Idle Hands

They say idle hands are the Devil’s tools. This weekend I found myself in a rather pensive state where it occurred to me that the in fact, idle hands is the Devil’s playground. When you are busy, your mind is occupied, focusing on the task at hand. When there is little occupying one’s mind, we find a way to occupy it. This is where the Devil begins to play, making your best asset an enemy, stirring up feelings of self-loathing and doubt. He creates a strong dislike for not only yourself but all people, slowly picking away at your faith in human kind. Your mind wonders to a place that is dark, filled with the wrongs that have left permanent aching sores on your soul.

There is the usual things that play on my mind, the ones I try not to think too much about otherwise my little perfectly controlled world will fall apart. But they are always there, when I’m studying, working or laughing and having fun with my friends, they never leave me. They are so intrinsically apart of you that even though you wish to exorcise yourself of these demons, you never will. They are part of you, like your eyelashes and lips. This weekend, this is not where my mind ventured, I wonder when it will because this is a place I need to visit and haven’t.

With my mind wondering, I tried to busy myself but this did not work. It has been playing on me and so I thought perhaps to write it, it would finally leave me, offer me some resolve on this issue. I stood looking at my reflection for a while, knowing how I see myself and wondering how others see me. I focus on the reactions and behaviours of men, as this is what has sent me to this place. I look at myself and see someone who has thoughts and feelings, opinions and reasons. But clearly men do not see this. They see a thing, something that is there for their enjoyment. I have no worth or value. No input. When they hear stories of men and their disregard for females, they act shocked and say they hate such men, women are there to be adored and treated with respect. I have yet to meet these men.

Perhaps it is my fault, because not all women are treated like I am and the treatment seems to follow me, remaining the same, only the men are different and my life stages. Do I encourage the disrespect, the treatment that’s upsets me and makes me feel vile. I look around and see some women being treated like princesses and I am nothing but a piece of meat, meaningless and unworthy. And yet I am tired of being treated like meat, something to be toyed with, regardless of my wishes, and then tossed. I look at my friends and try emulating their behaviour, the behaviour that seems to avoid such treatment, but mostly unsuccessfully.
So clearly the problem is with me, I encourage it. Maybe it doesn’t follow me but I seek it, ask for it, deserve it.

And so the Devil played well, despite my efforts to remain out of this place.