I admire my childhood self more than myself today and view us as separate people. She was boundless, charismatic, enthusiastic and smart, but my favorite trait was her disinterest in anything other than the pursuit of intellectual expansion. In the back of the mind she dreamed of growing up and owning a pair of tits, of course, but it did not matter to her anywhere near as much as I don’t know, Egyptology. Whatever cool shit I breezed though that month.
I look at myself today and don’t recognize that same girl. didn’t have to become a slut to fail, the cocaine other chicks put under my nose had dissolved my interest in shitty public education by 2014.. Nicki Minaj’s twerking ass was burned into my brain by senior year of high school.. everywhere you looked, women humiliating themselves… no more true role models for me in media but didn’t realize it yet.. bought into reality tv and the fraudulent dream sold to women by Hollywood, let the brainwashing pervert me… social media distorted me, body dysmorphia so severe today when I look in the mirror I see a Picasso painting… Possessed by image, I don’t even know what my real voice sounds like because I’ve been speaking in more “appealing” pitches for so long… we women don’t look at each other anymore in public around here… I try to smile at them, to feel some sense of belonging, but they have devolved into being so sensitive they take my very glance as a judgement and react with discomfort, malice, leaving each woman alone in the world- no tribe, fending for themselves depending on dick even more… suffocating the men and emasculating them. Oh god… who am I and what will help me free from this pain, why don’t women understand what we’ve done to civilization, being the only one in town who seems to know what’s happening makes me want to be dead. The little girls still exist, still suffer within us unable to speak as they watch us die slowly beneath facetune and squabble over men.