It feels like just yesterday I was sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s car saying, “I want to find a boy like Morrissey one day.” And her reply being, “Sky, you know he’s gay, right?” I didn’t. And honestly I am pretty sure he calls himself “human-sexual” now, so gay might not be the correct term anyways. But it wasn’t even the idea of him that I loved. I was in love with the idea of the person who wrote the lyrics to all of The Smith’s songs I loved dearly.
It feels like just yesterday that I was a sad teen girl.
I was, about two and a half years ago. Even just two years ago I was a teen girl. I hated it. You have to have a certain kind of superpower to get through teenage girl years and that superpower is called being a girl. I was so depressed. I wore deep blue lipstick and I could recite every word to every song off the album Louder Than Bombs faster than you can say louder than bombs. I was so in love with love. I craved it so badly. But, too socially anxious, I sat in study hall writing about it. And of course, every time a young broken boy was near, I would sniff out the path to try and fix a heart that would just break mine. We all do that. Teenage girls. Seek the one we can call home as long as we build it alone but live in it together. I, too, thought: If I just said it one more time, maybe it would be heard. That it wasn’t the fact that I was just a teenage girl not worth listening to. Ignoring. Thought that if I stopped wearing a bra, the boys in my second period study hall class would stop rating my boobs because at least, without a bra, they aren’t pushed up. And if I ever wanted to be a radical feminist that believes in “freeing the nipple,” I had to take it like a strong woman should when I was only a girl. I believed that freeing the nipple would mean that men’s brains would automatically change and not sexualize a young girl’s body. And I knew it wouldn’t, but I wanted to believe. That if I struggled through a party, maybe I would make some friends. But if I didn’t, it’s okay because at least people will think I am social. The validation from the people that couldn’t have cared less if I was alive or dead meant more to me than the love I have for myself.
I am 20 years old now. I will be 21 in two months. Officially in my twenty somethings. My depression turned me into a warrior and my mind is now the armor. No one can change what I think about me. My lipstick changed to a dark purple and I still can recite every lyric to the album Louder Than Bombs. But I focus on loving myself now. I started speaking my mind more and expressing my strong opinions. Most “Morrisseys” left my life naturally because of that. I’ve learned most men are scared of woman like me. But that is why I fell in love with the man I am with today. Who built this home with me. And I didn’t need to sniff out the path, he walked through my bedroom door. And the same men (plus everyone else) won’t listen to you. So don’t try to make them. Because some will listen to you one day. And you won’t have to say it through a megaphone for them to hear it. Nowadays, I still don’t wear a bra, but because I don’t want to. And I’ve learned that giving men a reason to sexualize you will only scare you away from fighting. The only option is to f the system from the inside. So that is the whole reason I am getting this degree. So one day I can show all the teen girls that you can get through this life by loving who you are unconditionally. That means knowing your flaws, digging up every aspect of yourself so that you can know you, and then loving you still. Despite the sexist assholes, despite the fact that you don’t love your body, despite the fact that the boy doesn’t love you back. Despite every single person who didn’t believe in you.
You are so much more than a sad teen girl. And one day, when you finally are a woman. In all it’s beauty and blood, you will see just how powerful you are.
This is for all the girls, when they grow.