Why Women Are Trash

Why Women Are Trash

I got dumped because I was an asshole. Every word I said was toxic, every reply to my voice became a sigh on the other end. Every tear I shed became a heavy weight. I had a knack for misunderstanding the very words that were uttered. The relationship graduated from being a priority to being the very distraction from priorities. As a woman, I over exerted my need to be kept and understood, to show how much I loved. I preyed on guilt and snacked on pride. I snatched it before it could devour me.

“Therefore I will not keep silent; I will speak out in the anguish of my spirit, I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.” (Job7v11)

There’s a certain madness in love, that unnerves you and like a newborn, it’s consistent need to be fed and soothed is such an exhausting thing, but the very act of feeding and soothing it is the undeniable act of love. It’s in the trying times that love is tested. Ultimately, I got dumped because I’m intangible, my lack of physicality doesn’t make me real enough, it doesn’t make me worth enough. Consequently, being female, I could very well be misguided in the way that I’m thinking because of our innate need to overthink everything. Maybe I just don’t grasp the point. Every intention that ascends from him is always from a good place, every statement he makes is of a sound mind and nothing he says contradicts his character. So why then, is my heart so heavy? Why is my head on my knees? Shakespeare said “love is not love which alters when it’s alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. It is the ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.” Well I hate to break it to you William, but this is one big shit storm and “shaken” is an understatement at this point.

Perhaps it was the push and pull of words and actions that had the placebo effect.  While it looked promising on the surface, it was as empty as a poor man’s pockets.  Without a shadow of a doubt, with every fibre inside of me I really did try my best to brave the storm and fight, and I’m beginning to think that perhaps that was the problem. Maybe we’re not supposed to fight so hard and assume so much. Our jobs are to be ourselves and keep our emotions in check. Our objective is to separate our past from our present. Perhaps I failed, miserably.

I’m learning that some relationships don’t work out because people think their partners job is to make them happy. Contentment isn’t found in a relationship or marriage, God has to be your source of joy. If you find someone who has a relationship with God, they’ll turn to Him when times are bad, not a new relationship. I looked to him for my joy and got upset when he didn’t look to me for his. Maybe I am the monumental asshole in the story, but I do know that no one deserves to lie awake all night staring at the ceiling questioning whether they are a shitty person or not, no one should have to sit and interrogate their hearts intentions.

I should be piercing tiny needles into a voodoo doll shaped as him, I should be on some angry rebound binge, but all the hate I have is reserved for myself. I feel so foolish and exposed for throwing caution to the wind and embracing an arrogant sense of “everything is going to be okay.” I still love him, naturally. I’m also still a moron, and I don’t think I’m all that clued up about life the way I thought I was, every word fuelled my heart and every empty stare tattered my veins, but with some sense of certainty, I know that genuinely hoping the best for someone who completely ripped your heart out doesn’t make you weak. It means your love transcends their misplaced sense of it and that’s okay. Maybe I will be worthy of some kind of love someday. But as the good Lord above knows my heart;

“I will never again walk this road. The self-hate is just too great a burden to bare.” 

Women are trash because every impulse we have is a vivid vibration of everything we need to survive. We crave the kind of attention no man can even begin to fathom. Women are trash, because like trash we are forced to store all the unwanted waste men leave behind; the unsaid words, the promises that are discarded in time and all the recycled “I love you’s.” This is the trouble with women, because no two trash cans are ever the same, we might look alike on the outside but inside no two women are engorged in the same filth in the same way. Every particle of neglected feelings, hurt and shame differs. We are each bruised so differently, yet so differently that we all understand the same punch to the stomach. We hurt the same for so many different reasons.

The words of David echo in my heart when he said “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Look on me and answer, Lord my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, and my enemy will say “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall. But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lords praise, for He has been good to me.” (psalm13v1)

Every so often women ruin a good thing because of what’s been plastered on our wounds from before the good man came along.  Emotionally we are very right with our analysis yet so very wrong with our projections.  We find it difficult to take a man by his word because so many other times we did, we lost a limb in the process.  That one time we were meant to keep silent, fully trust, and have faith that we will not fall, is the one time we construct our own demise.  Words become our ammunition and attitude towards the world become our shield.  Men fall back because they don’t even know how they found themselves in the black widow’s web, they run far from a mess they didn’t create.  While we’re the ones who end up with poofy eyes and a broken heart because we. Just. Could. Not. Stop. Feeling. Too. Much. Emotions are a dangerous path to walk because they can’t be trusted, and they don’t know how to keep mum.  As women, we give far too much credit to our pain, and not enough to the ones who try to heal it.  As ‘implausible’ as this may seem; sometimes we are wrong.

“If I am guilty – woe to me! Even if I am innocent, I cannot lift my head, for I am full of shame and drowned in my affliction.” (Job10v15)

So, maybe Shakespeare had a point, maybe love is the ever-fixed mark that can brave any tsunami, perhaps it’s the illusion of what we think love is that is easily shaken.  We get so immersed in the act of supplying an in-depth examination of why we’re hurt, and why we’re right, that we lose sight of the reasons why we’re so painfully mistaken, and bitterly wounded from an internal war.  This whole him-and-her, love-and-hate, right-and-wrong thing isn’t as black and white as our textbooks make it seem.  The more I look to God for council the more His making it known that I need to accept what happened in the past, remove the bandage from that trauma, and scratch the scab of stubbornness, because if I don’t, I’m only going to ruin my future.

So, with significant reluctance, but desperate hunger, this is a letter to my past:

I did nothing to warrant the daggers I slowly had to pluck from deep within my back. I obliviously loved and naïvely danced on the map of humiliation you paved out for me. I was a stupid young girl with a stupid optimism about what was happening around me. I chased acceptance but didn’t realise deception was on par with my shadow. I was a wholehearted trusting fool and you laughed at my clumsy understanding of the real world.

It wasn’t sudden, my desecration. I decayed, like a dying tree. Month by month, year by year. I feared you lovingly. That was sudden, the fear. The stench of my weakness empowered you. You relished in my submission, it sharpened your teeth. Your narrowminded consideration became my tunnel, my path to debris. I said no, you knew. Absconding from you detoured me into you. Only your tapered mind was my passage to hope. My soul tried to navigate to the end, but your grip seduced my courage.

You no longer have power over me. I will not allow you to taint my future, taunt my sanity, or tarnish those who love me anymore. You devoured my dignity and decapitated my pride, but as God is my witness you will no longer snatch my joy, or infect my future. I am strong, I am worthy of so much more than you taught me to believe I am. I deserve to love and accept love. Your shame is no longer welcome in my bed. I sleep with hopeful anticipation now, we dream together and encourage each other. We are bound in faith and unshaken by any ebb and flow of disorder and uncertainty. We dine with God and fellowship in His grace. God has prepared my table of rebirth before you. You may not eat, but you will starve in the face of abandonment because there is no assigned seat for you at this banquet. With unfailing love God has emancipated me from your chains of victimhood.

With no more love or attention,

no longer yours,

Méhgan.

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