Revelation of my brains sex.

I fear this may be one of those posts I dread, when I think I am surely going to offend someone or say something out of turn that someone won’t like but, I’ve realised something today, that I had not ever really given much thought before. I wish I was a man -just because I own a strap on dildo and sleep with women doesn’t mean I want a penis – I want to be, A Man – sort of. Now even writing that sentence seems odd to me, looks odd, doesn’t feel right, something in me says I am glad I am not a man, I have no desire to be one, and yet, I am extremely envious. I am jealous even, of men.Now before I go any further, I do not under any circumstances see myself as anything but a strong female. I am all woman in all senses, I love being a woman, I love the way men look at you, I love flirting, I love being with women… I love the physics of women, I love our figures, our complexity, I love our aesthetics, but I don’t like our traits. I have always laughed and said to people, you need to think of me as a man, not a girl. They’ve all given me the same look and in time they’ve realised its true. I pride myself on my male characteristics.

I’ve never been a woman who wanted to do herself up, to make a massive effort with clothes, with short skirts and outrageous diets, I didn’t wanna look like I’d been pushed through Topshop backwards – I didn’t want to compete. Why? Because I didn’t, don’t, want to be viewed as a woman, to be perceived as a ‘woman’ in men’s eyes. I’ve never wanted to look as though I’ve tried to hard, that I’ve made an effort, that I’m one of those people who spends hours in a mirror worrying about their looks and what people will think, because I guess I don’t. I never wanted to come across as emotional, as stressy, as concerned with life’s trivialities, to talk about shoes, and whose friends with who, to bitch or to get upset that some boy didn’t text me, quite frankly because those things, don’t concern me. I want to be wanted, but not owned, not to be someones missus, to get married and have babies and fall into the role of mother and wife because I have the parts, it wasn’t ever a dream of mine as a little girl.

I do not think, before I continue, I am better than anyone else. I’m stereotyping massively but, sit in a coffee shop all day and observe female behaviour and I hate to say it, the stereotypes there for a reason. Female bonding culminates on three topics, Bitching, Boys and Buys. We love to slag each other off, have a good gossip, talk about what someones wearing as they walk past, or had we heard that… we love other people’s lives, women are born nosey, its something we can’t escape. I pride myself on being someone who doesn’t care, who doesn’t get involved, let people do as they will and I wont worry myself with it too much, my family are the only people who matter, and my friends are my family, as I’ve said before, they are few and far between and I value them as blood. Then boys, women love to talk about men, about sex, who they’ve been with, what they think, what they do, who’s the bastard, the old flame, the cheat, the new lover… It’s all being nosey, again. Then buying, shopping, appearance. What make up you use, how much the shopping was, what bargain someone got, what they wear, what they won’t, what shape they are…

To me, none of this matters. Having dated girls, I dislike the fuss. There is a lot of fuss as a woman, over lots of things and I prefer the more simplistic. Women are complicated, they are illogical, over thinkers, overly stimulated, we dot relax, we don’t enjoy life simply. Dating a woman is a minefield, even as a girl, we make no sense most of the time, we change like the winds and we contradict ourselves, continually. We’ve all heard men say it and we are quick to damn their sex for their insolent remarks, yet date a woman and it becomes clear, even we don’t understand ourselves.

And so I guess, I would consider myself to have a mans perspective yes. But it had never occurred to me that I dislike being a women, or having womanly traits before. I knew I wasn’t a feminist. I believe that women should have equal rights to men yes, that we should have the same freedom as anyone else, but that’s because, I believe I am sort of, a man. I don’t care for the same things other girls seem to around me, or care for female companionship in general because of it. I don’t feel I fit in. I’m called, crude because my humours dirty and normally borderline sexist, but in an amusing way. But I actively dislike myself when I am acting like a woman.

I don’t mean a female, let me make that clear, I mean a woman as in the traits that I see women to possess that make me, weak. Being over emotional, needy, worrying about what people think, or what I say, wanting people to like me, and to understand.. Being concerned with how my nails are, whether my make ups looking good, whether I look skinny enough…Talking inanely about things that don’t matter, like the neighbours or gossiping about someone needlessly, even if without malice… I feel it makes me feel weak. It makes me angry at myself, feel negative about my behaviour or feelings.

I am quick to say, god I sound like a woman, god I’m being a woman, to snap myself out of any behaviour I see as unfit, mulling over something too much, over thinking something like a relationship, dithering, one of my own pet hates. I defend myself when I’m acting like that, saying I must be coming on soon, or don’t judge me I’m having a moment, it’s embedded in me that being a woman isn’t a strength. Or more, the qualities that separate us from men aren’t always a strength many quite the opposite.

Yes we feel compassion and care, and kindness that men do not. We forge stronger more meaningful relationships because we attach emotions, we are understanding, more forgiving, more thoughtful and therefore a lot of the time, more insightful than our male counterparts. But, we also upset ourselves needlessly, think too much into things and tie our knickers in knots, worry about things we have no control about, bitch and back-stab each other. My room is decorated in girly posters, in trinket boxes and photo albums, in kitsch sayings and signs, they make me happy, I am comfortable with cushions and soft things, pretty things, It’s not being a girl I have an issue with it seems. Not my sex, but my gender. My gendered identity.

I focus a great deal at University on the study of men, the study of women don’t concern me, feminist works irritate me, unless they are period pieces. Women who fall down as heroines and need saving by strong men, the opposite women that stand up to men as symbols of femininity and strength, yet they are not, they are emotional and its these qualities that make them the hero, and yet to me, it’s what make them weak. The characters I like are devious, over sexual beings, that use men as they do, that stand defiantly, that have men’s jobs, that wear flat shoes, that swear and spit and all the rest.

Men, I do not worship, nor think are perfect. They are confusing for the reasons we aren’t, for their lack of emotion when only emotion seems to be the answer, they are simple, they just want to make tit jokes and be lads, not engage in deep conversation like I like to, like I guess most girls do. They are in some respects two-dimensional, yet even in our society they are still in a better position. Women are still considered weaker in the work place, because we’ll want to go off and have babies at some point, they’re weaker at home, not the breadwinners, they look after the husband and they keep them, they’re weaker in parliament, in politics, in literature, in films, in every discourse you can think of. We are confined by our genders as men are agreeably, yet I never knew I disliked it so.

Recently I’ve grown my nails, they’re long and people remark on how pretty they are, i’m obsessed with painting them, because I’m proud of them, I’d never been able to grow them before, always been to weak and given into a nibble. I’ve shopped for new clothes, for trousers and skirts and going out stuff, something I’d never been concerned with, but I don’t have anything to wear out and my clothes are two big. I’ve lost weight and now I’m thinking about what  I look like all of a sudden. I literally hate it. Every time I say something, earlier I mentioned getting my hair cut, why, why do I suddenly care. I don’t, it was a passing comment about my week and yet I sound like a woman, I curse myself for it. But why? that’s the big thing…

I don’t understand why it bothers me so. Why I see it as a bad thing, where this idea of weakness came from, why I feel the need to rebel against it almost when I do find myself thinking something girly, why I have such a dim view of womanhood… and yet its there. All the time, this nagging when I say, what shall I wear tonight, because, I don’t really care, if I’m overdressed, undressed, I’ll feel no awkwardness about it, I won’t ‘not’ go if I don’t think I’m wearing the right thing, yet I’m saying it so it does concern me. My brain seems to fight my own gender.

Then, we all fight our own stereotypes. If you think about it, a guy may be in a group of friends and they’re playing x box, drinking, enjoying themselves, making a few girl jokes, bit of bantar, he’s perceived as a lad, so a player, and a flirt and probably a cheat, yet he could be the most sensitive guy, but we stereotype immediately. You might sing on the way home from a  night out, take your heels off and walk arm in arm with a girl, guys may find themselves in fights yet we’d hate to be called youths, the ones we hear about in the newspapers, that get drunk, don’t work, are violent and common and lacking in common courtesies, morals even. Yet, you’d no doubt be called one, by someone, somewhere, in their mind. I don’t like people who judge a book by their cover, I’m as guilty as anyone, yet I guess that is my point, I actively dislike being associate with any category, especially a woman’s more sensitive traits.

I guess you could say it all comes down to perception and being image conscious then, and yet I don’t care what people think, whether they like me, think I’m funny, hate me, yet on some level I do. I don’t want to be viewed, more importantly, as weak. Maybe because I am weak, maybe because I’m self-conscious, maybe because I feel I need to prove myself to people somehow, or maybe because I don’t like being sold short, and we all have strength other people never see. But further than that, I don’t want to be seen as anything less than me, and I’m a babble of contradictions, complications, complexities and conundrums. I’m everything I am, and everything I am not at once. Being categorised means you are judged, your sold short, people put you in a category that you then don’t fit into necessarily, if not certainly not all the time.

…What my conclusion to this revelation, I do not know if there is anyone in general, more an understanding of just how complicated we really are. I am indeed a contradiction in terms, myself versus my sex but that’s Ok, we’re all odd in our own ways – I guess it’s just another of my quirks.

The joys of Mobility.

I’d never really given it a thought, what it means to be mobile, the sense of mobility and its function in our lives. It wasn’t until both my legs were cast and I struggled to move around as normal that it occurred to me. I wasn’t disabled by any means, and I do not think I will ever comprehend how difficult it must be to be impaired in such a way but I was hindered. I was stared at and commented on, I was unable to get about in my usual way, struggled to move in spaces and around town, struggled to move on with my life.

Yes I don’t just mean mobility literally but more in the sense of upward mobility, life’s mobility of continuing on a journey. Since the news of my legs and what not I haven’t been able to, get on with things as I was. University is effectively on hold awaiting test results to decide whether I return or take a year out for recovery, I can’t drive or get to see people with my legs in cast, I am stunted in this place, in this time, in my life as it is at present.

I take it for granted that I can do what I want, that I have the freedom, the means, to further myself and do as I wish. To go to University, to study, to live independently, to plan a career, to make long goals, to develop myself into, well an academic – supposedly.

How many people don’t have that opportunity, the means or the start in life, the physical ability and are therefore hindered in choices, maybe mentally they are held back by experiences or mental health issues, or maybe they aren’t born in the right area, in the right class, the right colour, they don’t fit the demographic that allows us to move on and have chances in life.

Are we all Naive to think that we are all as free as each other, to do as we please, to have the same chances? So yes we all get an education by the state, but anyone who has worked in more than one school, even a classroom can tell you the differences in education received by students not just in the teaching but in the classroom environment and the children’s ability to learn within their group.

Are we to believe we live in a society where racism, gender, sexuality still doesn’t affect those employed, the opportunities we have, that it doesn’t have a bearing on the decisions and the opportunities of others? I am grateful that I have the opportunities I do in life, and am thankful for the start I was given by my parents. I have chosen my career to try to help others, to impart knowledge, to give everyone the same opportunities, but life is unfair, and it hinders some of us.

We are held back by aspects of our lives, we are hindered by our experiences, we are changed by our environment, we are dictated to by the state. The only thing we can hope to do is, try, be happy and  continue to fight. Not literally with violence but to not give up on a dream, on an idea, on a desire, on our ambitions. Its important, its something we can all do, despite whatever may be in our ways, and its the one thing we can all hang on to.

I dropped out of college due to health problems, I passed my GCSE’s with 5 after having not attended school in the last two years, and suddenly the specifications for my board of examinations changed. I had to restart my two-year studies, and be way behind. I found another way, I wanted to do an access course, I was too young, had to pay 6 grands worth of fees, every excuse and measure, and rule book was thrown in my face. So I wrote to the council, I wrote to the education secretary, I got my place on my course and ended up at University just a year later than I should’ve, even more determined to study than I had been before. I didn’t stop there, I went into schools preaching about access courses, the chances they offer, I worked in schools helping as a Volunteer Teaching Assistant, I showed people that you didn’t have to be Einstein to do well, but everyone had a talent.

I’m not perfect, and I am not a saint, please do not think I am trying to preach my own praises, I’m simply saying that, mobility is a something we all take for granted. The right to move, to go where, to do as we please, to have the opportunities we all share, and its something we should always strive for, work for, look for – something we should remember and cherish.