Facebook Jail

I am in Facebook jail.

For 5 more days and 20 more hours.

But what happens if I have a cute outfit, or I hear a song lyric that must be shared, or like yesterday I was eating a mediocre chicken sandwich and they were playing old batman episodes and I found it odd.

I laughed at the absurdity that anything that happens to me matters enough that it just has to be posted.

There will be a 7 day gap in my memory.

Doesn’t really matter.

I am a broken record girl. This boy did a thing and I am sad. Recipes for things I will never cook and other peoples words, peppered with my own.

I was put here by some woman or man who thought that me owning my own sexuality by admitting anecdotally that given the right circumstances with the right men, I would like to have a gang bang.

Happy, Fun, Consensual, Sexy Time with a few Partners

There is no violence here. No nudity. Just a banned perfume ad, or maybe it was jeans.

The idea of being touched by many hands, filled by many men appealed to me.

Had they read the caveat I don’t know if that is what I want anymore, but I posted it because someone else might.

I already know I am not the only one. A rousing chorus of the good kind of ‘me too’ followed every time I posted said article. 338 shares. I am not alone. 40 positive comments, and 2 negative. The ayes have it.

But that report button, so appealing to those who have their opinions and nothing else of substance.

I wonder what happened in their lives that this offended them so deeply, that they felt the need to shut me up.

Then I realize, they didn’t read the article. And that some people are dumb enough to still believe after 3 years, there really is an incarnation of Mary called Lust and Grace.

I suppose I am. We are all incarnates of Eve, or one of the Mary’s. Lilith maybe if you dig deep enough. The bible laid out stereotypes and enforced them by force until we swallowed them and the good Mary’s held the Mary Magdalenes down just like the men.

The goodwives screaming witch in Salem because they didn’t like the curve of her lip or her skin or her smile? What did any woman have to smile about back then unless it was a gentle man. So they cried witch and even as their sisters burned, they weren’t happy.

I think that is what it is.

I expressed my wantonness, to all eyes and ears I appear to be free.
And I am.
I went from thinking, believing and participating in relationships I thought were necessary, that I had no value outside of a man that single mother was the worst thing you could be. To realizing no, the wrong relationship is a lie, and the worst. So I shook my keys and stayed out of jail. The idea of permanence a prison.

And now I don’t know.

I don’t know because I am comfortable in not knowing. It is the only way to learn.

I have kissed mouths that tasted like home and found them sweet. Maybe just a summer home, but home nonetheless.

And maybe this woman who sought to silence me only did so because she saw my grass is greener. Because it is, I planted it myself surrounding this home I built myself. No words like divorce or separation can take it from me. But only because they already have and I chose not to return to any land where anything can be taken from me. I have already lost everything so many times. I paid for this.

And maybe my grass is greener because sometimes I just let it grow wild, because I can, because it should and because I don’t care what the neighbors think.

But it took a long life of living in fear of the neighbors to get here.

And here is alright. Here I am mine.

I wonder if she knows that some days I envy her. Not enough to block or report her for living a life I can only assume resembles oatmeal, bland, yet full of iron and filling.

That some days I do wish a man would come along and open that jar, or cut the lawn, or fix the showerhead, because as strong as I am, it still leaks.

I have a son for that, I know. I raised him strong, stronger than I was. It’s just a matter of remembering when he visits, and I don’t. We have more important things to discuss.

And speaking of, I wonder if this woman who reported me realizes how often I discuss things on Facebook, how it is my mainline of communication with the outside world and by removing it, when my cell network went down, I couldn’t speak to anyone.

I am a ghost haunting Facebook. One would think I could just walk away and find other things to do, I have other things to do. But I find myself just scrolling, wanting to hit like and I cannot.

Inbox full of messages I cannot answer.

And I wonder if she realizes, even me, the girl who writes about gang bangs, is painfully shy. Scared of people, hates leaving the house and this is all I’ve got.

The report option is almost easier than the like button.

Everyone has an opinion, and I am no better.

I am assuming here that it was a woman, but there was a man who was vocal about his dislike of my post.

Probably because I wouldn’t let him come to my gang bang.