Monday, 2 February 2015

The Things I Should Have Said | Life

12:30 am, 2 bottles of wine, rounds of tequila shots and endless vodka and lemonades down, here we find ourselves. Four girls, stuffed in between the walls of a tiny toilet cubicle in the middle of a bustling club. Heels up to our waists, eyelashes sweeping the ceiling, bodies distorted by clever underwear, misrepresenting the dimensions of our waist-lines. Here we are. All made up & let's face it, after that many units, starting to fall apart. It's your friends turn this week and you can recall only a few weeks back you were sitting in her place, astride the toilets grimy lid, sobbing your eyes out, all the while ensuring your fake eyelashes don't try to use your cheek as a slip and slide. Does this situation sound familiar? I would imagine so. I've lost track the amount of times I have been in this particular circumstance, giving reassuring pats to strangers and friends alike, telling them that they are beautiful, he's not worth it and honestly, you do have amazing hair. That night, well, that night I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake her by her pretty little shoulders and make her see sense. Every time I have been squashed in a cubicle, sitting on a pavement outside, every time I have been giving lectures over a drunken mcdonalds at 4 in the morning or a shoulder to cry on in the taxi home. Every single time this happens, my beautiful, wonderful friends have been tearing themselves apart over the fact that boy was a dick, again, or their jeans don't button up anymore, or they are so sure they have a wonky eye, and, lets face it, most of the time, its the whole, not enough boys came up to me tonight and offered to buy me drinks- not enough men found me suitably fuckable, even after pasting make up over my face and not eating all week, just to be able to wear a tight dress. And let me get this in now, I am a hypocrite. I too, after my weekly prescription of shots, do occasionally find myself in an emotional mess, make up melting down my face, wanting nothing else but more alcohol and a bloody kebab.
But it was this night that something so forceful that I had buried deep inside of me poked itself out from where it had been hiding and nestled into my brain, it absolutely demanded to be heard. I had an overwhelming urge to shout at my friend, I wanted to scream in her face, I wanted to tell her when I looked at her it had never once phased me that she was two dress sizes bigger than when we first met, that when I'm chatting to her I'm not thinking about her perfectly angled eyebrows or if her fake tan is patchy. I wanted to tell her that she was worth so much more than the fact her thighs have got thicker,  she was worth the amazing artist that she is, I should have told her how much I admired her courage and the strength it took to leave university, because she knew her own mind better than the people who tried to tame her.  I love that she is hands down the best shopping companion I have ever had, how she never fails to make me laugh and she always gives the best advice and we all know she loves us cause she has such a big heart. I guess I just wanted to tell her that instead of resting all her self confidence on all those lousy men on the other side of the wall, who, lets face it, could offer her nothing more than a bad haircut, shouty car and a sports BTEC, instead of determining her own value through the number of drinks she gets bought and guys that look over, she should look at who she is and her wonderful brain and personality and she should be ecstatic, drunk off the fact that she is a stunning person, whose friends and family love her unconditionally because of how she thinks and what she says, not because of her new haircut.
I didn't say that, I didn't say any of it. Instead I opened my mouth and reassured her we all feel a bit crap about our bodies, so lets get healthy together, gym trips together. I told her that she was beautiful and any guy would be lucky to have her. I did not lie, but I did not say what I should have. Alas, the early hours of the morning, preaching to three drunken, emotional girls, is not the time to break all that society has bought us up to believe in. Because who do we think we are, to believe that we could ever be more than a sexual object right? It's a changing world out there, every day women are smashing the expectations and moulds set for them, we are making something of ourselves, and, hell yeah, we look damn good when we're doing it. Every day remarkable people are proving themselves to be more than an object for the sexual gratification of men, women stop competing with other women for the attention of men, they stop ripping each other down and start holding each other up. This is not a Man vs Woman war, this is not a feminist issue. This is challenging the ideals society has set up.

I mean, for fucks sake, you are worth more than your hair.

So this is for those three girls in the toilet cubicle, this is for all my friends I haven't seen in a while, all my friends I am yet to meet, this is for all the strangers I've met on nights out, this is for anyone who has felt like their own value rests solely on their appearance, this is for all of you and this is what I should have said.

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