I used to be a feminist.
Growing up in central New Jersey to Hungarian immigrant parents, the public school system left me with no other choice but to absorb their female empowerment indoctrination.
Decades later, and after a permanent move to Hungary at the age of fifteen, I found myself in my late twenties at the height of this much celebrated female empowerment: forty pounds overweight with greasy uncut hair, lying in bed in my pajamas at 2 PM on a weekday, alternating between playing League of Legends and World of Warcraft. On occasion, I would open my bedside drawer which was full of candy bars and lemon meringue cookies and loudly snack on a thousand calories at one go. I’d sweep the crumbs off my chest with a hand, and probably vacuum the floor about twice a year. Sometimes, a bug would crawl around the wall. I would smash it with a book, and leave its carcass stuck on the wall like some grotesque modern art installation depicting millennial female life.
This is what I did for years, pretty much. I had a job, and — surprisingly — a fiancé, but I still liked to leech off my mother for extra money. Was I happy?
I don’t know. But if someone suggested otherwise, or softly recommended some weight loss programs, or that I buy clothes that were not oversized black t-shirts with death metal band logos on their fronts, I would shriek with rage like a banshee.
“How dare you insult me, you fuck! I know exactly what I’m doing! I like everything just the way it is! Women don’t need to dress nicely. What’s nice for you isn’t nice for me! I can do whatever I waaant!”
The evil criticizer would usually back off, but I could always tell that they were left unconvinced by my very persuasive argument of everything being fine. Their silent exasperation would piss me off even further.
Feminism is a sick ideology that tricks the mind into believing that which is false. It champions the lazy, irresponsible, crass, unhealthy, and fights against female virtues. It is a doctrine of settling instead of striving.
Was I happy? According to fat positive blogs, there was nothing in the world I needed to change. It was society that needed to change. Especially those sexist bigot white heterosexual men, and until they did, I would just continue hiding in my room and eating three square meals of Snickers.
Something wasn’t right in my allegedly perfect universe, however. Sometimes, there’d be this weird voice in my head that would tell me I was a disgusting waste of potential. “Stop lying to yourself,” it would say. And a black void would open in my mind, and I would look into it and see no future for myself. No husband, no children, no pretty clothes. Leaning a little too far over the edge into the blackness would make me suicidally depressed, and no amount of video games or cheesecake or dildos would fix that.
I always knew, deep down, that I was lying to myself about the state of my life. Feminists know they are lying to themselves. That’s why they are such bitches. They need to fight tooth-and-nail to keep their fragile fantasy world from collapsing. The fantasy that women are all-powerful, perfect, innocent warriors staged in an eternal battle against hordes of Trump hat-wearing rednecks takes a hell of a lot of imagination and energy to maintain. It’s no wonder that the slightest nudge from reality casts them into hysterics.
About two years ago, I managed to escape this false reality. The world is experiencing a cultural shift, attempting to correct itself from the destruction that decades of extreme liberalism has wrought on my generation, and this, in collusion with the European migrant crisis which I had the pleasure to witness first-hand, was enough to permanently stun me out of my sugar-addled stupor.
This blog has two goals. One is as a diary where I record my thoughts and photos and amusing news stories. The second goal is that I want to help people understand the fatal flaws of feminism and how to live truly satisfying and responsible lives.
Feminists, instead of helping troubled women live a life of balance and responsibility, shriek about patriarchal oppression and demand more welfare and apologies from men. Feminists do not teach women how to care for themselves and to love the virtues of their sex. It preaches that women are victims of oppressive outside forces. Since our millenial generation was rarely taught self-sufficiency and responsibility, many of us struggle to stand on our own two feet without being triggered by mean words on the internet.
If you’re obese, lose weight. Take care of your body and spirit. Do it because you’re special, because your life is precious. Make your motto: love yourself, therefore strive to be the best version of yourself. Do not settle for the victim status that feminism affords. Do not seek to destroy beauty, but learn to be beautiful yourself.
Being responsible takes time. It’s something that needs to be learned. But if a former video-game and junk food addict loser like me can stand up one day, wipe away my tears of shame, and get back to Christ, to exercising and eating right, then you can, too.
Good luck, and enjoy the journey of life.
Contact through @kittensinurface on Twitter.