6th July 2018
And here is an ugly language warning for my Mother.
As someone who gets caught up in appearances, I was, for a long time, scared about expressing any thing more than mildness, meekness, loveliness, and the expectantly feminine (doormat). I don’t want to be like that anymore. If yoga and meditation have taught me anything, it’s that suppressing emotion is generally quite toxic; and if I ever got anything truly worthwhile out of the high school experience, it’s that pretending to be what you’re not so you’ll be liked is futile, because they’re going to ignore you in Coles a few years later anyway.
Wrangling your emotions to fit in with what’s considered beautiful is exhausting for anyone, let alone someone with an oceanic emotional range. And in this society, anger is ugly, pessimism is not admirable, and negativity is unattractive. But just like the cellulite on my bum-cheeks, and the acne between my eyebrows: I’ve learnt out of necessity to be okay with them.
Putting energy into being positive when all I want to do is throw plates at a brick wall is tiresome and lame, and it’s something I do not want to do anymore. I came to this only recently, when all of the yuck bits of being a human bashed me about like a big-arse-fucking tsunami in a successful effort to remind me of just how shitty being a human can be. The past couple of weeks have been packed with twatty people, I’ve been reminded of how much of an anus society is, and my body may as well be a clump of wax, it is that useless. Long story short, I’ve been pissed off. Not like, “well this is an inconvenience”. Not even, “life’s a bitch”. It’s more of a, “everyone is a cunt, and I’m a cunt, and the world is a cunt, and not even the full moon can excuse this level of fucktardery.”
It’s not been a good time.
These haven’t been the times for Minties either. Those things are fucking useless in an existential crisis; I don’t care what the wrappers say. It’s been a time to be a whining crybaby, and to swear at the self-checkout machines at the supermarket (don’t worry, they can take it). Both of which are extremely valid responses. Not enough credit is given to anger; or any dark emotion, for that matter. Sadness, moodiness, frustration, contempt, envy. All of these gross feelings are seen as ugly, something to be hidden, and not beneficial to society in the slightest. If you’re not a little ray of sunshine all the time, well, I’m sorry, but “you can’t sit with us.”
To this whole notion of needing to be a little ray of sunshine all of the time, I call bullshit, and also the reason we have so many problems worldwide. I can hear you thinking, “Meg, anger and contempt are the reasons we have so many problems in the world.” No, anger and contempt are the natural bits of being human that we have been conditioned to resent, and therefore hide (a lot like cellulite-Sally on my arse). It’s because of this that we don’t deal with them healthily and productively. Or, even better, just let the feelings be. It’s okay for the ugly to be there if it’s not hurting anybody.
As someone who experiences a lot of feelings to widely varying degrees of severity, I will tell you that these feelings are as necessary as the night is to day. I’m not saying you can be a prick because you feel like shit; I’m saying you can feel like shit, especially if someone’s a prick. Anger is a very passionate thing, and it holds a lot of power. Jesus got angry. The suffragettes were angry. The school kids in America are angry. There are so many angry people in shitty situations, but they are determined to harness it for the uncomfortable, painful, and appropriate change. You see them, and you understand that it isn’t necessarily happiness and positivity that drives us through the tough times. It’s anger, and spite, and pimples and cellulite.
I mean, how many perfectly content people do you know who are completely useless?
Going through this pooey time, I’ve tried my best to be an optimist who posts nice things on Instagram, looks at gardens, and freely compliments strangers. But beauty and emotional prettiness aren’t the life rafts I need to get through the big-arse-fucking tsunamis. I need to turn up some Alanis Morissette, embrace the ugly, flip the bird, ask myself “What Would Jesus Do?” and flip a fucking table (pretty sure that’s scripture).