Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Yes, I AM Angry

I am allegedly an 'angry' woman. I've been called lots of names with 'bitter', 'angry', 'enraged' being the most commonly used adjectives. 

But here's the thing: It's true. 

I am angry. I'm so fucking pissed off that it's not even funny. Actually, some days it sort of is, like when I can channel my rage into mocking an entire company for their lazy-ass 'marketing'. But most of the time, I'm just bitter. I'm sour. I'm furious. 

Then again, if most people could operate on anything more than a 'coping-with-daily-life' level, they probably would be mighty outraged, too. Folks on the Internet blame my despair on a 'victim complex' or 'boredom'. My therapist blames complex critical thinking skills. My friends blame it on me being too attuned to the issues. I blame it on a deep commitment to being informed and knowing what the fuck I'm talking about... But most of it's probably due to the simple fact that I was born with a vagina. 

So I'm angry. 

But wouldn't you be? 

If you started working at an outdoor company the same day as a male colleague, worked more hours and were a professional athlete in your field who happened to earn nearly $2 an hour less than this male colleague (despite having more education and experience in your field), wouldn't you be?

If you walked down the street and constantly had strangers shout at you, follow you and/or make remarks to your companions about your body, wouldn't you be a tad upset? 

If the print, television, Internet, sports and mainstream media constantly portrayed you as a sexual object with zero value beyond your appearance or sexual skill and talked down to members of your gender despite their expertise and education, wouldn't you be a bit jaded about how you were portrayed? 

If you constantly had to tell people where you were going, who you would be with, double check what you're wearing and make sure you have an object that will serve as a useable weapon or defense (keys, mace, whistle) every single time you leave your house because one in five women will be sexually assaulted, wouldn't you be a bit tired? 

If someone tracked you down and sent you threats of violence and messages of hate every time you wrote your opinion online (on your own media, website or in the columns/pieces you were hired to write), wouldn't you be just a bit upset? 

If politicians were telling you that a cluster of cells in your body was more valuable than your life and existence and that you weren't allowed to do anything with or to your body without political interference, wouldn't you be a tad taken aback by the premise of freedom? 

If every single time you raised any of these concerns, someone called you 'crazy', you might be pretty upset, too. (http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/a-message-to-women-from-a_1_b_958859.html)

So... Yeah, I'm fucking angry. I am sick and tired of being a second-class citizen. I'm really upset that my vast set of skills, my education and my work ethic are superseded by my fucking plumbing or dismissed by someone who might feel threatened by my understanding of my value. I'm pissed that some jackass can sexually assault me, but MY sexual history is put on trial while he has the presumption of innocence. I'm angry that I get labeled as someone with a 'victim complex' when I raise these issues and my success despite them. I'm not a victim. I'm a fucking survivor and I'm pissed about it. I'm pissed that little girls all over the world face these very same issues, without recourse or support.

And I'm sorry that my anger bleeds over into a sport where gender, age, appearance or sexual orientation shouldn't matter... But where it does. Where 'professional' photographers sift through google results and various Instagram accounts to find material with which to discredit my OPINION that isn't affecting them... So they can prove that sexism doesn't exist. Or to prove that I am a sexual being who happens to possess an ass (Or a sense of humor)? I'm upset that my 'fuckability' is more important than my ability to get up and finish a race with three compressed vertebrae, but the SECOND I show a little duality, I'm a sinner? Come the fuck on.







I'm sorry that my rage bleeds into contract negotiations when companies talk about my 'marketability', but not my podium finishes or my speed or my injuries or my toughness, or how I'm valuable because of my complexity as a person. I'm so sorry about that. 

I'm sorry that my anger about my lack of human value or control over my own life offends your sensitivities and inconveniences your ignorant existence.

Yeah. I'm fucking angry.