This is the point where I am assuming most of you think that I will say, “Now this is what I learned from my experiences, this is why these things need to be talked about, and I feel so much better!” I hate to break it to you, but that’s not happening.

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While I have learned a lot from my experiences, I can’t confidently say that I think I have strong opinions about my own experiences, but I am forced to pretend as if I do have these strong opinions to appease society.

 

I can’t say that women deserve to be as sexually liberated as they want because I never had enjoyable sex and am actually quite scared of it. Relationships should be healthy, but I have never been in a relationship where we truly, wholeheartedly loved each other. If someone is struggling with their mental health and they choose to get treatment for it, good for them. If I choose to do it, bad for me. People should be allowed to feel comfortable in their own skin by changing themselves, but I am “defacing my body” when I do so.

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This struggle of self-acceptance makes it difficult for me to have these beliefs that I am begging for society to have. I am too ambivalent in how I feel about myself and my experiences but feel as though my friends and family force me to believe something about my experiences, though they are my own private experiences.

 

Maybe it’s because of the mental illness that I gaslight myself into believing that I don’t need help. Perhaps it’s because I have only been used for my body and judged for pursuing new relationships that I cannot be a sexually liberated woman who likes emotionally available men. Possibly it’s the reactions I received for my bodily changes that make me itch to reverse my body to how it was. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the overall, public judgment from others that made it hard for me to believe that I am accepted, especially accepted as an ambivalent person who simply cannot decide what I deserve. 

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There is a bit of hypocrisy present because of the judgment I put onto others. I try not to be a judgmental person, as I received the short end of that stick many times, but sometimes I let societal views creep its way into my brain, infiltrating my thoughts. These intrusive thoughts impact my initial impressions of people, just as I am sure others’ judgments towards me impact their impressions of me.

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Society is kind of fucked for forcing everyone to have opinions about everything. People have to have opinions on fashion, music, politics, sex, relationships, health, just everything. No one is allowed to simply be, exist in a space of ambivalence about private experiences that happened to themselves. Relationships have to be labeled and have to be perfect until death do you part. Losing your virginity must be a monumental moment with someone you love, no bleeding or awkward moments allowed. You have to be mentally stable; if you're not, grab the grippy socks and get out. Bodies have to be fit but not too fit, lengthy but not too long, curvy but not too big, pure but not too perfect. 

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Almost all of these experiences that I talked about were publicly judged because I confided in those I deemed to be close enough to me. What was once private, something I could attempt to organize in my head, became a list of strong opinions, comparing me to social stigmas and stories they heard about "a friend's younger sister's friend." My relationships, sexual experiences, mental health, and bodily changes were just another story added to society; they were no longer a private experience for myself. And I hated it.

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The one experience that I wasn't shamed for was regarding my mental health struggles. Starting therapy and taking antidepressants was welcomed with open arms from my friends. They didn't judge me, didn't coddle me; they let me just exist with the knowledge that I am not okay, but I will be. That is how it should be: private experiences being shared with others to inform, not be judged.

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I know it is a bit of a double standard asking to keep my experiences confidential, considering I just poured my heart and soul into telling my stories, but that was for me to analyze my experiences, not society. My experiences should be held private, despite me presenting them publicly, because I am not another variable in the social formula of life. I am not another story that others can tell their friends when something similar has happened to them; I am just me, speaking for myself.

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Initially, I wanted to break the stigmas and taboos of society, wanted to feel like I cracked the code to make a difference in this world. In the end, this became a reflection of my interactions with said stigmas and taboos and how the increased judgment I received from friends and family impacted my views on what should have been solitude events.

 

I am an indecisive person, so being ambivalent and private towards what I believe that I deserve or towards how I should perceive certain events is in my nature. I shouldn't have to accept strong, public opinions that people made about me, yet that is precisely what I did. I became complicit to the rules made by society so I can attempt to feel better about everything I've been through. The truth is: I experienced some really good things and some really shitty things that I don't know how to feel about.

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Rehashing all of the major decisions in my life has not been an easy feat. Many tears were shed on days I chose to write about the friend-to-lover-to-ex when a year ago, he wanted to kiss me just for the sake of doing it. I took breaks when writing about my virginity loss; even now I often skim the section because the wounds feel too fresh despite the scars fading. Most times, though, I was mad. Mad that society pushes its beliefs on the general public who doesn't want to believe things but feels obligated too. Mad that professors, peers, and healthcare workers told me I wasn't the problem, that my private experiences are just part of the grand scheme of society sucking. Mad at myself for wanting to romanticize even the fucked up things people said to me, done to me.

 

I cannot say for certain that societal beliefs and their odd specificity of who their beliefs actually apply to are the reason for the open judgements I received in regards to romance, sex, mental health, and bodily alterations. Yes, I think people and media play a big role in my romanticization of some elements and internal judgement of others. Yes, people have outwardly judged me for decisions made and forced my indecisive, private self to have those opinions as well. However, the anxiety creeps in and a small voice will always whisper that, at the end of the day, I am the one to blame. I can have these firm beliefs for others, but in regards to myself, I can only speak for me.