Nipples

For decades people have been associating the female body with sex. I mean, ankles? Really? But here’s why I think nipples are so unbelievably sexualized. (spoiler alert: not sex related)
I’ve never noticed this before but I was walking with my friend (granted I was wearing an abaya otherwise this wouldn’t be the situation, but that’s another topic entirely) and -some- men would first look at your face then their eyes automatically move down to your chest (what’s with that?? oh, I said not sex related) so if their instinct compels them to look down, shouldn’t their brains KNOW that boobs have nipples? I mean..
Arguably, some men are more of ‘an ass guy’ so they probably won’t look at your chest. (probably)
So, finally getting to my point: the sexualization of the female body may never end. And I believe that people -men- are afraid of nipples because they refuse to see women as more than objects, because if she has a tight top on, it’s cool. If she has a bra on, it’s cool. If her boobs are out but her nipples are covered, it’s cool. BUT WAIT A MINUTE, ARE THOSE NIPPLES? I HEARD THEY CAUSE EYE CANCER! OH GOD NO! PUT THEM AWAY!

Moral of the story: women are humans, not objects, and certainly not here for your sexual (or visual) pleasure. Get over yourself, pop your ego balloon and try to fit the fact women are equal to you in that tiny mind of yours, I’m sure there’s enough space there for it.

Inspo:GmAlxnLJ

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Let’s go out

people often tell you that you need to love yourself first

because you cannot give what you don’t have

isn’t that a little confusing?

if I can’t give what I don’t have then how can I give myself what I don’t have?

things are often easier said than done

love is often easier said than done..

yet somehow, I still find it difficult to tell my reflection that I love her

I find it difficult to tell my reflection anything

if we had to list down the people who hurt us

my name would come first

my mental illness would come next

and I know I said people and mental illness is not a person

but I wish it was

I wish mental illness was a living breathing son of a bxtch

immortal as it is, I wish it could, just for once feel it too

fear pain anger numbness hatred all of it

and just when it feels like it’s too much

and much too much

there’s no escape for it

ha-ha, you’re stuck with yourself

but don’t worry, you don’t exist

mental illness doesn’t exist

you are just sad

maybe you should go out more

no wait, pray more

no no wait maybe it’s all in your head

you’re just sad

let’s go out

To you,

Typing this with shaky hands a messy mind and a heavy heart..

The first thing you hear when you tell someone about something you can’t do much about is: “Try to forget about it” or “Let it go” or the worst of all “It’s okay”

But this has devoured almost all of me, I can’t “forget about it” even if I tried, so for more than a year I basically just ignored it. wow Rana you finally “let it go” okay, sure.. But “It’s -NOT- okay”.

I tried. I put it all in a mental box cause it was never physical to begin with, I threw it away. But like a ghost it kept visiting, like a stray cat it kept trying to get in, yet.. You’re nowhere to be found. Where did you go? Why won’t you talk to me? Why did you leave your ghost in my bed, voice in my head, every minor detail about you like an annoying itch in my mind.

I’m admitting it now. I can not get over it. I’m always going to be mad and bitter and GOD SO FUCKING ANGRY at you. But you’re still someone I’d like to meet, not to argue with, or yell at or any of that; I just can’t go on with my endless paranoia that everyone I see could be you, everyone I talk to could be you. Do you even exit? Is that your real name? Was any of it true? Do you think of what you did? Did you ever wonder if I’m okay?

I’ll talk to my therapist about you.. Maybe he’ll be able to find you.

Mental illness love

I guess there’s no right way to love a person, but there are so many wrong ways; There are so many different ways you can screw everything up. But one of the worst ways is fear.

I still remember the first time I realized I’m not exactly “normal”.. I was 6 years old and we were at a funeral, everyone was crying and the most “normal” reaction would be to cry, even as a child. I know this because my little cousins were crying but I wasn’t. I was completely numb and eventually ended up banging my head against a wall. Of course, I didn’t know this then but I was trying to escape an anxiety attack.

‘A list of 2900 things that can go wrong in one minute’ Is the first sentence that comes to my mind whenever I hear the word “anxiety” and  my brain starts listing them down; It’s almost like a word that activates a bomb in my brain.

But what’s it like to be in love? If you separate people in two groups, one being the group that believes love is rainbows and butterflies.. The other… Would probably be a bunch of people who have been through some awful relationships or been friendzoned a lot.

Then there are people like me,  the middlers swinging from side to side. And it’s not like we lack self-love or anything, but there’s something broken inside us. It’s so hard to explain it to people and even though you feel like the words are right there in your brain, at the tip of your tongue. They perfectly make sense, your voice will speak them out in the perfect waves. But still, you stop them.

We’ve been programmed to believe no one will understand. I’ve been programmed to believe in fear, and my 2900 things. My fears are bigger than me, the bomb in my brain ticks faster than my ability to cut the right wire.

Fears, I’m terrified of opening up, terrified of being forced to speak, terrified of saying the wrong things, terrified of being misunderstood, terrified of fighting/arguing, terrified of people leaving, terrified of pushing people away, terrified of being alone, terrified of being around people for more than 3 hours, terrified of people, terrified of being terrified.

You see, being in love isn’t easy. Nobody ever said it is. But sometimes being in love can be your 2900 things.

Art

Here’s the thing, as soon as we hear the word “art” the first thing we think of if is “beauty”

Of course, art is beautiful, you see a painting, portrait, sculpture; that’s only what you see. There’s poetry, music, so many different kinds! But the thing is, if someone ever came across a piece of art that simply had vomit splashed all over it, they’ll think “EW! this is not art! What is this!” simply because it’s not roses. But the thing is, it’s not what you see that’s beautiful. It’s the story behind the piece of art, it could be inspired by some kind of a disease and this is a representation of the person with that disease vomiting it out, getting rid of it for good. NOW when you look at it, it’s beautiful.

Not to forget, you could look at a portrait of a BEAUTIFUL woman and just think “WOW! This is beautiful” And for a second it’ll bring you joy because it’s just too beautiful to not smile and stare at. But that woman you’re looking at could’ve killed her own parents in their sleep, or was against feminism, or didn’t let children get the education they deserve. Right then, when you look at her beautiful face, you’ll be reminded that you shouldn’t judge something from the outside.

Someone or something could look like it’s the most amazing thing in the world the moment you see it, but once you get closer, once you REALLY look into it and fully understand it. It’s not as amazing as you thought it was. It could be the complete opposite. But we’re only humans, we change and grow and learn and art is art, it’s here to help us do that.

Escape, die.

I’ve built up my life around you
But you’re gone
I don’t know how to function anymore
I don’t think anyone could ever
Ever know how I feel inside
I need to get away
I need to leave
I can’t escape this
I can’t runaway from you
But here’s the question
Am I planning to runaway from you
Or from myself?
You’re everywhere I go
Everything I see reminds me of you
I can’t escape you
You’re like my own shadow
You don’t understand
Nobody understands
Just because I’ve been here before
It doesn’t mean I’ll be okay this time
It doesn’t mean this won’t be the death of me
I want to get away
I need to be set free
I can’t keep being a prisoner of my own mind
I need to leave myself behind
Pills?
Therapy?
Who knows.
I don’t need help
I want you
I’m sorry.

Change

I do believe that one of the worst things ever in life is when you lose a person you love.
A friend, a family member, anyone.
But what’s worse than that is when you lose yourself.
You see, as humans, we change.
Change is inevitable, but when we change, we can’t really know why or how.
We hardly ever notice it til we start doing something we never did, or someone points it out.
Being in your skin but feeling like it’s not yours, moving around in your body but feeling like a ghost.
Not recognizing yourself, tough.
I’ve been pretending to be something that I am not.. Well, something I used to be, but I’m not anymore.
It’s not that hard, really. Being talkative and, well, me.
What’s hard is the fact I can’t figure out how to run my own life anymore. When was the last time I washed my hair? Should I wash it now? It doesn’t look dirty..
Sometimes I even think I’m going insane, or losing my memory.
Forgetting who I am, where I am. What’s my name again?
That one person that makes me feel beyond perfection,
Is the only person who knows how messed up I am.
I won’t talk about it unless it’s important,
I won’t discuss it unless it can be solved.
But why can’t I speak?
Why won’t the words rush out when I need them most?
Why can’t I fight for the one thing I need to keep like I fight for everything I believe in?
Because I’ve changed. I’m not the same.
I can’t go back to how I used to be
I can’t talk about what’s bothering me
Change is inevitable, I will remember my name.