Has anyone ever tried to control you and what you do? It can be subtle, such as asking you to take a compromise that benefits them more than the relationship as a whole, but only by a little bit. It can be overt, too, such as, “Do this thing or I’m breaking up with you!”
It’s like Meatloaf’s song about how he’d do anything but “that.” As an autistic, this song drives me nuts. Every time I hear it, I’m asking myself, “WHAT?!?!?! What is it he won’t do?!” I want to learn, to become better, but he never says. It’s cool, bro; she was pushing your boundaries and you put your foot down.
I would say most men seek to control women, if not all of them. I haven’t met them all, so I could be wrong. Drop me a line if you’re different! Add a comment! I only turned on requiring an account to comment because I’ve created things that bots have destroyed with meaningless comments about unrelated bullshit. You know how it goes; you’ve seen forums and blogs with irrelevant drivel, undoubtedly.
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I got a secret for you:
You’re eating something your body does not tolerate. Find out what here: U.S. Food Intolerance dot com. [Click to visit.]
I have yet to submit my sample, but that’s because I didn’t have a working printer, so I had to go buy one. I’d been putting it off for ages. It’s going to cement my pending court cases, that intolerance and allergen report. That’s what God says, anyway. We’ll see. I’ve already been getting better for the past three and a half years, so maybe I cured it. I know you’re not supposed to be able to cure an allergen. And then you might think, well if your hair is long enough…? Nope, short as hell. And dyed pink. I fancy myself a female Cupid right now because what’s life without grandiose role-play, even if it’s just me role-playing by myself?
At any rate, Dr. Death is going down, down, down in flames.
Or that’s what God says about her in the afterlife, anyway.
It really doesn’t matter if I hold her accountable or not, honestly, because we’re all dying in a decade or less if you don’t plant a bee garden. Plant this seed package: Save the Monarch wildflower seeds from True Leaf Market. Let me tell you how lazy you can be… break the soil up and throw the seed package down, cover with a thin layer of soil, dump water on the dirt patch if it’s not raining. I guarantee you they will find a way. They’ll feed both the bees and the monarchs, so it’s a two-fer. Just do it after your zone’s last frost, which is May 10th where I live. (Zone 5b.)
Perhaps you want to go overboard and turn your property into a meadow? Cool, Eden Brothers has you covered. Click here for Pennsylvania wildflower seed by the pound.
I bought one once for Missouri and put them into tiny little envelopes you could just throw in the dirt and cover to grow into small flower patches that just would not quit. We gave them away for Earth Day via the Thomson Reuters Green Team.
It was only about $60 to supply the whole company with seed packets, by the way. Much to my surprise, I gave away more than half of them. In fact, it might have been close to all, but I can’t rightly remember anymore.
As for men trying to control things, I don’t think it’s a man-woman paradigm. I think it’s a man-vs-world paradigm. I heard it pretty clearly in my youth… the implication is that if you’re not on top of everything, you’re not a man. This is hogwash, by the by, designed to make you feel like you can never get there, that you will never grow up.
I’ll tell you all you need to know about being a man:
You have to accept responsibility for your actions. No matter if the outcome is good or bad, you have to accept that your actions led to this place. You only have yourself to blame, even if other people helped. You could have made a different action somewhere back there in this timeline and the outcome would have favored you more strongly.
Can you undo your mistakes? Hah. If only this world were Microsoft Word or had multiple save slots! Be kind, rewind.
I got news for everyone and it’s not even new: WE ALL FUCK UP, BRO.
The difference between you and the next character is… what do you do about it? You could kowtow to someone, apologizing and kissing their ass profusely. This is pointless because you’ll just go back to being mindless about it once they roll over and expose their belly to you again. You could just apologize and ask what you could have done better, gathering the injured party’s input and then utilizing it to change yourself. You could contemplate it for an eternity and never come to a decision about it. You could ignore it and burn that fucking bridge. You could just do your best to never do it again, forcing yourself to slow down and recognize the pattern that leads you into this behavioral mistake.
A true man will do all of these from time to time. It’s an art, figuring out which one is needed for which relationship, which fuckup, which mistake. Although I don’t suggest ever kowtowing because other people will demand it down the line and that shit is beneath a true adult, man or woman.
If you want to worship someone, worship your significant other. Treat him or her like a divine entity that deserves every ounce of trying you have for relationship making to exclusion, if necessary… however, no real S.O. who cares about you will ask you to exclude yourself from humanity for the sake of their feelings.
They’re monopolizing you so they can abuse you. Spending every minute with you for fun is different than this; they will just go with you when you’re visiting your friends and enjoy your friends, too. However, if you want a girls’ night and he’s not keen on letting you out of his sight, RUN! It’s control.
If the occasion arises where your significant other is feeling left out in the cold, you’re going to have to zero in on them for a while. It just is. It’s your responsibility to make them feel secure about your relationship with them. It’s not their duty to make themselves feel secure. I used to think it was my own duty, but God has disabused me of this notion; a real man will look his woman in the eyes lovingly, showing her his fiery passion for her with just a gaze.
How many of you look your wives in the eyes these days?
Divorce her or love her, don’t leave her in the Hell of the middle ground. If she’s sensitive, she’ll tear herself to shreds while you sit on the fence like a true child and asshole. I don’t know if I want to be with you. Die in a fucking fire, rapist motherfucker. Yeah, that’s right, if you’re fucking a woman you can’t decide to throw down fealty for, you’re a rapist. [Hi, Kendall, you’re a nice guy. I miss working with you.]
My problem with this world is a bunch of men trying to control me, raping me every step of the way because they’d rather be at the helm than in a partnership. A man knows best, I can hear you thinking it you misogynistic crap heads. That’s right. Your head is full of crap. Women are inferior and you have to be a real man and control her so she don’t go crazy.
It’s your attempt to control her that makes her fucking crazy.
I wish I could shoot each and every one of you assholes with the empathy gun of Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I can’t, so I settle for standing on a soap box in the middle of the internet, preaching to my lady folk. Woman, if he ain’t treating you like a GODDESS, then WALK. Don’t think about how your worth is dependent on being with a man, because it’s not. It’s a fool’s lie that we bought, hook, line, and sinker a long ass time ago.
Allow me to unveil the illusion:
You. are. a. person.
You’re not a woman, just a person. When men and women are called “people,” they are equal. To call someone a “them”/”they” in third person is to remove the gender inequality. It also removes the sex part of the equation and makes people pay attention to the point you’re making. Therefore, all people should default to them/their/they. Nameless, genderless. Abstract.
If you do this, suddenly men will have to start guessing. Is it a man? Is it a woman? This inherently makes it more intriguing and they start listening to what you have to say, trying to detect which gender this “they” actually is. But did you catch that? They’ll listen when you’re abstract and vague.
That means they’re not listening now when you’re on point most of the time.
In fact, stop talking to men if you don’t have to. All they want [aside from nice guys like Kendall] is to get into your pants. [Kendall is a friend of the family I married into. I happen to know he loves his wife, too. Very deeply. I’m rooting for you both, bro.]
99% of men will talk to women, outside of the context of work, for the purpose of getting laid.
Ladies, does your man hide that he’s got an attractive lady coworker? Red flag! Danger, Willamina Robinson! DANGER! Divorce that asshole and go back to living with your parents like a fucking teenager. YOU DESERVE THE TIME OFF FROM DICKS.
Now, if a man tells every woman he meets he loves his wife, that’s him protecting his relationship. Like my chiropractor, Dr. Steve. He loves his wife so much he talks about her probably monthly, just something random that’s not too deep, to show off how loyal he is. [You’re now a role model, dude, look at that.]
IT SHOULD GO WITHOUT SAYING: WOMAN, IF YOU AIN’T DOING THIS IN REVERSE, DIVORCE THE POOR MAN ALREADY.
So tell the womenfolk who talk to you that you love your wives, bro. Or divorce them. Those are your choices for being a real man. Throw down your spear and say, “This is my love!” or run the fuck away already. To dilly dally in the fucking middle is childish. Immature. It’s not like you can’t change your mind some day, but today make it the fuck up one way or another.
I’ll tell you what the side-effect of this will be:
All the women on planet Urth will be sane again.
That’s right, I spelled it with a U for efficiency’s sake. It’s the same fucking name, innit? Or is it better now that it’s not named after dirt? I mean, we treat it like dirt. Irreverence is our lynchpin, after all.
We suck, in short. We’re too busy daydreaming about fucking to see that the bees are dying and if they go extinct, so do we. So break it off with the bitch (or the dick) and go plant some bee gardens in your newfound free time. Figure out how to be happy on your own. This is what holds you back in every relationship, I guarantee it. You’re not happy by yourselves.
I was one of you, once. Then God proposed to someone who was a void and I projected myself onto him and decided I loved myself, finally. It took me thirty goddamn years, but I finally did it! I MADE MYSELF INTO AN “ANGEL.” I found it! The formula to truly love myself.
And then I had to lose it because I became telepathic and I can now hear you all in the back of my head. I thought I was simply crazy, but no, it can’t be that easy. I can’t just go collect S.S.I. and fade into mediocrity. NO! You know what I get to do? Oh joy of joys! I get to make fucking history in the courts of law. Me! A shy woman who doesn’t enjoy getting much attention. I get to be a landmark court case to teach the rest of you a goddamn lesson.
My life will be completely ruined thanks to my ex-rapist. All of you will get aboard the rape wagon and beat drums loudly and I will have to suffer in order to make a fucking point to you all.
Nobody will ever look at me like they look at the rest of everyone. I will die miserable and alone, hearing you all criticize me, curse me, hate me, or even pity me. I wish I could just hit fast forward and get it over with. I already want to die; I beg God to let me die every damn day. “Nope, not letting that happen,” is the response I get. Great.
Angel-Sansara 