Or rather, What being called an Elitist has done to me.
I was never a very ambitious person when it came to my future. It has a lot to do with being told during my entire childhood that I should only aspire to being a wife with children. Despite my exterior fight against fitting into the role my father wanted of me I still internally strove only for a relationship that would eventually sustain my children and myself.
I went though so many crappy relationships and games that masqueraded as relationships until I was beaten down by it. I couldn’t at all be anything if there wasn’t a man to take care of me. I became a failure in my own definition. I gave up on life and tried very hard to end it.
Suicide is never a laughing matter and I try so hard to get people away from their suicidal thoughts and behaviors. It’s part of what I want to do when I graduate in addition to many other things. So when I talk about my own suicidal ideation know that I take it very serious.
My most serious suicidal attempt was when I had felt that I completely failed myself. I had allowed yet another man to control my mind and alter my opinion of myself. It wasn’t lying in a hospital bed connected to wires or the run of psychiatrist appointments that consumed my time after.
It was the memory of a professor calling me a fellow “elitist” that really drove it home for me. Not that it is a positive word in it’s definition but the thought of it in more of an academic term is where I want to be.
I am in love with the academic world and want to achieve so much. I want to graduate with honors. I want to change lives and create new possibilities. I want to work with the broken hearted and change the role woman have in this world. I want to inspire other woman and encourage children who hurt within the death of their souls.
If that makes me a snob. Then I’ll live it and I’ll own it. I am an elitist. I am an academic. I am a feminist. I am Furiosa.