Against Me

This existence has me fucked up.

And I’ve been trying to figure out what exactly is so off with it.

Now and pretty much my entire life.

And I don’t mean this in some vague, existential way.
I am not trying to say “life is hard” or “things are overwhelming.”

I mean something more specific.

Like a specific intuition.

A feeling that, over and over again, I am being positioned somehow.

Something that shows even in old poems I wrote when I was a literal child.

they want to dress me
undress me
stress me
depress me
repress me
then undress me again
…
(written in 2001, when I was 15 years old)

I have always felt placed into roles, expectations, and reactions that don’t feel like mine.

I have also always felt that this is happening across everything: there is expected labor, expected conversations, expected relationships, even expected feelings and perceptions…

This essay is an attempt to map that somehow.

And I don’t mean psychologically. And definitely not therapeutically.
I’m not trying to process or heal.

I’m trying to identify.

I want to look at the different layers where this happens:

… the structures that exist before me
… the systems that shape what feels “normal”
… the interactions where something gets placed onto me
… the intimate spaces where it becomes harder to resist
… and finally the moments where I catch it happening inside myself.

Because this is not random.

There’s patterns everywhere.

Something addresses me as something…like someone who should respond, understand or adjust…

And if I don’t, it becomes a problem.

Not necessarily for me but for the situation.

So what I’m doing here is going through those moments one by one in order to make them visible.

To say, in each case:

this is what is being asked of me, this is how it works, this is what it does to me, and this is where I don’t accept it.

That’s all.

So…there will not be a solution. And no clean ending.
Just a kind of clarity that I didn’t have before.

Because maybe that’s the only thing that actually changes anything.

WORLD

1. Against Work

I fucking hate employment.

Not in the sense that I don’t want to do anything.

It’s that before I do anything, before I decide how I want to spend my time, something has already been decided.

I have to be somewhere.
At a certain time.
Doing something that is required.

And the worst part: it’s not because I chose it in that moment but because not doing it has consequences.

That’s what makes it feel different.

It’s not a suggestion.
It’s not a preference.

It’s a condition.

My time is already structured around something that isn’t mine.

My energy is already accounted for.
My attention is already directed.

And I can feel it when I wake up.

That the day is not open.

That it already has a shape.

And I move inside it.

And I don’t fucking like that.

Because it’s presented as normal.

As if this is just how things are.

As if it doesn’t need to be questioned that survival is tied to compliance.

That being able to exist is dependent on fitting into something.

And what bothers me isn’t just that it exists.

It’s how invisible it becomes.

How easily it’s accepted that your time is not really yours.

That you organize yourself around something external and call that responsibility.

Sometimes I still do it without thinking.

I show up.
I do what is expected.

And nothing dramatic happens.

But there’s always something underneath it.

Something that feels slightly off.

Like I’ve agreed to something before I even had the chance to refuse it.

And that’s the part I can’t ignore.

So yeah, it’s not the work itself that bothers me.

Relax, liberals!

It’s the fucking structure.

The fact that something gets to decide what I do with my time before I do.

2. Against Forced Paths

Here is another thing that I fucking hate (and you know this if you have followed me).

I absolutely, passionately disdain the fact that my daughter has to go to school.

And again…it’s not because learning is bad.
It’s also not because structure is inherently wrong.

But because of how early something begins to take shape.

Before she even knows what she is, before she has the space to move freely, there is already a path.

A place she has to be.
A system she has to move through.
A way of progressing that has already been decided.

And it doesn’t ask who she is. Does it?

It doesn’t wait.

It just begins.

She wakes up, goes where she is supposed to go, does what is expected.

And it’s all framed as normal.

Ánd necessary.

And good…whatever the fuck that means.

But I can’t help but feel that something about it feels too early.

Too structured.

Like something is being formed before it has the chance to form itself.

And I can see how easily it becomes internal.

How quickly “this is what you do” turns into “this is what you are.”

How being placed into a path starts to feel like choosing one.

And that’s what bothers me about it.

These systems begin before there is space to exist outside of them.

Lives start to take shape in response to something external, before it has the chance to emerge on its own.

And once that starts, it’s hard to separate….

What is actually yours, and what was given to you before you knew the difference.

Pt. I: World

I’m starting here for a reason.

Because this is where it begins: not with me, not with my reactions, but with something that was already in place.

Like work.
Like school.
Paths that exist before I even think about them.

These aren’t personal.

And that’s exactly the point.

They don’t ask who I am and they don’t wait for me to decide anything.

They’re just there.

And the moment I enter them, something is already expected.

And even worse: none of this is aggressive. It’s not explicit.

It’s just subtly structurally imposed.

My time, my attention, my movement through the day - all starts to take shape around something that isn’t mine.

And for some people it’s easy to ignore that, because it’s so normal, and because everyone is inside it. But I can’t ignore what I see.

It’s there. It’s form.

It’s a structure that organizes me before I organize myself.

And if I don’t look at that first, everything else starts to feel personal.

Like it’s just me reacting to things when it actually isn’t.

So, this is where it starts.

Now let’s look at the next layer.

MEDIUM

3. Against Prediction

I don’t like being predicted.

And I don’t just mean that in an obvious way.
Like someone telling me what I will do.

My dislike here is more about a quiet assumption that what I will want, what I will choose, what I will respond to…can already be known.

And then shown to me.

Before I ask.
Before I look.

It’s really subtle.

Things appear that feel relevant.
Accurate, even.

Like they belong to me.

But then something about it feels off.

Because the more accurate it becomes, the less space there is for anything that isn’t already accounted for.

And it starts to feel like I’m moving inside something that already knows me.

Or at least thinks it does.

And I can feel that narrowing sometimes.

What appears to me feels familiar in advance somehow. It’s expected.

As if I’ve already been placed inside a version of myself that has been decided somewhere else.

And I don’t fucking like that.

I don’t like that something can learn me well enough to guide me without asking.

Because prediction doesn’t just observe. It prepares.

And once something is prepared for me, it’s harder to step outside of it.

Harder to encounter something that isn’t already shaped to fit me.

Or worse…

to keep me where I am.

4. Against Reduction

I also don’t like being reduced.

And I don’t mean that in the sense of being misunderstood in one moment.

I mean something more continuous than that.

The way everything becomes a pattern.

Like preferences. Interests. Or reactions.

All of it gets flattened into something that can be tracked, categorized, and repeated.

As if what I am can be summarized into a set of tendencies.

And then used.

And it’s not that it’s necessarily used against me.

Just… in place of me.

Because once something is reduced, it becomes easier to handle.

Easier to predict.
Easier to respond to.
Easier to integrate into something larger.

But something gets lost in that.

Not something dramatic.

Just the parts that don’t repeat.

The parts that don’t fit.

The parts that aren’t consistent enough to become a pattern.

And those are usually the parts that feel the most like mine.

I don’t like that those are the first things to disappear.

That what remains is what can be recognized.

What can be processed.

What can be used.

And the rest…

just falls away.

5. Against Repetition

Here is another one: I don’t like how things start to feel obvious.

There is something so poisonous about repetition.

The way certain ways of speaking, thinking, and reacting just become normal.

Not because they’re true.
Not because they were chosen.

But because they are repeated.

Over and over.

In language.
In tone.
In the way people talk about themselves, about others, and about what is acceptable.

And it doesn’t feel forced.

That’s kind of the problem.

It feels natural.

Like this is just how things are.

But it fucking isn’t.

It’s circulation.

The same ideas, the same reactions, and the same expectations moving through everything until they lose their origin.

Until they don’t feel like something that was made.

It starts to just feel like reality.

And by the time I encounter someone, or a situation, or a reaction, the structure is already there. Already known. Already waiting.

And yes. I don’t fucking like that.

I don’t like that something can exist before anything even happens and still shape it completely.

Pt.II: Medium

So…this is why I’m looking at this layer.

Because nothing I experience comes to me untouched.

By the time something reaches me, it has already been shaped.

And…not even directly. Not intentionally. But through repetition.
Through circulation and through quiet adjustments that happen over time.

So what feels natural is usually what has been repeated enough to stop being questioned.

What feels like “me” is often something that has already been reflected back to me in a simplified form.

And that matters.

Because by the time I enter an interaction, or a relationship, or even a thought, I’m not starting from nothing.

There is already a structure in place.

Already a sense of what is expected, what is normal, and what makes sense.

And that means that what happens between people is never just between people.

It’s already shaped, and mediated and arranged.

And if I don’t look at that, it’s easy to think that what happens next is personal.

That it’s just about me and someone else.

But it isn’t.

There’s something else moving through it.

And this is where it starts to become visible.

So, let’s look at the next layer.

INTERACTION

6. Against Projection

Someone says something to me I didn’t ask for. Something that isn’t for me.

Not a question.
Not an invitation.

A statement.

Something in me triggered something in them, and instead of staying with that, they move it….onto me.

And now I’m supposed to receive it and think about it. And adjust something.

As if it belongs to me. It doesn’t.

And what bothers me isn’t even what they’re saying.

It’s literally just the movement.

The way something shifts from being theirs to becoming mine.

Quietly.

Almost seamlessly.

And suddenly I’m in a position I didn’t choose.

Someone who needs correction.
Someone who needs to reflect.
Someone who needs to respond.

That’s the moment it changes.

That’s the moment I stop feeling like myself.

And I either interrupt it or I feel it happen.

Sometimes I call it out.

This isn’t about me.

And sometimes they see it.

They pause.
They realize it.

Which honestly kind of makes it worse in a way.

Because it means it could have been seen before it reached me.

But it wasn’t.

And for a moment, I was already inside it.

7. Against Explanation

Next…

I don’t like having to explain myself.

And this problem always starts small.

With a question, or a look, or a pause that waits for something more.

And it actually often seems reasonable.

Why did you say that?
Why do you think that?
What do you mean?

But the moment I start explaining, something sours inside me.

I’m no longer just speaking.

I’m translating.

Taking something that exists in me and reshaping it into something that can be understood.

Something clearer and more structured.
More acceptable.

And I can feel it happening while I do it.

That movement away from what it actually is toward something that makes sense to someone else.

That’s the part that bothers me.

It’s not the question itself.

It’s the adjustment.

The way I start organizing myself around someone else’s understanding.

Sometimes I still do it.

Because it keeps things smooth and avoids tension.

But afterward, there’s always something off.

Like I’ve made myself easier to process. And in that process,
I made myself less mine.

I don’t want to explain myself like that.

If something is mine, it doesn’t need to be translated to exist.

8. Against Expected Reaction

Next…I don’t believe in overreacting.

If something irritates me, then it should.

What bothers me is the assumption that there’s a correct reaction.

Like there’s a way I’m supposed to feel, and supposed to respond,
and supposed to express something.

So that everything stays balanced. So that no one feels too much. So that nothing becomes uncomfortable.

And if I don’t follow that, it becomes a problem.

Not because of what I feel but because of how it appears.

I don’t understand why I should reduce something that was provoked.

If something is directed at me, why should my response be managed?

Why is expression treated as excess?

Why is containment treated as maturity?

It feels like I’m being asked to regulate myself for something that didn’t come from me.

To absorb something and return it in a controlled form.

And I just don’t want to do that.

If something reaches me, it should be allowed to move through me without being reshaped to fit a situation.

I don’t want to respond correctly.

I want to respond honestly.

Pt. III: Interaction

So this is kind of where it becomes personal.

And this isn’t because the structure disappears but because it starts moving through people.

What was abstract before now has a voice and a tone and a face and a moment.

And that’s what makes it harder to see, because it feels like it’s coming from them.

Their words.
Their reactions.
Their expectations.

But it isn’t just them. It’s something moving through them.

Something that was already there before the interaction even began.

And now it reaches me.

Through a sentence, or a question, or a reaction I’m supposed to have.

And suddenly I’m not just in the world anymore.

I’m in something that’s happening between me and someone else.

And that’s where it becomes harder to resist.

Because now it’s not just structure. It’s relationship.

And that makes everything feel more immediate and more difficult to refuse.

INTIMACY

9. Against Performance

Next Layer. I don’t like performing.

Probably not in the way you think right now…I mean in the way it’s expected everywhere without being named.

An example here is academia. Academia horrified me.

It never felt like I was there to think.

I felt like I was there to present thinking in a way that could be recognized.

To sound a certain way.
To move within a structure that already knew what counted.

Not to say something real but to say something legible.

And I could feel that difference.

The gap between what I wanted to say and what would be received.

So I stopped because I didn’t want to become that.

The same thing in interviews.

You’re not being asked who you are.

You’re being asked to present yourself in a way that fits.

And to anticipate what they want and give it to them.

And everyone knows it but you’re still expected to do it well.

To perform some kind of fucking….alignment.

And then in relationships…it becomes harder to see.

Because it’s not formal anymore - it’s subtle.

The way you speak.
The way you respond.
The way you present yourself.

All of that gets slightly adjusted so that you are easier to understand, easier to want, easier to place.

And I can feel when it happens too.

That small shift.

Where I stop just being and start shaping myself into something recognizable.

And I don’t fucking like that.

I don’t want to become something so that someone else knows how to relate to me.

I don’t want to be legible like that.

10. Against Gender & Beauty

The first thing I don’t like about this is how much of it is already decided.

Before anything even happens.

What I should look like.
How I should move.
What counts as attractive, acceptable, or desirable.

And it’s everywhere, isn’t it?

Like…not enforced directly.

Just present.

Repeated.

Expected.

The way femininity is shaped into something specific.

Soft enough.
Attractive enough.
Controlled enough.

Something that can be read immediately.

Something that fits.

And I can feel the pressure of that even when I don’t agree with it.

Even when I reject it.

Because it doesn’t disappear.

It just becomes something I move against.

Or sometimes, something I accidentally move with.

And that’s what bothers me.

It’s not just that it supposedly exists…it’s that it gets inside the way I see myself.

The way I adjust.

The way I become aware of how I appear.

Even when I don’t want to.

And even when I don’t care.

In any case…there’s still a reference point.

Still something in the background that defines what is “better,” what is “right,”
and what is “enough.”

And I don’t fucking like that.

I don’t want to relate to myself through something that was decided before me.

11. Against Emotional Containment

I also don’t understand why I should feel less so that others can feel more comfortable.

If something provokes something in me, why should that be reduced?

Why is the expectation always to soften it, to contain it, and to translate it into something manageable?

Why is expression treated as the problem?

Why is the reaction seen as too much, instead of the thing that caused it?

It feels like I’m being asked to regulate myself for something that didn’t come from me.

To absorb something and return it in a controlled form.

Something that fits the situation.

Something that doesn’t disturb it.

But I don’t want to fucking do that.

Because the moment I start adjusting like that, something changes inside me.

And then I can’t get rid of it.

No matter what I do.

It stays there.

Festering.

Getting all commodified inside me.

Redirected.

Compressed.

And I’m left holding something that no longer feels like a response but like a modification.

I don’t want to feel correctly, you know?

I want to feel honestly.

Even if that doesn’t fit.

Pt. IV: Intimacy

This is where it becomes difficult.

Because now it’s not just something outside of me.

It’s something that starts to shapehow I exist with others.

How I’m seen.
How I’m responded to.
How I’m expected to be.

And it feels closer.

More personal.

Because it involves people I care about.

Spaces that matter.

Things that feel meaningful.

And that’s what makes it harder to resist.

Because refusing here doesn’t just disrupt a structure.

It disrupts something relational.

Something that feels like it could be lost.

And so there’s always that tension.

Between staying with what feels like mine and adjusting to keep something intact.

And that’s where it becomes less clear.

Less clean.

Because now it’s not just about being placed.

It’s about what happens if I refuse to stay there.

INTERNALIZATION

12. Against My Own Performance

Now…let me show you when it happens.

That moment where I start adjusting.

In small shifts.

A little bit of tone here.

A little bit of timing there.

An expression.

The way I say something so it lands better. So it doesn’t create tension. So it fits.

And I know what I’m doing.

I know I’m shaping myself into something more acceptable.

13. Against My Own Explanation

And you know what? I still explain myself.

Even though I don’t want to.

Even though I know what it does.

There are these moments where it feels easier to just make something clear.

To smooth something over.

To translate what I mean into something that will be understood.

And in the moment, it feels harmless…even helpful.

Like I’m just making things easier for myself.

But I can feel the shift.

The moment where what I’m saying is no longer exactly what I mean but something shaped to be received.

And once that happens, it’s hard to go back. Almost impossible.

Because now the version that exists is the one that made sense.

Not the one that was mine.

And I participated in that.

That’s the part that bothers me the most.

Not that I’m misunderstood but that I sometimes choose to be understood at the cost of something else.

Something less clean and less structured and less acceptable.

But closer to what it actually is.

And I can’t ignore that.

Because it’s not just something happening to me anymore.

It’s something that I’m doing.

14. Against My Own Compliance

It’s frustrating because sometimes I just go along with it.

Like a quiet agreement.

I show up.
I respond.
I adjust.

I let things pass without interrupting them.

And nothing breaks.

Everything continues.

That’s what makes it so easy.

There’s no immediate consequence.

There isn’t that moment where something clearly goes wrong.

It just… works.

And because it works, it becomes harder to resist.

Because resistance creates friction.

Tension.
Disruption.
Misunderstanding.

And sometimes I don’t want that.

Sometimes I want things to stay smooth.

Even if that means not saying something, not pushing back and not exposing what I can see.

And in those moments, I’m part of it.

I’m not outside it.
I’m not resisting it.

I’m just letting it happen.

And that’s the part that’s hardest to sit with, you know?

Because now it’s not just something that acts on me.

It’s something I continue.

Something I allow because it’s easier than stopping it every time.

But that ease has a cost.

Even if it’s small.

Even if it’s barely noticeable.

It’s still there.

Pt. V: Internalization

So…this is where it stops being clear.

And if there is one thing I care about in life…it’s clarity.

I betray myself.

Because now there’s no distance.

No clear outside.

Everything I’ve been describing, it doesn’t just surround me.

It moves through me.

In how I speak.
How I respond.
How I adjust.

And that changes something.

Because it’s no longer enough to point at what’s happening.

To critique it.

Now I have to see where I’m part of it.

Where I participate in the same movements that I resist.

And it’s not always intentional.

It doesn’t feel like agreement.

It feels like slipping into something that’s already there.

Something familiar. Something that works.

And that’s what makes it difficult.

Because now the question isn’t just what is acting on me.

It’s also what am I allowing to continue through me.

AGAINST ME

So now… what’s left is just me.

Inside.

Touched.

Everything I’ve been describing - it doesn’t stop before it reaches me.

It passes through.

All the time.

In moments.
And reactions.
And in the way something lands and asks something from me.

And I can feel it when it happens.

I’ve become so good at it. My special interest.

I can feel exactly where something tries to position me as someone who should respond, explain, adjust, and be something.

And for a second, it almost works.

Because it’s so familiar.

Because it’s everywhere.

Because it’s already happened before.

And that’s what makes this part different.

There’s no clear line anymore between what is outside and what is mine.

Only a moment.

A point where something moves toward me and tries to become something through me.

And I have might. I have the power to decide what happens next.

It’s the only thing I ever wanted to become good at.

Being able to ask:

Do I continue this?

Do I let it move through me without interruption?

Or do I stop it?

This is where I can say.

THIS IS MINE.

And that’s all I have.

No way out of it.
No place outside of it.

Just that.

The ability to see it as it happens and not fully become it.

Enough to stay with myself instead of disappearing into something else.

That’s probably what this is.

What you are reading right now.

Not a solution.

Not an escape.

Just a way of holding onto something that would otherwise be taken without even noticing.

Something small. So small.

But something I want.

Something that’s mine.

written by and for