The Everything Except OpenCon Post
Aha! I'm among the living. It's been really bad actually, even my Dad rang me to check I was okay - twice! I worry that my family think I give more of a shit about my work than I do my family. And I love my job a huge amount, but I never want to let down my family and friends... hmph. I probably need to rework things, but that's another day. And OpenCon was amazing and a bit revolutionary for me, but that's another lj post.
One thing that's really changed for me is that I've found myself more assertive than usual, but at the same time I'm getting more harassment and general public shittery - this is down to three incidents that all happened over 2 weeks:
Firstly, was going on a walk to the forest on the edge of London with Tom, and on the bus towards the end of the journey these girls (well, they were around my age, and possibly a bit younger) who were chucking chips at this sleeping guy and some of them hit me. I glared at them, they threw more chips. I then told them to fuck off. They said "I wasn't funny" (eh?), and when we got off I called them stupid bitches and gave them the finger, and as the bus left they emptied out all of the chips from the window onto me, Tom and other people getting off. I swear to God, I was so close to starting a physical fight, grabbing their heads and smashing it against the glass. Tom was there to calm me down (eventually) and we went on a great walk but I was so so so so so sooooooo very fucked off about it. Hopefully if I ever run into them again (and I wish not to!) I hope I'm drunk...
And then, a couple of days later I was buying a pair of half price trainers, where the shop guy helped me find the right size. He asked me if I was buying those and I was like 'yeah' and went to go to the checkout when he went 'I like you', like leering me, and staring, kissing his lips. I told him that he was being creepy and highly inappropriate and he did it like two more times. I felt sick to my stomach, really harassed and a bit freaked. I went to the checkout and complained to the manager that one of his employees was a total creep and instead of asking for further details or apologising he tried to sell me the shop catalogue! WHAT. And so I was twittering in a rage which got the shop's attention and I've now made a formal complaint. Only thing is that their procedure is private so I won't ever know what happened to the guy, if there's retraining, or if they do fuck all. But I'm glad I said something.
The last creepy harassment/intrusion thing was last saturday. Even though I've got the shittiest cold at the moment, me and Tom made it out to the Battersea Arts Centre for this festival of the dead event (actually, on the way there, this guy kept trying to kiss me at the bus stop. It was very satisfying saying no over and over again, as he wailed 'it's only human, darling!' in a northern irish accent). The event wasn't actually that great - the only schedule with times and rooms set out was at the cloakroom, and then one we queued up for started over 15 minutes late with hipsters crushing us and trying to get in ahead of us, and the play wasn't great - it was one of those performance play things where they SHOUT FOR EFFECT and then when they're being emotional they SHOUT SOME MORE - no light/dark or build up of tension, so boooo. I really liked the performance artists in the next room, because it was drop in (which is sensible when everyone is feeling very whimsical and determinedly getting drunk) and they were bonkers. Anyhow - what happened was that at the bar I was chatting to Tom when someone stroked my arm and wrist, I whipped my head round to see this guy sort of looking and smiling at me. I gave him my best deathstare, and then looked back at the same, smiling - at least the guy standing next to him looked embarrassed.
But frankly, I'm sick of it. I should have given him a piece of mind, told him the radical feminist doctrine on consent, rape and harassment. I should have told that is not the way to approach women. I should have told he was a creepy fucker, that he should fuck off and that I'm get the manager to kick him out of the event. But I just turned round and ordered cider.
I don't know if I'm a magnet for creepy stupid twattish fucks at the moment, or if I'm not taking it anymore and I'm so angry and upset - really upset - that my body and my personal space is constantly being invaded by people who thinks it's appropriate, nay! attractive, that I'm really worth that kind of treatment. Along with the mice problem I had a month ago (mice running around in your room when you have nowhere else to go is another personal trauma and invasion of a safe space. I've only regained it properly in the last week or so), I do feel like I'm under attack. Which is probably part of why I'm joining the East London Fawcett society and re-utilising that feminist rage again for protests and actions, because otherwise, I'd go under in an avalanche of self hate, self marginalisation and pure self destruction. I used to. It used to make me cut myself, and starve, and make me throw up food. BUT NOT THIS TIME. I refuse to be the victim. I refuse to be subject to this society of harassment and rape culture for one - more - second.
I'm going to end the post here, even though that's like one small part of a mental month. There's good things to catch up on, I promise!
One thing that's really changed for me is that I've found myself more assertive than usual, but at the same time I'm getting more harassment and general public shittery - this is down to three incidents that all happened over 2 weeks:
Firstly, was going on a walk to the forest on the edge of London with Tom, and on the bus towards the end of the journey these girls (well, they were around my age, and possibly a bit younger) who were chucking chips at this sleeping guy and some of them hit me. I glared at them, they threw more chips. I then told them to fuck off. They said "I wasn't funny" (eh?), and when we got off I called them stupid bitches and gave them the finger, and as the bus left they emptied out all of the chips from the window onto me, Tom and other people getting off. I swear to God, I was so close to starting a physical fight, grabbing their heads and smashing it against the glass. Tom was there to calm me down (eventually) and we went on a great walk but I was so so so so so sooooooo very fucked off about it. Hopefully if I ever run into them again (and I wish not to!) I hope I'm drunk...
And then, a couple of days later I was buying a pair of half price trainers, where the shop guy helped me find the right size. He asked me if I was buying those and I was like 'yeah' and went to go to the checkout when he went 'I like you', like leering me, and staring, kissing his lips. I told him that he was being creepy and highly inappropriate and he did it like two more times. I felt sick to my stomach, really harassed and a bit freaked. I went to the checkout and complained to the manager that one of his employees was a total creep and instead of asking for further details or apologising he tried to sell me the shop catalogue! WHAT. And so I was twittering in a rage which got the shop's attention and I've now made a formal complaint. Only thing is that their procedure is private so I won't ever know what happened to the guy, if there's retraining, or if they do fuck all. But I'm glad I said something.
The last creepy harassment/intrusion thing was last saturday. Even though I've got the shittiest cold at the moment, me and Tom made it out to the Battersea Arts Centre for this festival of the dead event (actually, on the way there, this guy kept trying to kiss me at the bus stop. It was very satisfying saying no over and over again, as he wailed 'it's only human, darling!' in a northern irish accent). The event wasn't actually that great - the only schedule with times and rooms set out was at the cloakroom, and then one we queued up for started over 15 minutes late with hipsters crushing us and trying to get in ahead of us, and the play wasn't great - it was one of those performance play things where they SHOUT FOR EFFECT and then when they're being emotional they SHOUT SOME MORE - no light/dark or build up of tension, so boooo. I really liked the performance artists in the next room, because it was drop in (which is sensible when everyone is feeling very whimsical and determinedly getting drunk) and they were bonkers. Anyhow - what happened was that at the bar I was chatting to Tom when someone stroked my arm and wrist, I whipped my head round to see this guy sort of looking and smiling at me. I gave him my best deathstare, and then looked back at the same, smiling - at least the guy standing next to him looked embarrassed.
But frankly, I'm sick of it. I should have given him a piece of mind, told him the radical feminist doctrine on consent, rape and harassment. I should have told that is not the way to approach women. I should have told he was a creepy fucker, that he should fuck off and that I'm get the manager to kick him out of the event. But I just turned round and ordered cider.
I don't know if I'm a magnet for creepy stupid twattish fucks at the moment, or if I'm not taking it anymore and I'm so angry and upset - really upset - that my body and my personal space is constantly being invaded by people who thinks it's appropriate, nay! attractive, that I'm really worth that kind of treatment. Along with the mice problem I had a month ago (mice running around in your room when you have nowhere else to go is another personal trauma and invasion of a safe space. I've only regained it properly in the last week or so), I do feel like I'm under attack. Which is probably part of why I'm joining the East London Fawcett society and re-utilising that feminist rage again for protests and actions, because otherwise, I'd go under in an avalanche of self hate, self marginalisation and pure self destruction. I used to. It used to make me cut myself, and starve, and make me throw up food. BUT NOT THIS TIME. I refuse to be the victim. I refuse to be subject to this society of harassment and rape culture for one - more - second.
I'm going to end the post here, even though that's like one small part of a mental month. There's good things to catch up on, I promise!