proseoverbros

[proseoverbros]

I received a Maybelline VoxBox the other day with a free tube of The Falsies Push Up Angel to test. It works very well! The wand took a little bit of time to get used to, but it really does add volume to your lashes! I definitely prefer this to falsies!

[proseoverbros]

Yesterday was IWD

Anything by Lauren Edwards

When I was a little girl I didn’t understand why I couldn't be a priest I didn’t want to be a priest But I didn’t like someone else saying that I couldn’t

When I was a little girl I didn’t like when the boys wouldn’t let me play sports They thought I should go play with dolls But really they didn’t like that I was better than them

When I was a little girl I preferred to wear sweatpants and sneakers My mom wished I would wear dresses But it’s hard to score a goal in a skirt

When I was a little girl I didn’t want to be the mom when we played house Not because moms aren’t important or strong But because I was tired of being forced every time

When I was a little girl I loved science and math and what people called “boy stuff” But I was lucky because I had a mom and dad Who said that I could be and do anything that I wanted

Now I’m a woman And even though there’s still a wage gap And we have to fight tooth and nail for rights men take for granted like the air they breathe I still believe that I can be and do anything that I want And so can you

[proseoverbros]

TW: Sexual assault

“Rape Poem To End All Rape Poems” by Rutgers University

TRANSCRIPT: A: We were in his room after the party, The lights dim. A few drinks in and everything was warm, and smoothed over. Then this moment was quickly punctured With supposedly sweet whispers that felt like barbed wire: B: “Trust me,” C: “come on,” D: “Don’t you love me?” A: His hands pushed me back.  ALL: WARNING! C: It’s that time again. D: Time for another…  ALL: “Rape poem”. A: The audience sighs, shifts back in their seats. B: “Oh boy,” you say, “these bitches are about to go off!” C: Off about “rape” and “pain” A: and “no."  D: I said "no"  ALL: "he didn’t listen” D: And you ask, why another rape poem? ALL: Didn’t I just hear, like, three of these? A: Yes. You probably did.  B: Unsurprising in a country where someone is sexually assaulted every two minutes. C: What’s surprising is the shit people get for telling their stories,  They are all lumped into one category- ALL: “Rape poem” D: As if trauma is a trope A: Violation a cliche B: All the while everyone is rolling their eyes and asking C: Why so many damn rape poems? D: We wouldn’t need so many damn “rape poems” if America had  ALL: listened the first time. A: These poems are our prayers to beat the fucking odds in this country of apple pie and roofies. B: We wouldn’t need so many damn rape poems  if our bodies were ours’ alone. C: We wouldn’t need so many damn rape poems if everyone abided by what “no” meant D: We wouldn’t need so many damn rape poems if Budweiser stopped selling our bodies stretched across a six-pack A: And maybe we wouldn’t need so many damn rape poems if everyone would ALL: listen to this one. B: But it seems to us these lessons are yet to be learned C: Don’t tell me she was sober enough to make a decision. D: Don’t tell me she was asking for it.  B: Don’t tell me to pity him for facing consequences.  C: You complain about another “rape poem” D: But this is all part of a culture. ALL: The “rape poems” will continue A: Until I can wear whatever the fuck I want and not be called a slut! B: Until I can trust my drink to someone at a party when I need to take a piss! C: Until I can walk alone on dark streets without being catcalled!  D: “Who’s your daddy” A: “get back over here” B: “Ow ow” C: “Damn, look at that ass” D: Until I can wear heels without being asked who I’m trying to impress! A: Until my voice speaks louder than my outfit! B: Until I’m not expected to carry pepper spray on my keychain! C: Until no really means  ALL: NO! D: Until rape means crime! ALL: Until woman means human! A: The rape poems will continue until there’s no damn material left.

[proseoverbros]

Either

I’m down on my knees I’m either praying or I’m begging you to come back I don’t know which is worse And I don’t believe in either A god or you and I

I scraped my knees Cause I’m either falling in love or I’m falling apart There’s never in-between Gravity hasn’t been kind No it never is

I’m kissing the air Cause it’s either hello or goodbye I don’t know which is worse And I don’t believe in anything But maybe we could be something

A toast to us So raise your glass or raise the alarm Keep it short and sweet Just like the summers With the same warmth

[proseoverbros]

[proseoverbros]

You are being a victim wrong

The Ghomeshi trial is understandably bringing many feelings to the surface for a lot of women. It’s triggering for many. Horribly familiar for others. And I think, unfortunately, it will prove disappointing for all of us at its conclusion. Call me a pessimist, but the justice system has yet to prove itself an ally to victims of sexual assault. Hell, it’s not even neutral.

Much of the discussion to date has centered on the complainants’ behavior following their assaults, as if there was a guidebook to how to properly react to being attacked. It seems the public thinks that, in order to be a “good” victim (read: believable), you need to cut off all ties from your attacker. You should not be happy or show any enjoyment for anything. You should appear broken. Don’t have any warm feelings or regards for your abuser. But you know what? Who says the public will believe you then? Will not find fault elsewhere? What will be enough?

While I did not suffer physical violence from my abuser, I lived in a hell created by my now-ex-boyfriend for over a year. And this is how I behaved:

I continued to live with my abuser for 8+ months

I continued to love my abuser

I didn’t hate my abuser

I did hate and blame myself

I bought my abuser gifts

I sent my abuser loving emails and texts

I called my abuser to chat and tell him that I loved him

I went on trips with my abuser

I hung out with my abuser and his friends

I cooked meals for my abuser

I did my abuser’s laundry

I went on dates with my abuser

I had sex with my abuser

I kissed and hugged my abuser

I lied for my abuser, actively hiding his behavior from friends, family and co-workers

I praised my abuser for staying with me because I was so “unlovable”

I can only begin to imagine what a defense attorney, let alone the public, would say to me regarding my behavior. Worse yet, what they would have said about me.

There is no right way to react to abuse, be it physical or emotional. THERE IS NO RIGHT WAY TO REACT TO ABUSE.  Subsequent actions, or lack thereof, do not erase, invalidate, or excuse previous ones. Ghomeshi’s assaults were violent and his victims’ behavior afterwards doesn’t change that.

[proseoverbros]

Old

You never say what you mean Unless you’re saying something mean Oh, yeah you never say anything nice And it’s getting kind of old

I find myself getting tired Using more energy than required Cause you drain me just by being And it’s getting kind of old

You don’t let me go out on my own Unless you join, we just stay home I never get to see my friends And it’s getting kind of old

I can’t seem to do anything right Everything seems to end in a fight I try to make myself smaller and smaller But it’s getting kind of old

[proseoverbros]

Struggling with Mental Health

           It’s that time of year again; #BellLetsTalk day. All of your calls and texts on the Bell network and all tweets with the aforementioned hashtag each add 5 cents towards a grand total donation to mental health initiatives in Canada. It’s controversial. Some people don’t like it because it’s just one day and those of us who live with mental health problems still go through that the other 364 days a year. Others don’t like that a corporation is benefitting from mental illness. My stance is that I will gladly take the money and awareness for something near and dear to my heart. If you really hate Bell, tweet as much as you can and take some of their money.

           I’ve struggled with depression for a long time. I was diagnosed in 2008 but struggled for years prior to finally seeking help. Mental illness is stigmatizing and isolating and scary. I wasn’t ready to deal with it early on, but eventually it got to a point where I didn’t have a choice.

           I was in my third year of my undergraduate degree when I was finally diagnosed. I was living in off-campus housing with 4 friends. I was doing well academically. I had a boyfriend and a big social circle. And I was miserable. I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn't eating, I was crying all the time and I couldn’t focus. Conveniently, I was in abnormal psychology that semester and while most students experience transient hypochondria, I couldn’t stop looking over the signs and symptoms of depression. I didn’t need to study that section because I was living it.

           I went home from class that day and called my dad. In between tears I explained that I thought I was depressed and that I was making an appointment at student health services. My dad, ever my hero, arranged to be in Halifax for my appointment to support me.

           Over the years, my parents have been amazing pillars of support. There have been hiccups, sure. But with time they have come to understand my mental health problems. Both my parents took time out of their lives, and work in my mom’s cause, to come to Kentville last year and stay nearby while I was in the hospital so I wouldn’t be alone. I can’t even begin to explain how much that helped and I will never ever be able to properly thank them for that.

           Over the years, I have successful completed two degrees (one BSc and one MSc), passed my national licensing exams (written and practical), started my career as a physiotherapist, bought a car, left an abusive relationship, moved into a great apartment with a friend, and started a happy and healthy relationship with someone I love. I don’t say any of that to brag, I say it to show you what is still possible, even with mental illness. Even after such a serious exacerbation that I spent a week on the psychiatric unit.  I am so happy with my life right now, less than a year out from being hospitalized. I attribute that to hard work on my part, therapy, the love and support of family and friends and my boyfriend, and my meds.

           I can guarantee you that you know someone that struggles with mental health and mental illness. If you are reading this, then you know me. Be kind. Be supportive. Be a good listener. You never know who is struggling.

[proseoverbros]

True gender equality is actually perceived as inequality. A group that is made up of 50% women is perceived as being mostly women. A situation that is perfectly equal between men and women is perceived as being biased in favor of women. And if you don’t believe me, you’ve never been a married woman who kept her family name. I have had students hold that up as proof of my “sexism.” My own brother told me that he could never marry a woman who kep her own name because “everyone would know who ruled that relationship.” Perfect equality - my husband keeps his name and I keep mine - is held as a statement of superiority on my part.

Lucy Gillam, When Worlds Collide: Fandom and Male Privilege (via anti-capitalistlesbianwitch)

[proseoverbros]

Male privilege is:

-when a woman has to tell a guy that she has a boyfriend so he will stop bothering her because he doesn’t respect her but does respect the guy she is “dating” -having to get men to think about their mothers or sisters or daughters when discussing rape culture because unless men know women personally, they don't deserve respect -campaigns like “Save the Boobies” for breast cancer – because women aren’t women without breasts and women only worth saving because of breasts -never having to bite your tongue and nod your head and smile because your boss has just said, “jokingly”, that they hope you aren’t planning on getting pregnant any time soon -never having to worry about telling your boss whether or not you want children because it will not affect how you are viewed in the company and whether or not you will be promoted -never questioning whether or not you got something because of your sex – if you are promoted, it is based on merit; if you are not promoted, it is not because of your sex -succeeding but never having anyone question whether or not you had to “sleep” your way to the top -not being pressured to be thin -not being pressured to spend excessive amounts of money on grooming and style -being able to have sexual relations with whoever you want and however you want without any negative backlash; more than likely it will be seen as a positive and you will be celebrated -never having to worry that any mistake you make will be seen as a black-mark on your entire sex’s capabilities -getting paid more money to do the same amount of work, at the same level, as a female -being able to walk alone at night without fear -if, by chance, you are attacked while walking alone at night, you will not be blamed – the way you were dressed will not be called into question, you will not be called stupid for walking alone at night, and no one will say you were asking for it -being able to choose whether or not have children without anyone batting an eyelash or making any comments whatsoever -being able to have both a family and a career and not being called a villain or a bad parent or selfish -having children and being the primary caregiver and being praised for exceptional parenting if you are even remotely competent -having children and not being the primary caregiver and no one giving a shit or calling your masculinity into question -running for political office and not having your relationship with your children called into question or scrutinized -running for political office and not being called “emotional”, “unstable”, a “bitch”, or “aggressive” -being very well represented in politics, media, art, business, etc -having any transgressions as a child seen as “just being a boy” -never having your driving ability attributed to your sex -being able to wear whatever you want, whenever you want, wherever you want, because no one will think that you are “asking for it” with what you are wearing or that your attire is a statement on your sexual availability or desires -being allowed to not be conventionally attractive and having very few repercussions or disadvantages related to this -being believed when you accuse someone of something -being able to keep the same name your whole life, married or not, and having no one question it -seeing someone of the same sex as the leader of almost every major religion in the world -God, himself, being most often pictured as the same sex as you -never having someone walk up to you, out of the blue, and tell you to “smile” -being able to go to a bar or a restaurant or any public place and probably not be harassed by a stranger who swears they are a “nice person” and that they “just want to get to know you” -not being interrupted when speaking nearly as much as someone of the opposite sex -being unaware that male privilege exists

[proseoverbros]

Does the person I love, love me?

While I don’t recommend getting sick or hungover, it’s probably the quickest way to find out how much the person you care about cares about you. Taking care of someone when they are sick is probably as close to altruism as we humans can get. People react to being sick differently, but guaranteed no one enjoys it. Not even masochists, I bet. I, myself, am a very dramatic sick person. I hate being sick and it feels like my world is ending. It’s an ugly, ugly sight.

Recently, I had one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had in my life. They say the best cure to a hangover is being under the age of 25. And at age 27, I whole-heartedly believe that. I was sick from the moment I woke up until I went to bed that night. There was snot, tears, vomit, moans, groans, wails, and sweat. I’m not painting a pretty picture and it certainly was not a pretty sight. But let me tell you, my boyfriend took it in stride.

The first thing my boyfriend did when he woke up was reach for my hand. And even though my illness was self-induced, he never chastised me. He was sympathetic and kind. He rubbed my back and said sweet things. He stayed in bed with me as long as he could even though he had a million better things to do that day.

After he eventually did leave to start his day and be a productive member of society, I continued to wallow. My boyfriend checked in periodically throughout the day and then later, after he had done everything he needed to do, he asked if I needed anything.

My boyfriend rode in to my apartment like the knight in shining armour that he is, with Gatorade, miso soup, and other supplies in tow. And again, he climbed into bed and rubbed my back and was kind. He stayed as long as he could before he had to go and even though I was a disgusting mess, he still kissed me goodbye.

That is love.

So while I don’t recommend you purposely get sick or be an idiot, like me, and drink too much, the way someone cares for you when you’re at your worst says a lot about them. What I’ve learned from the whole experience is that my boyfriend is an angel and I’m very lucky to have him in my life.

That and moderation. And I’m not under 25 anymore.

[proseoverbros]

You and Me and Depression Makes Three

The world, in general, can be difficult to navigate, with or without mental health stuff. I say ‘stuff’ because ‘issues’ seems pretty stigmatizing and I never really identified as having a mental ‘illness’. I just have mental health stuff. But as I was saying, the world is complicated enough on its own and adding mental health stuff can really compound that. So, it isn’t much of a leap to say that mental health can really affect dating and relationships, as well. Hell, dating is a minefield all on its own.

Technically, I’ve been dating since I was 12. I don’t consider any of those relationships serious or noteworthy, although my diary from junior high might suggest otherwise. I don’t count them anymore. I’m passed the age where the number of people I’ve dated or kissed matters. My first ‘serious’ relationship was when I was 16. I only really say this because I was then diagnosed at 20 with clinical depression. And I would argue I was depressed long before I was diagnosed. My point being, most of my dating life I’ve had mental health stuff that I’ve been dealing with in some form or another. Sometimes it’s been the elephant in the room. Sometimes, and I would argue most times, it’s a non-issue. Just something that comes with the package that is me. But, sometimes, it rears its ugly head. It becomes a large portion of the relationship. And that’s when it can feel like it’s me, my boyfriend, and my other partner, Depression. 

I’ve had a wide variety of reactions to my depression. Some partners have been supportive, understanding, and generally great about it all. Some have been really crappy about it; gaslighting, belittling, making me feel guilty. Others have just plain questioned the entire diagnosis and accused me of wanting to be dramatic or different or something. One partner was even diagnosed with depression himself and had a lot of empathy on my bad days. It’s been a bit of a mixed bag, really.

Regardless of how someone reacts to my depression, it’s there. It’s a part of me and so it is a part of the relationship. When my depression is managed well, like it has been lately, it doesn’t play a big part. That goes for my life in general, not just my relationships. I can attribute ‘managed well’ to the right meds, therapy, hard work and a great support system. I haven’t always been ‘managed well’, though, so my depression has definitely affected my relationships from time to time and in varying amounts.

When I date lazy people, I tend to be lazy. This isn’t great for my depression. It usually looks like sleeping a lot, eating very little, and spending a lot of time at home. Kind of a recipe for disaster for someone in my position.

You’d think that if I dated someone highly motivated, my problems would be solved. But you’d be wrong. Someone who always wants (expects) me to do something or be somewhere is too much for my depression and my anxiety. It might be okay if they understood that and we could compromise, but in my experience thus far, that hasn’t happened. What has happened is I resent my partner and blame them for all of my anxiety, whether it’s warranted or not. I’m not saying either of us was right or wrong, or that you would ever be fully one or the other. I’m just saying that particular relationship didn’t work and that was, to me, a large part of why it didn’t work.

When I was first diagnosed, what seems like a lifetime ago, I was pretty private about it. I told my family, my roommates, and my boyfriend at the time. Now, almost a decade later, I’m much more open about my depression. I write about it. I tweet about it. I talk about it at parties. It probably sounds like it’s all I talk about, and it isn’t, but it is not a taboo subject for me. This is important to me for a variety of reasons, but especially so in relationships. I think it is important for me to be upfront with my partner that 1) I have depression and 2) I’m dealing with it and taking care of myself. Early on, that’s really all I feel the need to disclose. But I want the other person to feel like we can talk about it. I want them to feel like they can ask questions. If they aren't comfortable, then I want to be able to make them comfortable. Or, alternatively, maybe we aren’t a good match. This isn’t like giving up heels if you’re dating a short man; my depression comes with me as a package deal. If someone doesn’t want to discover how to navigate that with me, then they need to sail to a new harbor.

I don’t need a partner who wants to save me or fix me. I don’t like, or even appreciate, the notion that I’m a damsel in distress that needs a white knight to ride in to the rescue. What I want is a partner who is willing to learn. I want a partner who respects me. I want someone who doesn’t tell me to “just get over it” or that “other people have it so much worse”. I want someone who will just sit down, shut up, and be with me when I’m crying. Because I don’t need you to fix it or me. I just want your support. That is what matters.

So, while sometimes it can feel like it’s me, my boyfriend, and my depression, a lot of the time it’s just me and my boyfriend (and in tiny tiny print: my depression). It’s always there but it certainly doesn’t have to feel like a crowd.

[proseoverbros]

Hotline Zing

I used to text you on your I used to, I used to

I used to text you on your cell phone Whenever, cause that's what it's for
 I never called you
 Cause who does that anymore?
 So when you heard that text sound ring 
It could only mean one thing
 You knew you had a text cause that is how it works

Ever since I left the city, you're blasting me on all the airwaves Everybody knows but I'm not stressed out Cause it's just sad and you look messed up I've got glasses of champagne and I'm hanging with my friends You never bothered to remember their names

So while you're wondering if I'm bending over backwards for someone else Wondering if I'm rolling up backwoods for someone else Having fun without you, maybe out with someone else Remember I don't need no one else And that includes you It's none of your business why I'm never alone Or why I'm always touching road Staying at home and being a good girl aren't mutually inclusive And it's still none of your business So I'll just be myself Which I always am But thanks for judging me

I used to text you on your cell phone Whenever, cause that's what it's for But guess what? Not anymore

Ever since I left the city, you, you, you You and me we just don’t get along Blaming me for everything that’s wrong I’m just going places like I did all along Ever since I left the city, I’m doing exactly what I want to Living my life however I decide to Hanging with whoever the fuck I want to

I used to text you on your cell phone Whenever, cause that's what it's for But guess what? Not anymore No, No, Not anymore We’re not together anymore

[proseoverbros]

[proseoverbros]

Tina Fey & Amy Poehler give advice to women

[proseoverbros]

[proseoverbros]

2015, what’s good?

Usually, come December, I piece together a recap of the past year. Many years ago, it would be a work of art. Carefully crafted to entertain both myself and the reader. But let’s face it, hearing about someone else’s year is like listening to someone go on about one of their dreams. Painful. So the recaps became less intricate over time, just there to archive the year so I could look back later on. And then 2015 happened.

This year has been tumultuous at times. It has been unpleasant. Even ugly. It is not a year that I will look back on fondly, if I decide to look back on it at all.

I’ve learned a lot in 2015. I’ve also changed a lot. And this year, one of those changes is that I’m not going to recap the year. What I’m pulling from 2015 is that while I’m not prepared to forgive just yet, I am going to forget. With Elsa-like chill, I’m going to let all the shit of this year go.

Here’s to looking forward and moving forward. My life right now looks nothing like it did when I rang in 2015 and I couldn’t be happier or prouder. I’ve rebuilt a life that I love. It may not always unfold the way that I want it to, sure. But I’m where I want to be.

Happy end of the worst year on record to all and to all a good night.