I’m Not Like Other Girls

“Women hate women…”

When I was younger I was disgustingly misguided. No wait… I was an unbelievable twat. I’m not like other girls (insert pride and shit-eating grin). With laser-like focus, I wanted you to know how different I was. I felt had to show my peers how different I was for them to like and respect me. The easiest targets for my disdain was other girls. I’d tear them apart one verbal dissection at a time.

I have had really good and bad experiences in my friendships with other women. I’m harder on other women because well… I expect better from them. I’m afraid of how other women’s behaviour reflects on me and behave atrociously towards other women for male attention and respect.

“Women should be…”

I hate it. I hate that I have to consciously remind myself she has the same bruises and blisters. We’ve been dealt more or less the same hand, but instead of remembering pain and using that to relate to one another; I competed. It was the little things. “I don’t hang out with other girls, cuz you know…too much drama”. Yeah, sure. Like that’s not human nature as a whole not the stupid performance of femininity. The truth is I enjoyed being the odd girl in a band of brothers. The uniqueness of being the sole woman in a group of men, because instead of carving out my own space; I wanted to sit with the boys.

“Who the fuck does she think she is?”

It was plain old insecurity projected onto other women. I don’t hate other women. I melted faces with reckless abandon because I would rather attention was on me instead of them. I wanted to show you how much smarter I was by being dismissive of her. I ridiculed her because I simply couldn’t stand to be less than her in your eyes. The end.

“What an attention-whore…”

There is not whit of real change that never came from a dishonest place. The why doesn’t matter. For all you care it was a thorough beating or bad shrooms. All I know is pain extended onto to others doesn’t heal what ails you. Forget that steaming pile of ooh-look-at-me shit about self-love. Ask yourself why she bothers you. Why you can’t stand the way she doesn’t it into your tidy little box of how you think she should behave. Anger burns quick, but resentment lingers. If you want to keep enduring your own bullshit — have at it kid.

I’m unlearning

Patriarchy, feminism, conditioning, othering. No. No buzzword bingo please. I don’t wanna regurgitate ideologies without properly examining myself. Perhaps it’ll come to me in time.

I’m no different. No better. Not above side-eyed envy masquerading as concern. Fallible. Gullible. Amazingly forgetful when confronted by my own failings. Hawk-eyed when weakness in others presents itself. I’m tucking that shit in