Keep reading if you need to know the signs of a post-traumatic woman disorder.
When I was born, my soul immediately took one look around and screamed “abort mission!”.
But unfortunately, it was too late and now I was (still am) stuck at this insane part of the Universe and surroundings, where nobody knows what he/she/it is doing.
From that moment on, every time a woman came near me (except my mom, who apparently had VIP clearance), I lost my tiny baby mind.
I screamed full-on crap every time one came near me, like I was being exorcised and scared them all away to their therapists, but I don’t belief ‘that ‘therapist’ was a thing yet.
Actually back in the days humanity still was quite sane if you compare it with the present shit show dream we’re currently calling ‘normal’; which includes arguing with AI to diagnose your cat’s emotional trauma because he blinked weird.
Where people say “be authentic” and then auto-tune their yawns, we schedule ‘spontaneity’ and panic if we forget to breathe mindfully and your smartwatch congratulates you for walking to the fridge 37 times a day and now we’re insanely longing back for the 90s.
At least: we the ‘oldies’ who survived dial-up internet, had emotional support Tamagotchis and knew the trauma of accidentally taping over your favorite show with a cousin’s birthday party.
The fact that I totally went full gremlin (gremlins weren’t even a thing back then) instantly when those types of genders approached me, is either a medical mystery or a sign that in a past life I was a tragically charming man who got emotionally steamrolled by one too many ladies in corsets.
So apparently now I’ve got spiritual PTWD, or what I like to call Post-Traumatic Woman Disorder.
I trust no one in eyeliner and sensible flats. Except my mom. She is chill.
Possibly because she bribed my reincarnated soul with cookies. I don’t remember, but I feel it in my ancestral bones.
Honestly, I think I was still emotionally hungover from a past life as a ridiculously attractive man with too many female admirers and unresolved drama. Which is rude, because nobody warned me reincarnation came with baggage and a revenge.
Looking back, I’m 99% sure I was a man in a past life who had too much female attention and now I’m just here like: “No thanks, I remember how that ended.”
I mean, who the bleeb signed us up for this insanity of doing it all over again, only in another package.
Clearly someone drunk on cosmic margaritas who mistook ‘growth’ for ‘repeat chaos but with a new set of outfits and spirit guides who ghosted me while I was arguing with my own aura.
