassed because I was naked, which is silly because it was hot and I was sleeping naked, but I realized I was just dreaming and went back to sleep. When I woke up this morning, the door to my studio was ajar. I feel unsafe and unsettled, but nothing was missing and nothing was wrong so I went to work.
But I saw this message and got the message and I came home to sit and wait for my super to install a deadbolt and wait and wait and wait to feel safe.
You’re angry? Me too. What are we going to do?
I’m Tumbling this in my small corner of the Internet, because it’s important, and because it’s so easy to write things that are funny or clever or witty, and much, much harder to show real emotion, or worse, fear. I love you, Mere.
I forgot, but I wrote this thing the other day for Famously, when everyone was all aflutter that Ashton Kutcher asking Mila Kunis’ dad for her hand in marriage was setting back feminism. I’m a feminist, and I do want you to ask my dad for my hand in marriage.
Ultimately, I’m not anyone’s property, and my father knows that I’m not his to give away, but the empty gesture is still one I’d want my fiancé to indulge in, given that it makes everyone happy without disenfranchising any of our long-held beliefs. At the point that Ryan Gosling-incarnate is about to put a ring on it, I guarantee he already knows my family super well, mainly because the Shahs don’t understand boundaries, but also because the most important thing in my life is my family.
I greatly enjoy working at a place where I get to write about celebs all day, but also be a human with thoughts I can express.