drrrty little slut.

Hi!

If for some reason you want to know about me, I guess there’s a few things I could tell you about that may contribute to your understanding of the things I post on this blog.

I’m 20 years old, and I live with my partner, Julian, in Toronto. I just finished my second year taking women’s studies and theatre studies at University of Guelph, and am in the process of trying to to do something else (not sure what yet) with my life, because U of G cut my program, and I hate feeling isolated the way I do in Guelph. Plus, to be honest, I’m pretty fucking stoked on living with the love of my life. We met almost three years ago at a punk show where his band was playing, and it didn’t take us long before we realized that we were made for each other. He’s still playing with his band, acting and producing, which is pretty sweet. I’m really glad he’s living his dream, and it’s a huge source of inspiration to me. One day, we’re gonna move out of the city and live on a farm in the country and have amazing ginger babies, beagles, an organic garden, and lots of birds. I hope to create community outreach education programs designed to teach people, especially girls, about topics such as sexual assault, mental health, STIs, birth control, consent, and other issues that are a product of the fucked up, misogynistic society in which we live.

My life’s pretty good now, and the I’m really stoked on the future…but I’ve had some things happen in my life over the years that have been really traumatic, and they’re things that have really affected me, and continue to to this day. When I was fourteen, my mom was diagnosed with lung and brain cancer. She was my best friend in the entire world. I told her everything, and she told me everything. She told me it was okay to be a slut. Good to be a slut. “Sex is amazing when you’re responsible and it’s consensual, don’t ever think otherwise”. She was an incredibly creative, artistic, loving, strong woman who fought cancer for almost two years before passing away on January 1, 2007; 4 days before my 16th birthday. I think about her every day.

I wish she’d been there a year later, when I’d just turned 17 and was raped by a boy I thought was a friend. When I told our mutual friends, I was told that I was a slut, I asked for it, I shouldn’t have been there alone, I shouldn’t have worn that, I shouldn’t have “let him”. Slut shamed. For a long time, I believed it. Sex didn’t matter anymore. It was validation that I was attractive, and that I was wanted. That was all. Because after that, I didn’t feel like a goddess. I didn’t feel erotic. I didn’t feel beautiful. I just hurt. Then, two things happened: I read Cunt by Inga Muscio, and I met Julian. I began learning about feminism, and, upon entering university, started actively fighting misogyny every way I could think of, and I learned that it was possible to feel loved and wanted… and to have absolutely incredible sex with someone I trusted fully.

During this time, I was also diagnosed with depression, general anxiety disorder, borderline personality disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, ADD, and EDNOS, all of which were things I’d experienced as long as I could remember. I spent a really long time going through therapy and attempting to stabilize my brain chemistry through medication…which was frustrating, but ultimately beneficial. I also recently found out that I have fibromyalgia, a chronic pain condition. My illnesses are frustrating, but they’re part of who I am, and I believe in doing whatever it takes to keep fighting them.

I also identify as queer, genderqueer, white, anarchist, atheist, disabled, kinky and as a riot grrrl.

Like I said, I’m stoked on the future, and I’m happy right now.

Punk rock, cuntlove and tulips,
Lyss<3