Thursday, February 27, 2014

"Hystery" (a rewrite)

The doctors have said that the severe fluctuations in my hormones is causing dramatic shifts in my mood.

Yesterday I was overcome with uncontrollable crying, so much so that I had to be sent home from work.

Last night I was driving home in the snow storm. I had gone to visit a friend, a quiet respite, a safety net. But then, I grew anxious; I was a burden. So in the midst of the blizzard I ventured home. At one point, rounding a curve, the car slid off the road and into a snow bank. After some effort I was able to back out and continue on my way. "If only I could have been driving faster," I thought.

In a fit of rage I told an ex lover that I hated him, which led to a infantile argument. He called me daft, pitiful, callow, sad, and in the end laughed at me. I called him a heartless asshole. I regret it. I don't hate him. I was simply overcome by so much pain; I was an angry vicious dog lashing out. I was so desperate, desperate for some sort of recognition of my anguish, from a source I knew would affirm what already haunts my mind: you filthy whore, you magdalen, you worthless piece of flesh, used up and unwanted. I don't blame him, he played the role of accuser perfectly.

I looked hysterical. I am hysterical.

Hysterical. Hysteria. Hystereikos, meaning "of the womb." Hysteria, meaning that madness particular to women.

How hysterical we appear in our fits of hysteria...

Isn't it odd that we identify a suffering that is particular to women. How strange that, historically, it is woman who succumbs to hysteria--a madness of the uterus. And how dangerous a uterus that might break loose and run free. Liberty of the female sexual organ leads to madness: hysteria.

In modern Feminism, such beliefs have been criticized and ultimately aborted. And understandably so, since that suffering particular to woman is also in the same breath characterized as inferior. Woman suffers "hysteria" and this hysteria serves as evidence for her weakness and inferiority to man. Thus, as a means of liberation and equality, feminists dissect the idea of hysteria and conclude it to be nothing but another implement of male oppression over female.

As a means of combating this implement, it has been the typical response of the feminist to instead argue against hysteria. The feminist argues that there is not a suffering particular to woman, and so removes evidence of inferiority. In effect, the feminist performs a psychological hysterectomy on woman, which while appearing liberating, in fact does nothing more than reduce the uterus to an excess appendage--like the appendix, easily removed without any effect to the body. In other words, under the guise of liberty woman is yet further oppressed. She mutilates herself and removes the very anatomy that makes her female, and declares this self mutilation a victory.

Huzzah, female castration for all women!

But this is no liberation. Now, by virtue that we possess a uterus, that suffering is somehow not suffering at all. And the womb is "just a womb." Inferior. So that one woman may go without her womb, the lunacy suddenly lies not her in mourning her loss, but that she mourns at all.

How sad that even our feminism has been burdened by the great Cock, crowing his conquest of all hystery, striving for equality through a masculinization and denial of our wombs. The feminist who asserts we are "more than just a womb" or that we are equal, despite our wombs. We can spit out children and work that 9 to 5. And at the sacrifice of our wombs--and the children who bore forth from them--we declare ourselves equal and seek to bury emotion, hide our hysteria.

Our feminism has taught us to become like men. And this we declare equality.

How are we equal, when our very bodies are still subjected to repression? Now, not just men, but women alike view the female reproductive system as something to remain hidden, overcome, harnessed. Women declare equality, by the blood of their wombs.

"Just a womb"

Just the fount of humanity. Just the herald of the future. Just Divinity encompassed in human form--the form of woman. Just holiness, sacred creation. Just the cradle of life... Woman is Truth ("..who has reasons for keeping secret her reasons")

Woman, and humanity, have been duped. We have been convinced of the lie of the womb, that it is inferior. That it is nothing. An appendage to abhor and resent. And how dare a woman confine herself to define herself by "just a womb."

No. No. I must reject that interpretation offered by feminists on the backs of misogynists.

There is a suffering unique to woman. There is a being unique to woman, and it derives from her womb. The anatomy of woman evolved through eternity to gives rise to the embodiment of love and sacrifice, two ideas completely alien to the very engine of evolution itself. Alien and unique, thus making woman a unique expression. The fallacy lies not in the recognition of this uniqueness but rather in the supplication of it.

I am Woman, embodiment of pure sacrifice. I am Woman, the life of my species. I am Woman, the Mother of every future generation. I am Woman. I am this womb. I am hysteria. I am Woman, I am the gender blessed by Divine madness. I am the gender kissed with holiness, the house of creation. I am woman, the sacred body through which life emerges. To be called woman is to be called the zenith of life, where the darkness and goodness of life bears forth, where woman is the penultimate sacrifice--sacrificed to her hysteria, to her womb, to the future.

The womb: that natural symbol which represents the eternal foundations of the world, love & sacrifice...

But in this way the womb is dangerous. The womb is subversive. It points to our inevitable individual demise as it bares forth new faces primed for the future. And it scares us... So we deem it inferior. We repress and suppress the womb, and woman by extension. And so for equality demand the woman become like man, lest she fastens the power of her womb. And we tell girls to fear the womb, and all things associated, and those complexity of emotions which reflect the complexity of the world. Repress the womb, daughter. Repress the womb, for it is nothing, just an appendage. Repress the womb, for it is dangerous...

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