Pause for thought
Time it right
Foot in mouth
Pause for thought
Time it right
Foot in mouth
This morning, I signed a petition on https://www.change.org/p/uk-home-office-deny-julien–blanc-a-uk-visa to ban Julien Blanc (a professional ‘Pick up Artist’) from entering the UK.
I had never heard of this man but was horrified to read more about him.
Julien Blanc classes himself as a pick up master, able to seduce and lure any women into bed. He is not charming nor does he woo with romantic or genuine methods. No, instead, he encourages men (who pay over £1000 to take his seminars) to use force, derogatory comments and any means possible to have sex with whoever they want.
He has been denied entry and had his Visa revoked from Australia after they realised how shady and disturbing his message was. Now the UK government needs to do the same. This man (and I use that term lightly) has tour dates coming up in the UK. It is bad enough as it is in this climate. I and many thousands of women have had to endure sexual harassment from idiotic men who believe they can say what they want, anywhere at any time.
It happens every day and we, as women, are made to feel guilty or rude or stiff if we dare to say ‘No’ or worse. We become “pathetic” and “miserable” because we can’t take their ‘compliments’. Well telling me that my bum is “good enough to take a bite from” and then gnashing your teeth together menacingly, is NOT a compliment. Or making kissing noises as I walk by you six months pregnant is NOT a compliment.
Domestic violence, rape and sexual harassment are as prominent now as ever.
Julien Blanc is giving these inbred men a reason, a justification to their obscene behaviour.
PLEASE! Do not allow this man into the UK.
Go to change.org and stop sexual predators like this doing what the hell they like.
Thankfully, times have changed. Women are given the right to vote. Today is the European Elections voting day. Since the age of eighteen, voting has been a part of my background. My parents have always voted. I never took a great interest in Politics growing up. My sister knew more about it than I did. I think most teenagers would find watching daytime T.V more interesting but times are definitely changing. Politics is becoming something people genuinely care about.
The thought that some imbecile could be running our country (*coughs* UKIP) is enough to worry anyone. We haven’t seemed to get it very right recently in the UK.
My father thought he knew a lot about Politics and our country’s system. He would talk rubbish about things he wasn’t entirely certain on but my knowledge was closer to nothing so I never disputed him. He enjoyed ‘showing off’. It made him look powerful. I suppose he saw himself as a leader too, in our relationship he was the one who ran it, he had the control.
During the years I lived with my father, he made it very clear that I would have to vote. I hated being forced to do anything by him. Voting is a choice. Yet, around him, my choices were limited. If I dared to refuse or say I had other plans I was made to cancel them. He then mocked me at my disregard for my country. He was not a Royalist. In fact he hated the royal family. He just wanted to find another fault in me. I would have gone on my own. I was capable(!) But my father didn’t trust me. He would analyse and interrogate until he got the truth; his truth. I hated going anywhere in public with my father. He would even warn me to make the “right decision”. God forbid I voted for someone I actually liked or valued(!)
Ultimately, voting has not been my choice for many years. Perhaps now it will be.
After the upsetting and tragic news that a nineteen year old girl from the UK died last week from Cervical Cancer, there has been an unprecedented amount of support flooding in for the age of smear tests to be reduced from 25. Sophie Jones was initially diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease after suffering from debilitating stomach pains. However, having been refused a smear test because she was too young, her actual diagnosis of cancer went unnoticed. Sadly, it was too late when doctors finally discovered the cancer late last year.
I have signed the petition and urge you all to do the same. Please, whether you are British or Worldwide, this is a very alarming and worrying cause. Although it is of low risk for a woman of under 25 to develop Cervical Cancer, it is still a risk. It can happen.
The trend on Facebook at the moment is to post a no make-up selfie and donate £3 to Cancer Research. Suffering from BDD, I have held back. However, even I know this a good cause.
Girls: Let’s make a difference to women everywhere.
With the tag line that “two women die from domestic violence a week” ringing in your ears, see a powerful PSA advertisement highlighting the very frightening subject of domestic abuse.
Keira Knightley fronted this campaign.
More needs to be done for women and men subjected to this horror.
A friend shared this link on Facebook and of course, relating to my most recent post, it resonated with me. Why should women stand for street “harassment”? This link from The Guardian On-line, highlights that very topic.
I have my strategies as so many other women do to feel safe. I often put headphones in my ears but switch my music off. That way, I look preoccupied but I’m totally aware. If I need to find safety or somewhere public to wait – I can. To them, I look unaware and an easy target. For me, I’m completely on guard.
How bizarre that I see two articles (including my own) in one night on this very subject. It just emphasises how current and common this topic is right now.
It’s quite sad that we are living in the 21st century and times still remain so backward.
I do not normally blog past 7pm (UK time) but something compelled me to add this quick post. Excuse me for not posting another poem, I will add two more tomorrow. This seems far more important. After finishing my bath and drying off whilst reading my favourite magazine “Look”, I came across an article about a YouTube video that has had over 5 million hits. I needed to check it out immediately.
Oppressed Majority is a powerful and inspiring short film. Directed by Eleanore Pourriat, it portrays a world of predominately women. A world where women are the ‘superior’ gender. It flips around the culture women these days are so sadly objected to. For some women, sexism is a daily battle. To see a man be subjected to it feels wrong. Yet it is accepted to treat a woman in the same way.
I can think of many times where a man has stepped over the mark and entered my personal space, where a man has felt free to tell me to “Cheer up!” when I refused to accept his offer to take me out for a drink. I can be frank and say that I have had my bum slapped in a club as I danced with my friends. Was the man justified to do that? I was only dancing. I have been leered at on the tube for fifteen stops, I have even been followed and approached. What gives someone the right to believe that is acceptable?
The film follows a character called Pierre and his normal daily routine. The women appear to hold all the power, from condescending him over his gender to flaunting their topless bodies on a run, from enduring verbal abuse from a homeless women with a filthy mouth to standing up to a female gang to protect his dignity and becoming a victim of a sexual attack. The worst, I think, is when Pierre has to justify his unlawful and degrading attack to a cocky policewoman who clearly thinks nothing of him.
The most bizarre part of the film and most memorable is (other than the violence) when Pierre drops his child off at the nanny’s’ who is in fact – a man. At his door, Pierre notices he has covered his hair with a scarf. He asks the nanny if his “wife” requested him to do so. The nanny answered “Yes”. Pierre tries to encourage the man to dress and be as he wants and that he has every right but the nanny is protective of his wife and dismisses Pierre’s worries with laughter. Hell. That hit home. We’ve all been there.
It is a provocative and poignant piece of film.
This month saw many entries on WordPress taken from old journals and diaries I had discovered from the abuser’s home. I looked back on several noted incidents that affected me in some way. I began revealing much more about my father. Not only what he did to me but how he lived his own life, the values he followed and the life choices he made.
April was the first month that I displayed a photograph taken from my father’s house (Post: And he called me “dirty”! April 17th) It showed the awful way in which we both lived. A way that I hated but it was out of my control. My father put many demands and outrageous expectations on me over the years and this photo was just a small example of his control. The five bedroom house was far too much for one person to look after. Especially a young woman with a full time job, friends and a life. I wasn’t allowed “excuses”. I wasn’t allowed a life. My life was indebted to him. I “owed” him for having a life.
On the 20th, I suffered from a severe Asthma attack where I was taken to the emergency room by my neighbour. I received a lot of support and well wishes from the WordPress community. It surprised and moved me that strangers all over the world showed such kindness to someone they had never met. I was not used to that. Thank you.
May was a busy month for me. In my general life and on WordPress. It was the first time I shared my poetry on my blog with “Control me”, a piece I wrote during the years of severe abuse.
On the 20th on May, I travelled to Madrid, Spain for a five day trip with three of my colleagues and twelve children from work. It was an experience to say the least! I am thrilled to have done it. To be trusted by my superiors and given that responsibility is something I will treasure. The laughs we shared will be remembered forever. It really was a once in a lifetime sort of thing.
The weekend I returned was that of my one year wedding anniversary with David. Although the wedding day itself holds some upsetting memories (a day that I still can’t bring myself to fully blog about with reasons that no one bar David seem to comprehend), it is always going to be the moment I pledged my love and trust to my devoted husband David and that is main reason why our anniversary will be special for the rest of our lives. I wrote you a letter David on our anniversary this year. Here is to many more my love.
The biggest moment of May was when I made the risky decision to “out” some very spiteful girls. Four to be exact as I began a series of posts retelling the story of their betrayals. C & C, H and N were subject to the truth finally coming out. I received many responses to the series. Old school friends and colleagues who understood whom I was referring to offered their support and agreement. Their thoughts were very welcome. However, I did receive one negative comment from a supporter and friend of N. She threatened legal action at my accusations. All I said was the truth. I did not use names, nor did I say exactly where we had known each other from. N’s friend only landed N in it, she basically announced to the world of Facebook who N actually was. She was the one who broke the rules. Her anger embarrassed her and surprisingly, many of our peers from that time spoke out in support for me. She never followed through with her threats.
June was a pretty easy month. The weather began to dramatically improve in England and Summer seemed to be fast approaching. I blogged seventeen times this month.
Deliberate Donkey a woman’s story about her journey through domestic violence, generously re-blogged my work. It would be the first time someone had referred to my abuser as a “sociopath” after reading my story. It was a term I began to explore.
(Scroll up to top of page when opened)
Three Traitors I never thought you would be,
attended my wedding so happily.
Portrayed a friendship that never existed,
now have turned your backs and become so twisted.
Kept in the dark for over a year
as the three of you will never adhere,
to the rules of friendship and of respect,
you threes traitors have found some unknown defect.
A weakness in me is apparent to you.
Unfairly I am seen as some flagrant yahoo.
Could you three be further from the stark reality?
My honesty has upset your clear morality.
But decency comes hand in hand with integrity,
something you three are lacking tremendously.
What happened to me, well it isn’t a joke,
It did not intend or set out to provoke.
Narrow minded people will always be waiting,
they will always be judging, crushing and berating.
It was your job to be there and supportive of me,
perhaps I expected too highly of thee.
I am shocked at your performance to push me out
of the tight little group that’s beginning to sprout,
Who knew that women could act this way?
These toxic people in their disarray.
Yes, I am better off but there’s no doubt that it kills,
to become a part of their gossiping thrills.
You three traitors take part in your conceited parade,
and show off each other in every charade.
An obsession for popularity soldiers you on
and your ruthlessness and rudeness follows you home.
I see you are unhappy with the new friend I have made.
It is not my fault that I want to upgrade.
She is a new trophy, a prize, that you want to own,
to be my friend is something you cannot condone.
Three traitors you are with key motivation.
To separate yourselves in gutless frustration.
Three traitors you are, three traitors you’ll be,
I will start to move on more suspiciously.
Three traitors you are, three traitors you’ll stay,
Be happy together; go traitor away.
To my three traitors,
you really are something else.
But so am I.
It only takes a year
just twelve months,
for you to change your mind.
With no reason I can find
It only takes that long.
It only takes that long,
just twelve months,
for your loyalty to dissipate.
For you to demonstrate,
that our friendship has gone.
Our friendship has now gone,
in just twelve months,
you are like a stranger to me.
It is what you wanted to be
in this year that has gone by.
In this year that has gone by,
in just twelve short months,
Our lives move side by side.
Yet you have just denied
me from even talking to you.
I cannot even talk to you,
these past twelve months.
Your distance is surprising,
suspicions are arising,
it’s only been one year.
It’s only been one year
just twelve little months,
and I feel like it’s been a waste,
that time can’t be erased.
That you have left me with regret.
Why leave me with regret?
In these last twelve months?
Why hurt me so easily?
Or treat me so sleazily?
You had choices at the start.
You had a choice at the start,
before these past twelve months,
if I wasn’t as you had hoped,
I think I would have coped,
without you in my life.