Lately, I’ve had some wonderful feedback on posts and my writing. Some words used to illustrate my recent wordslinging are: unhinged, crazy, angry, manhating, and others. Well, prepare yourself because I’m about to get crazy.
Let’s discuss crazy. Shall we? October is mental health awareness month, as many of you are aware. I kicked October off with a short story, titled The Stranger and released it to certain followers on October 10th, world mental health awareness day. Not by accident. Many will have their own interpretation as to the meaning of that short story. I dislike interpreting my writing for readers, but, and due largely to feedback on that post, I feel this is a time in which I need to clarify some things. First, this short story is about PTSD from rape. All the clues are there for anyone who missed that and thought it was about something entirely different. That said, if you didn’t catch the meaning of the short, that’s okay. Everyone has their own perceptions based on their unique experiences. Maybe it read as a possession or haunting, and that’s accurate as this is how PTSD works. It’s the haunting of an individual from trauma. I don’t want to go into a lot of detail on The Stranger. That’s not the point of this post.
I wrote excerpts from that short story years ago intending them for a novel I was writing. I ended up killing those proverbial darlings and leaving them to languish in a file where all my darlings wait until such time they find their place in another work. A close friend of mine who suffered from a mental disorder committed suicide not too long ago and so, my darlings found a voice as I struggled with his suicide.
Unknown to many, is my personal struggle with PTSD of late resulting from rapes, sexual assaults, a kidnapping attempt, a false imprisonment, my father’s death, and a separation. Those are just the highlights from the last four years. It’s enough to shake even the most solid among us. Many victims of abuse seek me out for help, and in correspondence from readers, I routinely see mention of my strength. You’re bold. Fearless. Tough. A rock. Badass.
That may be true but even the toughest among us are capable of reaching a breaking point and I finally did. A few times, in fact. I have finally reached a point where I’m exiting the circular path of PTSD hell. That’s what I want to discuss. The crazy.
People call me angry. Crazy. Nuts. Unhinged. Delusional. Insane. I rant. I rage. I go off. I do rant. I do go off. But are these terms an appropriate way to describe my character based on nothing more than a few posts in which I’ve had to publicly call out rape, assault, stalking, abuse, and other violent crimes of which I’ve been a victim?
It’s not, and that narrative, that caricature of victims of abuse, only perpetuates rape culture in our society. When you’ve been a victim and lost all sense of identity, security, trust, and hope, all you have left is your voice. Maybe.
Patriarchy wants submissive, feminine women. It establishes that men are entitled to women, entitled to whatever they desire from women, be it a smile, a conversation, their time, their bodies, their existence. So, naturally, when it comes to dealing with the abuse victim, the patriarchy insists that our anger be submissive and pretty. Cute little tears. Sadness that the patriarchy can hug, cuddle, pat on the head, and, hopefully, fuck the trauma out of.
Am I wrong? No. And I’ve had so many messages from men offering just that. You need sex to deal with rape, that’s the only thing that will get you over the rape, and I, random man, am here to heal your wounds. My dick is what will heal you from trauma. You just need my dick.
I see how some of you men operate. Circling social media like vultures, looking for the posts of the crazy woman. You descend on her, viewing her as roadside carnage where some man, who would never be you because you’re a nice guy and you don’t do that shit to women and oh, you even support feminism and make feminist posts because you’re so fucking woke, as you circle another man’s carnage ready to fuck the wounded creature back to mental stability.
You all make me sick. The only thing worse than you vulture types are the women who say dumb shit like, you’re so angry, why do you curse, why do you behave in all these unfeminine ways? Be a lady. You bitches make me sick too.
After you have lost your security, sense of well-being, hope, identity, your power, your space, your foundation, and so much more to sexual violence and/or abuse, the only thing left that wasn’t taken is your voice.
I don’t like any terms that society has pasted onto victims of patriarchal violence. We’re not survivors. We’re victims, yes, true. We’re not crazy. We’re not sick. I’ll tell you why I hate the bullshit terminology used to paint the people who have been preyed upon by those among us who are narcissistic, entitled, predatory, selfish, and demented. These terms erase the last bit of humanity we, the victims, struggle to hold onto in a dark culture that teaches us all that women are trash. Something to use and discard. Commodities. Products. Toys. Cute little adornments.
You wanna call the victims who are raging back, who are reclaiming their identity, who step up and say, this is fucked up and I won’t tolerate it any longer, crazy? Congratulations. You’re perpetuating rape culture and victim shame and blame right along with the rest of society. You’re part of the problem.
Let us rage. Let us be angry. Let us rant. Silencing this rage merely stuffs victims of inequality and violence into a closet where they’re forced to put on a smile and pretend everything’s okay in order to conform to the patriarchal notion of what women should be, pretty little playthings. And fuck you for that. Silencing victims by calling them crazy only further victimizes and prevents those in need of help from seeking that help.
Who the fuck are you to call me crazy? At what point, do I get to be human? To express all that emotion that men are allowed to express? When do I get to exist and not be discarded again and again by the actions of those in society who need me to smile and entertain and be pretty.
Fuck your pretty. Right now, I’m reclaiming all that was taken from me and no one gets to dictate my color palette while I paint myself a new life. If those colors are dark and highlighted with Fucks and Fuck Yous then so fucking be it.
Fuck how society dictates everything a woman must be and then dictates how we do or don’t express our emotions after suffering from trauma. We’re not crazy. We suffer from PTSD and many of us are tough as fuck and we know what it’s like to be haunted by the Stranger and we have fought for every single second of wretched life since that traumatic event and likely will for the remainder of our lives. And it’s not pretty. And we don’t have to make it so in order for society to swallow the horrible violence we endured. You joke about and long for a woman who can throat your fucking dicks but then want to be a pussy when it comes to deep throating all the ways society has fucked us over and reduced us to your cute little toy. Learn how to take the dick of patriarchy you so love to stroke. I’m not here to coddle and nurture your fragile fucking egos, your bullshit patriarchal superiority, or your need for dominance. You’re gonna swallow this fucking dick and you don’t get to look the other way and spit out my seed of truth. Am I getting this across to you in a language you fucks comprehend?
If you can’t understand that rage and that need to reclaim yourself, that very real fight with the Stranger (PTSD) who seeks only to end you, then your perception comes from a place of privilege or predatory behavior or an assimilation into patriarchal culture. I don’t give a fuck where it comes from to be honest.
We’re not crazy. We’re angry. We’re grieving. We’re healing. And none of that is pretty. It’s raw, it’s bloody, and it’s cruel. I won’t shut up. I won’t coat trauma in lipstick and dress it in a cute little nighty to make you feel okay about violent crimes. Go fuck yourself. Healing isn’t cute. It’s hard work.
Many abuse victims no longer see themselves as human. That rage, that monster that comes out, all these negative terms which are applied to victims of violence (and racism), these terms are meant to assuage your privilege and reaffirm your dominance in the patriarchal society (yes, I’m talking to men, and yes, ALL FUCKING MEN).
Stop. If you’re not actively dismantling the patriarchy then you are benefitting from it and perpetuating its harmful tenets. It’s telling how we talk about victims. That language, the crazy narrative. Victims aren’t crazy. It’s those who are the predators and those among us shielding the predators and defending this bullshit who are crazy.
I’ll rant when the fuck I feel like it and if you want to call me crazy, fine. Truth is, you’re just not ready to deal with the badass bitch who simply refuses to be discarded and keeps coming back to haunt you with the ugly picture of patriarchy and trauma so many of you want to ignore. I’ll wail like a fucking banshee. I’ll keep the ugly, crazy face on your pretty little survivor label because that’s the victim’s journey you jumped over to look the other way to pretend this isn’t a fucking plague for women all around the world.
Here’s to all you crazy bitches. Rant louder ladies. The world still hasn’t heard us and until they do, RANT FUCKING LOUDER and let that crazy fly.
This is an ugly post and the writing is ugly. This is the window to my soul, my voice, and if you don’t like it, then you’re in the wrong genre. I don’t have to adhere to the way patriarchal society has painted me and I’m stripping that canvas and repainting with all the dark, ugly colors of truth you want to protect yourself from in your delusion that women and victims be pretty and nice and sweet. I’m a human being. Not trash. Not a plaything. Not some bitch here to entertain you. I’m not a pretty face and PTSD isn’t pretty. It’s terrifying and dark and unscripted and unedited. You love victims when we’re the proverbial rock and the badass but you want to look the other way when it comes to dealing with how those among us labeled thusly got to that place where you could lavish us with such bullshit terminology.
We’re humans and we experienced the ugliness of trauma and we’re trying to heal and to reclaim the person we were before the predator and the stranger latched on. So stop calling victims who wield the truth, crazy. Stop trying to redress our PTSD in these ridiculous warrior women, barely there, skimpy, pornographic costumes for your gratification so you don’t have to face the global war on women. We’re here in the full battle regalia men are allowed, complete with inconsistent and turbulent emotions, and we’re not going to be silenced. You may take our bodies and our liberties but you don’t get our voices. You don’t get to mandate our healing journey.
So, lets talk about crazy. Really. Let’s get right in that wound, and rip it open and dump in the salt of all your stigmatizing labels. You don’t get to bury your heads and look the other way. We’re done being pretty.
Fuck your survivor label. I’m a woman. And being a woman has never been fucking pretty.