Feminism

All of this feminism/ anti-feminism stuff is breakin' mah balls, man.
Hello, my name is Mallerie, and I am, what I have come to believe, a feminist.
You know what makes me a feminist? The fact that I am independent, educated, mindful, and respectful toward others. I am not waiting for someone else to come along and support me. I have my own goals and aspirations. I think for myself. I strive to be an exceptional representative of my sex because I can't stand the weak, needy female stereotype; therefore I refuse to be that stereotype. I am not taking for granted the rights I have because strong, amazing women in the past fought for those rights, and women in many countries still do not have those rights. Therefore I work, go to school, educate myself, vote,  and voice my opinion when appropriate.
Yes, I admit I have felt the pressure of society's beauty standards. Most people have. I acknowledge the fact that I am not perfect- but you know what? The older I get, the less I give a shit about that kind of stuff. You have to love your body. You just have to. If you're trying to impress someone who doesn't like the way your body looks, then they can fuck off. Seriously. Love your body, take care of it, treat it right, and find someone else who loves it too.
While we're here, let's talk about body hair. You don't need to grow out your armpit hair in order to be a feminist, but you can if you want to. It's your body, do what you want! On that note, I do feel that it's pretty strange that women are expected to be hairless from the nose down, and yet no one bats an eye at a dude with a hairy gorilla ass. What is up America.
Also, I've been told that you can't be a true feminist if you call other females things like "bitch" and "slut". I don't get this, because if my best friend is being a bitch or a slut, you're damn right I'm going to call her out on it.
/end rant.

October was our favorite month. At least I won't be around to watch the maple gush red leaves in the stale heat--

that will always be such a heavy part of me. 

I wish there was some kind of in-between

With and without you.  

living slow

I am learning how to cook dinner for one person again.
Sometimes when I am cooking I get really sad, and that empty feeling creeps inside my chest. It has become very, very real that you are no longer with me.
I want to call you and tell you how much I miss your companionship. I don't miss the problems we had, but I sure do miss laughing with you. You were my best friend, you really were.
My roommates (who are very sweet) took me on a little tour of San Luis Obispo yesterday. We explored Pirate's Cove (a nudist beach), watched the sun set over Avila, and took a little tour of the Madonna Inn (a famous hotel in the area with really gaudy, themed rooms). I am excited for all of the new adventures I'm going to have in my new home.
I'm really good at being alone, and I feel like I have already grown. But I also really enjoy being in a relationship. I'm in that weird space where I miss certain parts of being in one but I am nowhere near being ready to start another one.
I have a lot to learn. I started journaling again, and picked up my guitar. The weather here is cloudy and cold, and this morning I went to the beach with the kid I nanny for. I really am so lucky to be here.

Severance.

I loved you with every cell in my body.
There were nights when I felt that I would cease to exist without you; that if anything were to ever happen to you I would fall apart into a million pieces.
I forgot who I was without you. I could no longer find the place where one of us began and the other ended. Every night I thanked the universe for bringing us together. I felt so lucky to have found my soul mate; the one that I would grow old with and share the rest of my life with.
And then, out of the blue, you told me it would be best if we separated. I panicked. I cried. I begged for you to change your mind. Nothing worked. You had made up your mind months ago.

That was over three weeks ago. Here I am, typing in the living room of my grandmother's house, one of the many places I have temporarily called home. I've lived out of my suitcase, sleeping on couches and in spare bedrooms.
During the first week I drove down to the Central Coast to visit my best friend. I bought a journal, went for long runs on the beach, and spent time with people who really love me. I cried a lot; I felt miserable on some nights. Incomplete. Fighting the urge to pick up the phone and beg you to take me back.
Then, slowly, the fog lifted. I got angry. I felt empowered. I found a new job and a new home in the ocean town I fell in love with, nearly 300 miles away from you. I leave on Saturday to start that new life.

I've been doing so well. I saw a therapist. I've been spending more time with family. I've reconnected with old friends. I feel really, really confident that this is going to be good for me. I started realizing things that I was blind to when we were together. I'm ambitious. I'm ready for adventure. I finally realize my self-worth. I'm ready for the best year of my life.