the things that always happened to us

The pens dad gave us

I am attracted to the image of a child with a cigarette
to my everyday
through the objects more that how I am through the people
objects -that are those which always have happened to us
I am affected to the rotten fascination of our blankets,

its ugliness, a rock
in which I would always continue to put myself under

Do not bring me to no scenarios
without the rotten
and the gross that belongs even in the night

 

Disicantata

for the ugly ones by veronica hunter

“I am writing as an ugly one for the ugly ones: the old hags, the dykes, the frigid, the unfucked, the unfuckables, the neurotics, the psychos, for all those girls that don’t get a look-in in the universal market of the consumable chick.” – Virginie Despentes. 
I was conventionally beautiful for two years of my life. Bleached blonde hair, plucked eyebrows, small waist, double d cup breasts, smooth shaved legs, not too much makeup, not too little. I was, and still am, openly bisexual, but I used this as a tool to establish myself as a sexual being in the eyes of men. Instead of focussing on my sexuality and gender, and how they related to me as a person, I would use bisexuality as a party trick. Want to see two girls kiss because lesbians are oh so hot? Call Veronica, she’s down. She’s cool. I was the cool girl, a la Amy Dunne. I modified my interests, features, sexuality and even gender to suit the ideals of the men around me to make myself more and more consumable. I saw myself, personality, body and face, as things to be constantly improved upon. I would exercise intensely only to improve my body, not caring how tired and moody it made me.
I objectified myself before anyone else ever did.
Eventually, two years later, I was fed up. My scalp burned from monthly bleaching, my skin stung and broke out as a reaction to makeup, my stomach rumbled constantly, my breasts shrank. I was miserable, feeding off of the attention given to me by men interested in my body.

So what do you do when you realise, finally, that you value yourself more than the whispers of the men surrounding you?

I made myself ugly. I shaved all of my hair off, I stopped shaving my legs, I stopped plucking my eyebrows. I deliberately wore baggy clothing. I stopped wearing makeup. I stopped caring. Ugliness is not only comforting, it is safe. The amount of sexual harassment I received drastically decreased, and I now feel comfortable with walking alone at night. Keeping this in mind, it did not go away. Sexual harassment is still something serious I face, but at least it has reduced.
Ugliness, of course, is subjective, as is beauty. For the purpose of this essay I am taking ugliness to mean whatever our patriarchal and Eurocentric society deems as ugly. This means body hair, too much makeup, not enough. This means any woman not adhering to white and Eurocentric bodily standards.This means fat anywhere other than hips, breasts and buttocks. This means clothing that is too formless or too revealing. This means acne and scars. This means you must look stereotypically feminine. Which means you must be consumable. Which means being meek and humble. Which means only speaking when spoken to and altering your personality to flatter the room and the men within it. I know how tiring it can be. To only raise your voice to be flirtatious or to confirm the thoughts of men. Never saying anything of significance, for fear of being judged, or even worse, patronised. Yet being patronised is all that ever happens, because you dumb yourself down. God forbid you make the boys feel emasculated by your intellect. Shut your mouth, brush your hair, no one finds a funny girl sexy. A politically informed and socially conscious mind is not sexy. Intelligence is not sexy. Intelligence is not a commodity, like your sexuality is.
To completely reject this male ideal, to say “fuck it” and leave, is ugly. And I don’t care. I am judged. I am patronised, I am still harassed. But I don’t care. I now identify as agender, but prefer she/her as pronouns. By choosing to make myself ugly, I not only changed my physical appearance, but began to speak my mind. I realised that my voice has merit. I began to create, to write music, to paint. Ironically enough, by making myself stereotypically ugly, I finally found myself beautiful. I realised that I am a person, worthy of love and healthy relationships.
This is not to say that I completely ceased. I still shave my armpits because it’s more comfortable to me. I occasionally wear makeup and I admire women who do. I’ve continued to shave my head for the past four months because it makes me feel beautiful. Every little step I take to make myself less consumable to male society, empowers me and in turn makes me feel gorgeous. I change my clothing styles frequently and while I hardly ever wear low cut tops, I love to expose my stomach, because I think it’s cute, and seeing it makes me happy. I exercise often and it makes me feel good about myself. True beauty is knowing that people may find an aspect of your features distasteful and ugly and not caring because you know that that aspect is gorgeous. In seeking ugliness, I found beauty.
I wondered if other women had similar experiences, and decided to ask.
1. Do you believe in cosmetic ugliness? If so, what is it to you?
It exists in that it is something that utterly influences our lives, and people believe it exists, but I can’t say it’s important or should be something people worry themselves with. -Raniera, 16, New Zealand
I find myself believing in this a lot of times in my life. I find cosmetic ugliness just like a shell in which you can refuge if you feel too pretty or too ugly for the world to see. I feel ugly also when I feel ugly inside, and I want to put that inside out. I think I need to be ugly too, sometimes, and maybe I see freedom in ugliness much more than how I see it in beauty. – Serena, 20, Italy

 

I believe the concept of ugly is something we are socialised into seeing. I don’t think ‘ugliness’ is a trait that would exist without beauty standards, Eurocentrism, the media, societal views etc – for example the idea of what is beautiful has changed over time. To me ugliness is when someone isn’t a good person. I think some people give off a warm/loving energy, and then there are some people that you feel uneasy around – those are the people I would consider ugly. It’s more of a feeling than what they look like. In saying that, of course I totally buy in to the concept of beauty/ugliness because it’s impossible not to. -Rose, 21, New Zealand
 
Obviously some peoples faces I find very appealing and others less so. You aren’t going to find everyone attractive, but people look like people. I feel I see them as that and I’m trying my best not to class their looks as ugly or pretty. I think it’s tricky in general though, as ugly is thrown in our faces. Despite the definition of beauty changing through history, it seems as though cosmetic ugliness has been consistent (across time from the ‘ugly sisters’ to ‘ugly Betty’) : big nose, frizzy hair, small eyes, crooked teeth, frown… – Sophie, 16, Scotland
No, I don’t. -Teal, 16, New Zealand
2. What do you believe male society sees as ugly? eg. body hair, too much makeup
This depends on the male, but they are told to think that anything that veers from the path of controlled white femininity is ugly. As entities, this probably doesn’t have much effect on their actual attractions, but as a group, they police this absolutely. -Raniera
Yes, yes!! Men are really superficial about that sort of care. I see my “boyfriend” tell me that I look beautiful with anything on or nothing on too, but he also says “don’t let your porcelain skin get tanned!” or “don’t put make-up on your face!” and I find it so very hypocritical.
They just think girls need to shave, of course, and they need to not use so much make-up, it seems they think this is “unfair”. I heard some guy says me, because I don’t use make up on me, that I was much more fair than the other girls who use so much make-up on them, because “how do they look without it on them?” They also say it like I could not do anything but be with them in the matter, so much they think they were right …. 
Also, some boy said to me I wear too short skirts, but not because he didn’t like it, just because he was afraid of something like, I think, free sex expression. I so hated that all… -Serena 
 
I think women are judged on their appearance in a way men aren’t, men don’t really care what other men look like. So they see body hair, having ‘too much’ fat, darker skin, being ‘too’ tall, masculine features (could include hairstyle, build, voice, clothing), acne – as ugly. Then there’s this whole thing where you have to look attractive and like you put in an effort but not too much effort, and you have to be sexually attractive but not ‘slutty’. -Rose
Male society are openly turned off by too much hair, visible stomach fat, acne, bad teeth… the same things that some girls are turned off by in boys, but they’d be a “bitch” to point it out. -Sophie
Stereotypically and generally I believe they see body hair and acne as being “ugly”. Which is weird because they’re both natural things. -Teal  
 
3. Have you ever deliberately made yourself unattractive to men? (What I mean is, have you ever knowingly refused to follow what you believe to be sexist and Eurocentric beauty standards, worn baggy clothing, not trimmed body hair etc.)
Yes, when I was around 13 I would often deliberately make myself look odd, by cutting my own hair, wearing unfashionable glasses, or altering my appearance (for example, I would sometimes dye my teeth blue or black). More recently, when I am walking home late at night, I will often deliberately try and alter my body shape and walk from that perceived as attractive, so that I’ll feel less likely to be preyed upon. -Raniera
Yes, I did. I let my body hair grows up this summer, and my face hair too. I did it mostly because I wanted to free myself, but I was so excited to the idea it would be ugly for men to see, because I do want that. It only lasted for a month or two, I cannot remember properly, because I feel like I need to have my girl issues, and all the pain that concerns the matter. I love being a girl and I want to understand all the suffering of the matter to fight against it and free myself in a effective way. This was what I thought, and I need to say I thought about it a minute after seeing the film by Bertolucci “Last Tango in Paris”. -Serena
In a way. I don’t think it’s necessarily a conscious effort, but I feel very uncomfortable showing much skin or much of my shape. I think it makes me feel vulnerable and I don’t want to attract attention. I feel safer doing this. It’s shit, but I do notice a difference, like I get cat-called more in summer when it’s hot and I’m wearing less clothing. It makes me feel unsafe and objectified. 
I also have tattoos that I think have given me a sense of control over my body. In the past I did the same with self harming. I wanted to make all the bad things in my mind visible. I’m not sure if this relates to men… I think it does in a way, as they lead me into feeling that I was an object, therefore I developed a strange relationship with my body and had this feeling of dissociation (still do), so choosing what I do with my body makes me feel more in control. -Rose
I personally don’t wear makeup because I don’t really want to draw attention to myself. and I often wear a lot of baggy clothes i.e. big hoodies or t shirts that I’ve borrowed from my brothers -Sophie 
Can’t say I deliberately have! -Teal 
4. If yes, please describe in detail your experience with this: Did you feel safer, less preyed upon? Did you feel judged? Did you feel freed? 
I think the surface feeling is absolutely one of relief and release; from the impossibly high standards foisted on me as soon as I reached puberty. But if I think about the reasons why I felt it necessary to alter my appearance in this way, I was/am absolutely still trapped within a system. When I was younger I did it because I wanted to be in control of people’s reactions towards me. I thought that as boys would already think I was ugly, I may as well choose why they came to that conclusion. It was a very superficial sense of control, as no matter how liberating it may have been, I was still altering my appearance for men, not for myself. -Raniera
I felt safe, but I felt judged too. As I said, I need to shave again after a month or two of that. I also catch my mom saying to me “if you let your hair grow in summer, it is not very aesthetic” and she also continued saying to me such things that make me feel like I was doing something that she didn’t like. I did not really care about it! But it makes me realise, well, my people are really bigoted and really out of their minds to think it is good to say “shave!” to a girl who likes to let her body or facial hair grow. I also experienced some ways of wearing something not so “sexy” and really big on me, and I find myself experiencing this again. I like clothes, and I do not like so big clothes on me, but I feel safe in a huge sweater even if I don’t like it. Also, I am starting feeling safe in my naked body really much more than before now, and clothes are just being something I really don’t want around sometimes, for it makes me safe I could have fantasies on others that just involve me when I do not wear nothing while reading in my room, or just standing in the metró with no underwear. -Serena 
Generally I think I follow beauty standards well enough to be accepted/found attractive. I don’t look different or ‘ugly’. Being seen as ‘attractive enough’ gives me a sense of validation in a shitty, misogynistic, shallow society. Yet I feel like I often draw the line to allow myself a sense of empowerment. For example, I bite my nails and refuse to get them done, I don’t wear heels, I only shave if I feel like it, I won’t wear clothes I feel uncomfortable/exposed in, I wear basic make up when I can be bothered, I don’t spend a lot of money on cosmetics, I don’t do my hair etc. I don’t think these things are because I’m trying to appear unattractive to men, rather they’re not things I care about/feel are necessary to me/basically can’t be fucked. I suppose not following certain expectations of me as a woman does make me feel a sense of empowerment/confidence. -Rose
I definitely feel safer when I do as it allows me to disguise my shape in a way that I hope I won’t get preyed upon when I’m out and about. Also, since time it’s seen as sloppy if a girl dresses in a way that isn’t tight or short (but is comfy!). It helps me breathe easier knowing that potential predators are likely to be more disgusted with the way I dress and will hopefully leave me alone. However, as it seems as lazy or unappealing when I wear baggy clothes and no makeup, I feel I have to keep my hair really really long to still feel like I’m viewed as feminine in other situations. I’d love to shave my head. -Sophie
Interviews have been edited for grammar and clarity. 

on how I see myself as a pathological liar

A post ago or two I wrote about how I had fantasies about me and my maths professor, so that now I want to write about my fantasies and what that they mean to me; I like it so, clean.

When I first read about how pathological liar pathology is named “Pseudologia fantastica” (at least it is in my fantastic mother tongue language) I felt a warmth in my stomach remembering me how good it seems for just being about lies, that bad bad acts that are lies.
But honestly, lies always sound neutral to me; I only hate them in the concept of “lie to myself”. Otherwise, I do not even ask for no lies. I mean in here the kind of lies (almost anyone to me) that represent a fantasy.
I only invent fantasies when I lie; not because I don’t like my reality -I didn’t like it often, I surely hated it too,  but I lie even when reality is extra gentle to me and I feel awesome. I lie just to create new realities around me, new movies-like scenarios, all beyond the one-direction reality that is that of life. I want to just live all the lives I can and invent all those out of nothing. More accurately, I need to always have a space in any relationship where I can use my fantasies and live them to invent secrets and light the passion in me. That’s just the way I need to really live.
I admit that this makes me a liar. I am a liar, and I did not even control myself sometimes when I lie. At now I confuse reality and fantasies in dreams and in memories. I only love to know new people because I can tell fantasies to them and live those ones with them and for them and myself too. I don’t get why fantasies are not seen as something true. They are to me. I admit that I lived in those habits so much time in my life that now I could ever get rid of it, and that the kind of things a pathological liar lives I may be living too, for so many times I found myself living in a condition. Still, I don’t need anything different in life, at now. I only speak for myself and my only experience; I can say so because I live with my sister and her daydreaming and my fantasies end to be our reality so many of the times.
Plus, that is something that I really hate about this: I will never get why someone could have the opportunity to go and think I lie to them as a personal attack. I don’t lie to you because of you, I lie to you because of myself only, and that’s the reality about me, the real, honestly me: so if you can not stand that, go away and find a soul you can get more well.

I lie sometimes to keep secrets – which I am really attached to- sometimes to build realities that I love to imagine I then start to really live; forr this reason in particular I don’t really set “reality” and “fantasies” apart. You surely will get fantasies are a part of our reality as much as fantasies, and to be honest I live fantasies so much more that actual reality.

Often, in my early teenage, I felt bad because I needed to lie. They always said people lie because they are not happy of their reality, and I felt like a hypocrite looser. I thought about how stupid it was to always lie and how dangerous it was too so many times, always questioning myself on why I needed that so much. Now that I know myself better, I don’t feel guilty anymore, and I explain to myself my way of telling lies so much clearly: I don’t believe in the absolute truth, I never believed in that, and I don’t need it in my life, too. I need to hide things, to create mysteries, to keep secrets (even the most tiny of all, the most irrelevant, but I need to hide it carefully and suddenly it becomes magical, appealing, fascinating) and invent other ones, to build a character out of nothing and give it to the person I like to give it too, to not show my whole me to anyone else and to stay free, playing my inspiring roles and my day-dreamings. I am always myself in my fantasies, I always feel free of any act and those lies are nothing about how I love or hate my actual reality because fantasies (or lies) are part of that too.

If you are asking yourself the problem with a liar is that you cannot trust what I say, then just assume I don’t ever lie to myself, and I am writing this to myself first this time as ever.

Disincantata

 

Fear of being

08/12/2016  

14:30

I’m hiding myself in my bedroom full of secrets once again, trying not to hear my parents screaming. This is not my place, that’s not the place where i want to be. I want to run away. Have they ever thought about us (me and my brother) when they argue? Do they ever think the consequences a child can bring inside him self when heating his parents shouting and arguing?

Me, as a grown up (only outside) child and as a little inside, do know in first person that little things like that can be really dangerous.

Two years ago I was in Depression’s and Anxiety (still with me today) claws, daily fulfilled by antidepressants and ansiolitics. I used to be CONVINCED that I was the cause of my parents’arguments. I was the problem in any situation, maybe they were arguing because my mom would had spent too many money on something but it was like if i used to hear my name, i imagined things and words coming out of their mouths.

Sometimes it still happens when I’m at school and some of my classmates are laughing. I think they’re laughing about me and i start asking myself what’s wrong with me. But I’m sure sometimes they do really laugh about me because I’m “different” since i wear different clothes, shoes, I like weird things, I read my books during lessons..

For the fear of people laughing and judging me for what I AM, I started hiding myself from them, I stopped talking with almost all of my classmates, i used to be afraid of answering a teacher’s question in front of them all because I might have given the wrong answer and they would have made fun of me (it happened when I was interrogared in philosophy and I started crying in front of everyone).  

After I dont even know how much time I was playing this ‘hiding myself’ game, i started noticing that I didn’t know who i was anymore.

I didn’t remember the things i liked doing, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

And maybe even my parents judging at my weird interests have influenced in this depersonalisation thing, if you can call it like that.

I tried to hide my self even from them.

 

If you don’t have “normal” interests, if you are not like everyone else, if you don’t wear what they wear, why do they have to judge/laugh at you? Will they ever put themselves in our shoes? I bet they don’t even care, they just laugh like they would do in a circus to some poor freaks.  

And now I don’t even know why I wrote about it, since I was talking about the relationship between parents and children and what might happen in their cute brains and hearts if they go through situation like these.

I want us to stop hiding ourselves, I want people to stop putting lines between ‘them’ and what’s different!

@chokingames  Caterina

Don’t talk this up

There’s no glamour in this life
Your mothers face yells this loud
There’s no glamour in this life
Everyone should know
It’s sinking to the depths
On your own
There’s no glamour in this life
Only denial will keep you safe
But when that protection breaks
Down you will go
There’s no glamour in this life
And everyone should know
Head ache, heart ache
Body convulsions
There is no glamour in this life

-Allyson Wenhuda

“Unacknowledged sovereigns” first documentary: a view to their untouchable worlds

I need to start this giving a unconditional kiss to all the queens (and kings, actually) who recorded their videos for the documentary project: I deeply and patently attend for your power in all the places in which I worked to realize this (both public or not, both alone and with my twin sister). Thank you.

To make it more clear the concept behind the short documentary, I wish I could say something about it in here. First of all, the main idea was to record something real, something free, something auto-determinative, something out of the dreams (particularly) girls were recluse for so long, the Other Ones dreams/nightmares about them. It was all about subjectivation, free acting, testifies, playing and free talking too. When I first record myself doing something I felt from the inside, I was just playing with my feet, that had been found “ugly” by someone I deeply know. Then I just found myself talking in my own language – that I love, again, I deeply love – and reading some of my writings, something in English too. Then I just didn’t think of what to do and I ended up just making love to words, touching myself while I stay in silence and speak again -speaking in Italian, for I felt free to only make love to my language, or I would lost myself in translation. I was not sorry for you to not understand what I said: this is not important at all, this is not for you a thing to capture or understand. I just needed to physically impose myself to the world so that it would not create something out of me; something I never want to embrace, and that I never was first: something that is not even true and that still could make me feel bad about my own self.

In the clips they sent me that I just put together, most girls and boys just do what they feel they want to do – smoke, dance, stare at the camera, cry, lament, sit down, look at the mirror, removing their make-up or their clothes. I think the most important things was that the videos were recorded by themselves in first person, in the “freedom” of their “solitude”. It would be more hard to be themselves if I’d be the one to record them, and I also thought they would be the first (and best) recorder of them all: the truest. I, myself, do not even know why they do such things in their videos, or in what things they could feel free protagonist of their owns. Most of them told me via email when sending me the clips, but I don’t tell about their reasons in the video and I don’t ask them to speak that to me so that I will understand it all, properly; that is no reason not for anyone to understand why or what they are doing. No reason to not even ask yourself: they are just living their own worlds and that is all the beauty I clearly see in the project.

While watching the video, I just see at them all, I see myself too, and see and see again, and feel the beauty in those amazing reigns impressed with a camera or a smartphone for the world to see. I really appreciate the gratuitousness of this: I don’t know something else, something like the reason why they smile, cry, or smoke because there is no reason for me to understand: the whole video is nothing that can be ever understood. It is just about free expression. They don’t even want to explain something, they want to be. This is just so vivid seeing the video.

What is vivid is also that the “myth” (created and seen from strangers eyes) of the girl, just like that of the boy, need to die if they are not embracing that first. You cannot define a thing out of a thing, you can not define a person out of that person: it is violence to put an image out of them that don’t belongs to them and never will; it will give or steal them things that they don’t want to. They are just their reality and their fantasy, and they (me, too) wish that was just so clearly untouchable as it is in this video.

That is the maximum I can explain about that, because I patently reach the idea that give a meaning to the documentary is really out of reality.

To watch the video, give a look to it at the link below;

YouTube: here

Also follow the Facebook page to join, submit or follow the next documentary projects: here

 

@cantnameacat Disincantata

I need to write this as I need revenge: that is on how school made me a stranger to myself

I was thinking about how the pain I felt in high school would never completely leave me, and that maybe I lost a part of myself too in that huge mess. Then I immediately needed to write me, just a second after I finished embracing this reality with my sister. Talking about her, we were set apart in high school: we chose a different course and school. Now I am thinking that maybe it was for the best, because I could not be able to see the magical being that she always is inside my always-blinded-by-tears eyes in high school. Otherwise, I were not even able to look right through me.

I used to be a mysterious being since ever. Shyness and extreme secrecy I know to be part of myself since I can remember a whole me, but I used to feel ashamed of those parts of me that was the most patent ones from school.  Related to this vision of myself, I always used to also disrespect people who looked at me and immediately thought I was weird or interesting just because I didn’t speak too much or to everybody like others did in class, or because I’d wear different from the others, or I happened to like different things or to look sad, comprehensive or whatever they liked me to be to their stranger eyes. By the way, I did not like myself too, and I could not accept that other people, who did not know me deep, liked me or acted like they did, expecially because I felt it to be not so fair, and not so true: maybe I would have accepted true love or true friendship, but this gross, banal, faked feelings they had for me, I would not ever accept those ones. And in this, I admit I am particularly talking about my Maths teacher in the last year of high school. I hated him so much more than anyone in there, because he liked me.

I always and still feel a feeling for maths. It never is easy to me, but I loved to study maths since the second year of high school, or since when a young female teacher shown a really gentle, respective mood to me. I never thought about how much I was good in maths before, apparently because no one believed in me until her. From that time on I just changed myself in this, and just always felt a bit weird sensation looking at my really brilliant solved exercises for what that I used to think about me and my capacity on maths. I never do bad since that year.

For this reason, when my last year maths teacher seemed to like me, I immediately got it was for my predisposition for the subject he “loved” – ps he said he did not love maths at all, and that he just chose it after he got no chance to study languages. I did not respect that so much, but it was never a matter of this only; he acted like a friend with the class and when I did not show to like talking to him, he always insisted putting me in awkward situations, blushing or not knowing how to answer to his provocative questions. I hated it, and I hated that he always looked at me and always said I was the only one in the classroom who really understood his lessons – obviously, I weren’t. He said I was the most clever in the class, he said I could chose to study anything at university because of my intelligence, he always pressed me into talking with him and he even made me cry once, trying to put my jacket off my shoulders because he said it was too hot the weather – and I was wearing the jacket only to hide under it, to hide my arms that I used to think I hated and to feel protected from social anxiety. He said I need to fight and win my shyness, my insecurities that was actually ALL my inner self in those years: so I got he said just to avoid and to threw away my whole me.

Once he made me into a conversation I had fantasies about the continuing of it; re-living that moment, he said me “and what do you dislike of the place that is school?” and I said “It is too big”, but what I meant to say, if I would explained myself better, was: At that point he would had to say that our school was not so big to him, in terms of spaces. I would had said that I did not mean that terms. I’d assured to my necessity of letting him know that I truly am special, the fact that me and the rest of the school were just ants and huge feet that perfectly fits their shoes. I, as a ant, am not weak nor insignificant, either clever and resistant. The world, thought, and all its places are built to fit those careless, socially capable-of-everything feet only. I don’t manage to arrive anywhere, I can’t learn to do as they do, and in their world all is too big to me. I would had loved to say also that someone should not expect anything from a person because it’d force them to play a role they did not choose first. He always did such a thing to me. 

Multiple times I have had fantasies about him truly acting like he truly liked me, or saw right through me, or really respected my intelligence. I faked he also sincerely wanted to help me grow up well so many times that I need to force myself now into see the reality in him: he never was a mere thing of what I had fantasies on the whole time. And when I think about it, I felt bad for the high school me, because a total stranger made me feeling bad about myself. That is the most reason why I write my revenge, and my revenge could possibly consist in his self-pity, incessant tears over self-hate or humiliation too. Also if he is a stranger and he really means nothing to me at this time in my life, I need revenge and can’t be okay with this just because he really acted the worst to me in a time in which I really did not need so. Thinking about it again, now I know school is not too big for me to fit it, it never was; I would never fit school just because I was not the thing in which it was trying to fit me in. In fact, I had never accepted its stupid roles and superficial feelings and learnings.

@cantnameacat Disincantata