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On your worst days do not look in the mirror and call yourself pretty. Call yourself trying, call yourself surviving, call yourself learning how to get through a day, a week, a month or year. Call yourself still learning.
Meggie Royer (via allthebooksallthecoffee)
wild how like PCOS, endometriosis, vaginismus & hell, even frequent yeast infections are âmysteriousâ with no well known cause and little to no decent treatment, but we have tons of supposedly well researched body fat removal methods, about 20 different kinds of breast implants, laser hair removal, and 100 different dermatologist recommended anti aging creams. we sure had the money and brainpower to cure those âdiseasesâ

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Dear Todd Nickerson, Over at Salon a few days ago, you wrote an article provocatively entitled âIâm a pedophile, but not a monster.â Presumably, a lot of people are now asking questions such as âIs pedophilia
âDear Todd Nickerson,
Over at Salon a few days ago, you wrote an article provocatively entitled âIâm a pedophile, but not a monster.â Presumably, a lot of people are now asking questions such as âIs pedophilia natural?â or âCan pedophilia be cured?â But Iâm not going to attempt to answer those particular questions. Rather, Iâd like to further this discourse by filling in some major holes in your article.
Letâs start with this missing piece: the vast majority of pedophiles are men. And the majority of children victimized by those pedophiles who do choose to act on their sexual desires are girls. This is a rather major detail to withhold from your audience, wouldnât you say? Unfortunately, as pervasive and overt as patriarchy is, it is usually the last detail mentioned in conversations of this nature â if it is mentioned at all.
That said, pedophilia may seem taboo and despised by the masses, but an honest appraisal of our culture at large reveals otherwise. I propose that pedophilia is actually rewarded and celebrated, and that our entire culture and understanding of sexuality is constructed around what seem to be pedophilic desires. I call this âpedophile culture.â
In pedophile culture, women are expected to maintain a near-impossible level of thinness, prepubescent in their almost-androgynous lack of curvature and body fat. Due to this pressure, eating disorders abound in young girls, and women in particular are targeted throughout their lives by a multi-billion dollar weight loss industry.
In pedophile culture, the top Pornhub category is âTeen.â âBarely legalâ âgirlsâ in schoolgirl outfits play out everything from âvirgin manipulations,â daddy-daughter incest fantasies, teacher-student make believe⌠you name it, thereâs porn for it, and itâs been whacked-off to millions and millions and millions of times. Itâs fair to wonder whether the only thing keeping some of these viewers from watching straight-up child porn is age of consent laws.
Influenced by the porn industry, labiaplasty, a surgery that carves the labia minora down to porn-sized slivers, is rapidly gaining popularity. So are other procedures, like hymenoplasty, which restores virgin-like tightness to womenâs vaginas.
In pedophile culture, women are outright pressured to regularly shave or wax their nether regions and underarms. The cosmetics industry â again, targeted at women â peddles âanti-agingâ creams and lotions that will make our skin âbaby soft!â
In pedophile culture, we casually refer to grown women as âgirls.â We have a word specifically for attractive female teenagers: jailbait. Women are sexualized as chicks, kittens, and babes.
In pedophile culture, I often catch men in public checking me out with eyes full of lust, until they see the hair on my legs â at which point, they resort to a theatrical display of disgust. Iâve eavesdropped on groups of college-age guys talking about how they wonât perform oral sex on a woman if her labia are too prominent. One man who had been pursuing sex with me for three years, suddenly changed his mind when I revealed that I do not, and will not, shave off my pubic hair. In other words, many men stop being attracted to me when reminded that I am a woman, and not a young girl.
Surely all of these men, who have a âpreferenceâ for the aforementioned qualities in women, arenât pedophiles by the strict definition of the word. But it seems that a high number of men, likely as a result of deep cultural conditioning, find many of the same things attractive in a woman that a pedophile would find attractive in a girlchild. Small labia, tight vaginas, intact hymens, baby-soft skin, hairless limbs and vulvas, eternal youthfulness, tiny frail bodies⌠As tumblr user reddressalert wrote, âhow do we not recognize that this is essentially a description of a baby or a toddler?â
Back to my original point:
I need you, and your sympathetic readers, to understand this grave truth: pedophilia is not nearly as taboo, or shameful, or repulsive to society, as you claim it is. I wish it was. Much to the detriment of females the world over, your desires are reflected back to you infinitely, mass-produced on a global scale to meet an ever-growing demand. This male-supremacist world welcomes you with open arms, and your every wish is its command. I dare say you are safer to be yourself, than girls are.
You say âIâm a pedophile, but not a monster,â and I wholeheartedly agree with you. Youâre not a monster â youâre a man. A rather common man. A microcosmic representation of patriarchyâs most prevalent perversions. You are not special, you are not anomalous, and you are not alone. Not even close. Your âsexual orientationâ is just another manifestation of the collective desire of males to subjugate females in a crusade to uphold male supremacy at all costs.
So if being âunderstanding and supportiveâ of your pedophilia entails grooming males to eroticize childlike features in women, and teaching women to maintain eternal youth as not to aggravate male insecurities, then you are not asking for our support â you are asking for our submission. And just as you say âthere is no ethical way we can fully actualize our sexual longings,â there is no ethical way to request cooperation from those of us actively trying to dismantle the patriarchal system that your âorientationâ represents.â
Decades of books movies and music consumption has allowed men to think that these âpreferencesâ are their own choices. Pop culture supposedly condemns pedophilia in the stories about it, all while sexualizing the young women whom the stories are about.
Now the woman was old. And she had a daughter who grew up speaking only English and swallowing more Coca-Cola than sorrow. For a long time now the woman had wanted to give her daughter the single swan feather and tell her, âThis feather may look worthless, but it comes from afar and carries with it all my good intentions.â And she waited, year after year, for the day she could tell her daughter this in perfect American English.
Amy Tan, Joy Luck Club
The morning after I killed myself
I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighborsâ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two-year-old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river, and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to un-kill myself, but couldnât finish what I started.
By - Meggie Royer
men have only learnt to sleep with women, not awaken with them. thatâs why the relationship between men and woman will always be prone to disturbances.
a. pritam

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Youâre taught to believe the unbelievable. Youâre taught to accept the unacceptable
Andy Martin, from The Apostles
memories have to be our most painful blessing

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