Incels and their story…

20180423_122816.jpgApril 23rd was a gorgeous day. That afternoon I pulled on my running shoes and headed out for a walk on a nearby trail. It was beautiful and peaceful walking alongside the Harmony creek.

I got my 10 thousand steps (plus a few extra thousand) then wandered back home, logging onto Facebook once I’d said “hi” to Colin. The first post that showed up on my page was an article saying a white van had jumped a curb in Toronto then continued forward, striking everyone and everything in it’s path. There were 9 dead and 16 injured, a statistic that soon changed to 10 dead and 15 injured.

One of my first thoughts was “why?” Was the driver drunk? High? Did he suffer a drop in sugar and subsequently passed out? Did he have a heart attack? A seizure?

The answer was none of those. Soon people started talking about him being an incel. I figured that was some sort of terrorist group and it is. It’s just their reasoning and targets are slightly different.

Incel stands for “involuntary celibate”, I guess mainly because they don’t like the more accurate moniker of misogynist. They hate the rest of humanity, who they refer to as “normies” or Stacy for the girls who aren’t interested in them (that would be all women) and Chad for the men who have managed to have relationships. They had a huge group in Reddit (I’ve heard it’s been removed) and congregate on 4chan, which isn’t a surprise. They also pretty much worship Elliot Rodger, the self described incel who killed 7 people in Isla Vista, California.

incel idiocy1One of the first things I noticed when I read the post to the left is that the poster doesn’t have any concept of personality, mutual interests, or intellectual attraction. His only thought is physical attraction on a 1 – 10 high school rating system, kind of like in high school. He’s mad at woman for cheating the system by wearing makeup to make her look prettier then he assumes that cute guys are only into her for her “fake” looks. He even goes so far as claiming good makeup skills should be punishable by law.

Cue a conversation in jail…
“Why are you here?”
“I, umm, put on some Covergirl…”

incel idiocy2He gets right into setting out the teenage boys’ hotness scale as law. Makeup gets banned immediately as it “falsely advertises their beauty”, granting them sex with “guys above their league”.

Then he gets into even more government regulations, this time calling for a state mandated hotness test for all adults, again based on a high school 1 to 10 scale. He presumes that everyone has the same ideals for physical beauty and, of course, ignores intelligence, kindness, animation, and sensuality. So, in his world, if a 3/10 man clicks with a 5/10 woman, that can’t happen no matter how much they love each other. What’s love in an incel world?

incel idiocy3Apparently dick is a big, dirty problem because it seems to taint women. Each dick she copulates with brings her down a notch on the scale. And she can’t move back up the scale unless she exercises. Note, there is no corresponding drop for men. If they have sex with nine women it’s celebration time. And, finally we come to state mandated rape. Every woman with more than nine partners and every single Mom has to date and have sex with the men too repellent to get dates on their own. They don’t have a choice in the matter. You broke up with your abusive husband? Okay, well here’s Bill. He has fantasies of choking a woman during rape and he’s all yours now. Find a sitter and go make sure he has fun!

These men live in a two dimensional world where everyone is straight and worth only their physical appearance. And as I’ve said already, nothing else matters. When I fell in love with Lenny, I didn’t fall in love with his physical appearance, although I did find him attractive. I fell in love because we had similar interests. We both were working on a blog, we were both vegan, we both loved cats and music. We could talk for hours. But none of that matters to incels.

Women don’t matter to them at all. We exist as objects formed only to provide them sexual pleasure. Sexual pleasure they feel is owed to them. Women are simply objects to dole out to men who can’t find someone to date them. I’m a single Mom. My worth did not increase when I was dating my exes and it didn’t decrease when our relationships ended. I am not a bone to throw at some stray dog, in hopes it will stop growling. I am a human being with all the rights that entails.

It would be nice to think that post was a one off but it’s not. Another post is making the rounds on Facebook.

incel stalking

Just a bit of harmless psychological fun, chasing a young teenage girl and frightening her half to death, just so she’ll notice you. And he enjoys it enough that he goes from city to city harassing women. He says he abhors rape but how long will it be before he, or one of the “lonely incels” he’s encouraging, decide the chase isn’t fun enough. What happens when he actually catches someone?

incel mandated girlfriendsJust in case someone thinks that these misogynists are strictly American, despite Alek Minassian being Canadian. Here’s a post for you. One where, once again, women have no value of their own and no rights to their thoughts, feelings, wants, and needs. If a guy needs a girlfriend, there’s a girl right here. Who cares about her personality or interests? It’s her vagina that counts.

Plus it’s women who are at fault for men’s actions. It’s not a man’s job to stop himself from mass murder. It’s women because no one stepped up and spread their legs. It doesn’t matter if they’re uninterested, actively repulsed, or not even interested in men. He feels that single men are made to feel like trash and they should be handed the first available woman as if she’s his due.

 

 

I have an blog post that I’m going to link here that shows, in depth how depraved and out of touch these misogynists are. The blog post needs a trigger warning because it discusses how they are planning on attacking people, women in particular.

I have no idea how to help the misogynistic men we already have. Their personalities are set and they’re aimed at sad, delusional lives. What I do think is we need to work with our children. We need to teach them that both boys and girls have feelings, that it’s okay to cry. We need to let boys do “girl things” like play in the house centre in kindergarten and wear pink. It’s okay to like glitter and stuffed animals and Barbies. I believe that restricting these from boys and claiming they’re only for girls does two things. One it sets them up with a sense of outrage because only girls can do what he wanted and, two, it sets them up to think girl things and girls are lesser because if they were equal, he could do the same things as them.

I think we’re slowly raising more and more boys who believe in equality and who seek women for more than their looks. With any luck incels will turn out to be a dying breed.

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Struggling with irrationality…

I’ve lived in my body for 47 years now and I had grown accustomed to how it behaved. Well at least up until two years ago when my depression quickly spiraled out of control and my anxiety skyrocketed.

These days I’m taking Effexor, Abilify, Mirtazapine, and Lithium to keep my depression in check and so far they’re working quite well. But I’m only taking one Clonazepam a day and, quite frankly, I might as well be taking a baby aspirin for the amount of help it seems to offer. I’m not about to stop taking it to see if it gets any worse. It got dropped down by half once already and that was not good.

Right now I’m working on getting myself out of the house for walks at least five times a week. On three of those days, I’m in a group right beside the Oshawa Creek trail so it makes sense to walk either there or back. That leaves two days to find an alternate path. Thankfully I have two other trails I frequent plus the walking track at our local recreation centre.

The hard part is getting out of my house. It’s so much safer and comfortable at home, especially in my room. I can read, write, scrapbook, and chat with friends. But the more time I spend at home, the stronger the urge is to not leave. And that’s a trap I don’t want to fall into.

I have my main trail mapped out in detail. I start out by the Midtown Mall then go under the John Street bridge, through the park, under the Gibb Street bridge, etc. I know the order of every bridge I’m going under and how many more I have to pass. That still doesn’t stopped the occasional sudden panicked feeling that I’m not home and, even if I left right now, I wouldn’t be home any time soon. I feel like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk, trapped and absolutely petrified. It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep taking one step after another. Thankfully the panic eventually fades, especially with a breathing exercise or counting down my senses (five things I can see etc).

Or like today. I was almost to the end of the trail, almost to my Social Recreation group, when a miniature street sweeper approached, cleaning the concrete path. The driver stopped the sweeper and waited for me to pass before starting again. Meanwhile I struggled with intense panic because that wasn’t supposed to happen. I can pass all the fishermen and women, the dog walkers, the joggers, the bikes, the people in scooters, the people on electric motorbikes… with no problem at all. I see them all regularly. But I’d never seen a sweeper on the trail. It was something new. Something different.

It’s frustrating because I know full well that’s an irrational fear. It makes sense to have a vehicle to clean the path. But that realization didn’t stop my heart from pounding or my chest from tightening, squeezing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. I assured myself, again and again, that I was safe and almost to group. It was only three blocks away. Even so I was still trembling slightly when I walked into the room and poured myself a glass of water. Luckily I don’t think anyone noticed.

It’s calling for rain all tomorrow so I’ll be walking on the track in our recreation centre. I haven’t walked there since December so I’m hoping my anxiety won’t be too overwhelming and that my music will help soothe it down.

The past two years have been a roller coaster of moods, emotions, and irrational fear and I don’t see them disappearing any time soon. Hopefully I’ll get used to this new normal, at least enough to make peace with it. Hopefully I can smooth out those irrational fears.

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Little blue flowers beside the Oshawa Creek

Planning ahead…

This past week has been weird. We had rain that turned to freezing rain, then snow, then freezing rain again, then more rain. Everything was slick with ice on Sunday so we cancelled our weekly visit to my parents’ and then my Tuesday group got cancelled even though the ice had melted by then, leaving only the snow.

slush and snowIt was Wednesday when I realized I didn’t want to go anywhere. Not to the walking track, not to the Cedar Valley trail, not even downstairs to the treadmill. I just wanted to stay home, safe in my room. I didn’t need a medical degree to know this wasn’t good. So I went for my walk, despite the anxiety. The walk was horrible. Half the sidewalks weren’t shoveled and the snow was grainy and treacherous. I’d take a step that seemed firm… until it wasn’t and my foot was sliding down and sideways. Then I finally got to the trail and discovered it was 90% slush and 10% running water. I looked at the mess shown in the picture, turned around, and walked back home. The good news is I still got my 10 thousand steps in.

I got back on track with my group yesterday then had my group again today followed by a walk home on the Oshawa Creek trail… a trail that’s, thankfully, paved and shoveled.

One of the group facilitators commented yesterday on the groups stopping for summer, which made me realize that my whole schedule is going to change completely come the end of June. In one way that’s obvious, it’s just I hadn’t been thinking that far in advance. But those handful of days with no schedule made me realize I really need a schedule, whether it’s external or self imposed.

One thing I know I’ll need to incorporate is walking. I figure if I get up, have breakfast, then go for a walk, that will get the day started on a good footing. I’ll also need to carve out family time, likely Sunday as that’s the day we’ve been meeting. And when Kait starts her maternity leave, I’ll need to carve out time to visit with her and, eventually, the wee one.

I figure if I start planning slowly now, I’ll have a good, solid plan by the time summer rolls around. A plan that incorporates exercise, fresh air, and healthy food. A plan that doesn’t end with me retreating even farther into my room.

World Semicolon Day…

semicolon

image by Project Semicolon

As most of you know, I struggle with mental health issues. I’ve been diagnosed with major depressive disorder, severe anxiety, and agoraphobia (something I’m fighting hard against). I’ve been suicidal several times and luckily enough cognizant of the fact enough to ask for help. I’ve been hospitalized four times.
 
Today I speak out in support of world semicolon day for the millions who are too scared to speak up. Too scared to say something’s wrong. Too scared to reach out because they are positive no one will care. I promise, someone will care. I have a list of numbers and websites here that offer help and support.
 
Today I am grateful I didn’t jump.
tattoo no flash

February 75th…

I am so tired of winter, especially since it’s April. I don’t want to see snow or ice, of which we have both. I want to see green sprouts in the grass and flowers beginning to bloom. So far that hasn’t been the case although the long range forecast calls for sunshine and warmth by the end of the week. I’ll believe that when I see it. And, since I’m stuck inside, I’m working on our “spring cleaning”.

Ato do listbout a week ago, Colin decided to turn our storage closet into a computer room, which meant relocating a bunch of stuff to the living room. Some of it’s been moved but there’s still a handful of stuff in need of a home. Cleaning that clutter was one of the chores on my to do list two days ago, along with cleaning off the kitchen table and repairing my Canada Day decoration… which made it’s way out of the storage closet to collapse into four pieces on my kitchen table. The rest of the chores have thankfully been completed, it was just those three remaining.

I know I’m going to be cleaning the living room on my own, simply because Colin currently has homework he’s ignoring. Homework that will suddenly become of major importance as soon as I set foot in the living room. But, whether he helps or not, it has to get done, and I’ll feel so much better without the clutter. Does anyone else feel crummy when the house is messy?

I don’t know why but for some reason I feel like my head’s stuffed full of clouds today. I’m trying to concentrate on writing but my mind tugs in all sorts of directions and my thoughts feel mushy. I’ve got no other way to explain it. At least I don’t need much brain power to clean, although I probably could use it to write. I’ll edit this later to add an after picture of the living room. My before picture is only going into my accountability group on Facebook.

clean apartment blog

The clean living room. Colin brought the patio umbrella in because it was windy then decided it made our apartment look more “springlike”. Also, it’s snowing… again.

A rest day…

So today is February 74th. The wind is howling outside my window and the snow is buried under a layer of ice, with more coming. In short, it’s the perfect day to stay home and rest…

*looks at my bed*

… something my cats are doing amazingly well.

I had my psychiatrist appointment on Thursday and my suspicions of agoraphobia are correct, so I have something new on my plate. I had an aunt (by marriage) on my Dad’s side of the family with agoraphobia and she ended up housebound. I don’t want to get that severe. So I push myself to get out most days, no matter how hard it is. Keeping track of my breathing helps a little. Finding things to see, hear, feel, and taste* helps a lot more. And sometimes I just grit my teeth and keep walking.

Then he mentioned that I do better in the summer, which is something I’ve said before, but then I stopped to think. I’ve been hospitalized in June and September, both of which are summer here. I think that suicidal depression is able to hit at any time but the long, low days are more likely to happen during winter. If that makes sense. Sometimes things that make sense in my head don’t translate as well on paper.

My fresh start is doing well, despite the weather. I was able to get out for two walks last week and, so far, have lost 2lbs. I’ve also made sure I’m eating a lot of vegetables and fruits. And luckily the weather is improving starting tomorrow, with warmer weather and less rain. Hopefully that trend will continue and we can move on to April and May instead of lengthening February.

And now I’m going to curl up in my swing chair and read, ignoring the wailing wind on the other side of the glass. Today’s my day to rest. Tomorrow I’ll work on walking again.

snow and ice storm

Picture taken from my room on February 73rd

* I am NOT actually tasting things on my walk. That one ends up simply being saliva and whatever I ate last.