Can I, like, rent you? Not even necessarily in a sexual way, but, like, so people can see us hanging out together and say, “Who’s that weird dude hanging out with Christina Hendricks? He must have an attractive sense of humor, or something.”
Okay dude, I can’t do it, I’m sorry. Your weird sense of entitlement with women is really super off-putting. Laters. :I
Protip to OP: Talking about “renting” a human being (that’s what Ms. Hendricks is btw) is not an “attractive” sense of humor.
I wasn’t going to say anything, but somebody cool actually unfollowed me because of this post, so I feel like I should at least explain myself.
I am depressed. My depression issues were big enough that they were probably the deciding factor in my last girlfriend’s reluctant decision to break up with me. I am not a happy person. I have to fight off constant feelings of worthlessness and anxiety. I don’t like myself all that much. I am fucking weary.
I’m not saying this to try to elicit some sort of pity. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from. I hope you didn’t think I was seriously fantasizing about “renting” a person, but it seems like you did. It was a joke. Admittedly, possibly in poor taste. Arguably a poor choice of wording. But sometimes jokes are the only thing that gets us through the day. Even if the jokes are shit.
If you got to know me IRL, I think you would have a very different impression of me than the one you get from the things I post on Tumblr. I’m shy. I feel loathsome, all the time. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster. I usually feel, deep in my bones, that no one finds me attractive. When I post things like that (above), it feels ironic and self-depreciating to me. Har har har, I’m an asshole piece of shit. At least then maybe there would be a reason for how I fit into the world in this sideways, wrong way that I seem to. Because otherwise, it all just feels so arbitrary and pointless.
If I was offensive, I apologize. But I just want you to know that I was being less serious when I said it than I think you thought I was being. I realize you only have my words and my word to go on. But the thought that I’ve given offense to someone who was actually friendly to me truly saddens me. I don’t think I’m a terrible person. Maybe a little lost. Definitely a little tired. Often kind of dumb. Sometimes I don’t think enough. But, on my good days, I like to believe that I’m maybe not a complete asshole.
Okay, I understood from pretty early on that you were suffering from some serious shit, and that sucks. I’ve worn those same shoes before, albeit for not a prolonged period of time, though I do still suffer from anxiety. It comes and goes.
But the one thing that sort of bothered me (not all that much— maybe like someone in the habit of chewing with their mouth open) was the way you always talked about women in your myriad posts. I shrugged and pretty much ignored it because the subtle difference between the language you, versus I, use in reference to women separates me from the vast majority of humans, pretty much. Not even many feminists get it right.
But I am a feminist, so I’m hyper aware of this stuff. It’s an intellectual interest and identity born out of me trying to understand why the world, by and large, hates me because of what parts I was born with. Why I’m not going to get paid as much as my husband for doing the same work. Why men think my body is public property, why they feel they’re entitled to critique me like they’re judging a dog show. If I ever become “a name” doing anything, am I prepared to receive death and rape threats for simply being DFAB? If you-know-who wins the election this fall, am I prepared to have some of my basic human rights revoked to the backdrop of the uproarious applause of men who believe I should be second to them in all matters of life?
Those are just some of the things that weigh on my mind. I think, then, that it’s understandable that I have little tolerance for the stirrings of those ideas in those I choose to associate with. The sad fact is that we live in a society where the feminine is weird, mystical, gross, and worthy of ridicule. So yes, words matter. And yes, most people don’t watch what they say. You don’t have to outright condone sexual assault or female subservience in order to be sexist, though. That shit’s gone underground. It comes out when actresses get interviews that focus on their weight and their body, or when a girl cuts her hair “too short”, or when a dude complains about being friend-zoned. All those millions and millions of threads don’t happen in a vaccum— they come together and weave a giant, stinking shit rug that smothers and suffocates countless women the world over.
And that’s not to mention trans* and non-binary people.
So yeah, I get that getting up in the morning is a struggle for you, and I’m really sorry that you have to go through that. But that’s not to be conflated with some of the subtly misogynistic stuff you’ve said in the past, and possibly think without knowing it. Being depressed doesn’t mean you get to talk about women that way.
I do hope you find something that helps you climb out of that hole, though. Take care of yourself.