A misogynistic blog

I have been trying to analyse my animosity against women. And I have to admit that I have been hypocritical, because deep inside I do share many opinions with Schopenhauer. Hell knows what I am still denying. There is so much spite going on which I do not dare to share with you. This is to avoid you turning your back on me.

It all started when I went to my paediatrician for the first time in my life. All those years, I had been trying to repress this memory. My first doctor ever. A woman. I remember her having very short grey hair and a facial expression of a stupid badger. She lacked a lot of patience and kindness. You really didn’t have the impression that she liked children at all – a child abuser more like.

I haven’t thought about that bitch for a long, long time, not until my gynaecologist (a man!) had started asking me for my vaccination records. Problem was that I have lost my vaccination certificate and therefore I’m not up to date about my past vaccinations. There had been loads of school vaccinations, which none of my doctors know of, so I didn’t know who to turn to. So my gynaecologist said, “Consult your paediatrician.” I felt numb for a second. I suddenly remembered that grey-haired woman, who, to me, was a personified witch, a female child abuser. She was the first woman who ever tricked me into stuff – she used to divert me, in order to inject me or to insert suppositories up my arse. That, in my eyes, is child abuse. She was also the first woman who told my dad (with me present) that I had serious mental problems because I didn’t speak to people. My dad believed her that was when he first felt ashamed of me.

It didn’t get any better, though. I had to deal with female teachers at the kindergarten and nursery school. My first primary school teacher was female, so was the second. They all pretty much gave up on me and sent me to the school psychologist instead. (That was a woman, too.)  All those bloody fucking women were cunts and hollow as their fucking hearts were. My first teacher at secondary school was a woman, too. But by the time I was at secondary school, I was more able to think for myself and began to realise what was really going on around me and so on. It was unnecessary to think that I was in need of help. The only person who was able to help me was me, me alone.

My mother used to be very detached in the past, too. I always had this feeling that she was not satisfied with her life and with the choices she had made. Therefore I don’t resent her for being detached. I’ve always used her as the cushion to kick into.  And I still do. The difference between her and the other women is that she loves me.

You probably won’t understand me if I say that I don’t ever, ever want to become a mother myself. It’s enough to just be a woman.

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