A Little Personal History, in Honor of Women's History Month

Some things have been happening to me recently; things that have pissed me off. Things that make me realize that it hasn't ended. No, and probably never will.

It's Women's History Month. I've been thinking about the shit I've had to put up with from men, the relationships I've had with men, and why I'm supposed to accept being treated like shit by men, but men can hate women and abuse them because it's okay.

At work, two of the other employees in the department were leaving for breaks and lunches. I jokingly said, “you men,” and one of them said back (I hope it was a joke) that if I continued with that attitude, I'd have to become a dyke. Dress in flannel, spike my hair, you know, the typical things lesbians wear and appropriate hairstyles. Because if men have abused you and treated you like shit and you dislike (or even hate them) of course, that automatically means you are a lesbian.

It is pretty sad when your own so-called boyfriend (now ex) and a co-worker suggest you get a sugar daddy. And what would I have to do to earn that kind of keep? No, thank you.

I've only had one relationship in my life. It lasted probably three years and three months longer than it should have. Both of us had issues, but I realized having a boyfriend wasn't quite the experience I was expecting. To be honest, the only man I've ever felt comfortable with was a platonic friend. I actually felt comfortable around him, and he honestly didn't care if I wore makeup, did my hair, and he never suggested I wear high heeled shoes or get a sugar daddy. We traveled and talked and it was a blast. Then, he ran off and got married to someone with a child. Not surprisingly, they divorced. I hadn't heard from this man in a long time, but contacted him. He responded, but it was obvious he didn't want anything to do with me. It's sort of sad, when you realized we spent almost six years together as solid friends. Honest to God, I thought we'd be friends for the rest of our lives. That's how close I thought we were. And after the shock of it finally wore off, I realized that the people you think are normal and sane can do the stupidest things. I remember our friendship as a golden time. We were adults, but both our parents were living. If we really screwed up, we still had a safety net. Now, we don't. But even so, he doesn't want anything to do with me. And I refuse to chase after him.

So yeah: I've not had the greatest luck with men, and explaining it to people is impossible. Okay, you idiots, try to imagine this: imagine you are black, and 90 percent of every white person you encounter calls you a nigger. Yup, I'm using the N-word. Suppose they hit you for no reason. Suppose they make fun of you. How would you feel about white people? Would you spend your entire life wanting to please them and make them happy, only to realize nothing you said or did would be good enough, that you'd still be a nigger after all was said and done? Would you? Be honest.

Or, picture this: you're white (because you probably are) and 90 percent of blacks treated YOU like shit. Would you spend your time trying to be friends with them? I doubt it. You'd probably eye them with contempt, perhaps a bit of fear.

Do you get it now? Or are you reading this saying, “I just don't understand. I just don't understand at all.” Of course you don't. They didn't like me when I was skinny, they don't like me when I'm fat. They didn't like me when I was young, they don't like me when I'm middle aged.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I am with men. I've acted cool, flirty, interested, bored, aloof, snobby, friendly, kind, warm, welcoming, and I got nothing left. “Be yourself,” the Einsteins say, “you'll find someone someday.” Been there. Tried that. Doesn't work.

I submitted a story to an editor recently. I answered the questions he'd written. He didn't like the way I'd described the main character in my story, a man. Identifying him as being Hoosier, overweight, macho and selfish (they're a dime a dozen, practically a whole fucking species) the editor said something along the lines of, “you realize you've just alienated half your readers.” I wanted to say, “big fucking deal; I've read so much shit by men that has pissed me off, what difference does it make?” But of course it DOES make a difference. Can't hurt men's itty, bitty, widdle feelings. You hurt a man's ego, and instead of crying, eating ice cream or talking to a friend, that's when they pick up their guns and start shooting. Their egos are just so fucking fragile. Now who's the weaker sex? Women get raped, beaten, mutilated, and most of them still solider on. Wound a man's ego, and you've created a monster.

After answering this editor's questions without being a smart ass, he rejected my story. I wonder if I'd given him a blow job, if he would have reconsidered.

But I'm tired. I'm tired of just trying to be me, trying to be kind, and having men be condescending assholes. I guess it's way too much to ask for to be treated with respect. I'm not a whore, I'm not your little girl, I'm not your wife. I'm so fucking sick and tired of dealing with men. That's why I want to move to Canada. EVERYONE was nicer there. EVERYONE. I wasn't afraid to talk to men there. One actually struck up a conversation with me, something that has never, ever happened here in Fort Wayne.

Bottom line: I'm sick of it. Sick of trying to be nice and courteous, and having men treat me like shit, then when I stand up for myself, I'm accused of having attitude. Well, sorry, but when you add in years of being bullied, made fun of, and a little sexual abuse, it does something to you. IF FUCKS WITH YOUR BRAIN. Some women rise above it. Some muddle through. Others kill themselves.

But as for having a man, no thank you. I've bored myself and others talking about my relationship woes. I saw my parents' marriage. I see other's marriages. It's master and slave, no doubt about it. I see domineering females and domineering males; control freaks, way too much compromising. People are married, but how many of those are happy marriages? I've seen way too many train wrecks to ever hope someone with my fucked-up past could find someone. So I am not even going to bother. Some well-meaning friends have suggested I get online and look for someone, but there is just no way.

And if God IS a man, he hates me. I'm sure he created me for his own personal amusement, and if He does exist, I'd like to tell him having half the planet hate me has been one fuck of a wonderful time. Just wonderful. Living in fear all the time. Yes, it's been great. So thanks God, thanks for all the men treating me like dirt. It's been a learning experience, but I'd rather have given my life so my sister could have enjoyed hers. You took the wrong sister.