I’ve met someone. We’ve been out for drinks more than once, enjoyed ourselves, and now we message each other at least once a day.
She’s hilarious, sparky, witty; our friendship is erotically charged. I feel like I’m in school again, I look forward to each and every time she makes me stop my train of thoughts and I think “Did you just say that…”
If she found out about this blog and my commitment to radical feminism, she would be deeply hurt. Her identity is wrapped up in a way of life that is opposed to everything I stand for. It’s irrelevant what that happens to be. It could be that she was deeply religious, or intending to become a trans-man, or involved in the sex industry “by choice” or whatever…The way she lives doesn’t offend my sense of self the way my politics would offend hers, if she knew how I really saw the world. Put simply, she’s invested in not knowing.
I quoted from Daly’s Pure Lust at femonade the other day about the subterranean files that patriarchal women keep in the darkest recesses of their minds, which are a reservoir of previously inaccessible information. There is a breaking-open process that all radfems have been through:
Finally, however, no matter how strong that file–and patriarchal women have almost bionic files–there comes along the one piece of data that breaks it wide open.
Not everyone responds identically to the bursting of the file. Women who have no faith in themselves, who are totally dependent upon approval of both patriarchal men and women–as is classically the case in fundamentalist church settings–and whose feelings of self-worth have been almost totally crushed, these women must still deny what their now open file tells them is the truth. But in order to deny no, in the very face of the truth, they must distort reality so much that they become ill: emotionally, physically, and morally.”
My friend’s file is made of kryptonite. And yet… she is searching for something. She has not yet been duped into “fulfillment”, which according to Mary Daly is the worst state of being a woman can possibly enter into. Fulfillment is even worse than resignation, because it basically means you’ve become a fembot.
I do have real life friends who are fulfilled. My radical feminism doesn’t offend them because they don’t get what I’m saying. They don’t hear. If my friend found this blog she would hear, but would her file blast open? Maybe, maybe not. And would she thank me if it did? Probably not. And either way, would I lose her? Definitely.
And… radical feminism has saved me, but it’s also breaking my heart. I want to un-know, but at the same time I don’t (and can’t). There was a reason Andrea Dworkin called her memoirs “Heartbreak”. I’m tired, and my friend energizes me. So although I’m not taking a break, I’m maybe going to concentrate on analyzing fairy stories for a while.