When she was unhappy she would lock herself in the bedroom until she felt better. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want anybody to see me when I’m like that. He used to call her a clam. ‘Open up,’ he hammered on all the locked doors of their life together, basement first, then maisonette, then mansion. ‘I love you, let me in.’ He needed her so badly, to reassure himself of his own existence, that he never comprehended the desperation in her dazzling, permanent smile, the terror in the brightness with which she faced the world, or the reasons why she hid when she couldn’t manage to beam.
I’ve never met a man who was stronger than me. Physically yes, of course, my arms are tiny little noodles, but emotionally and mentally? No. Women aren’t build stronger, but we are made stronger, forced stronger. Unfortunately through societies unnecessary hardships and oppression of women. We deal with violence, harassment, belittlement, and having our humanity stripped of us, and then we have to learn how to handle all of that and do it gracefully and learn how to protect our dignity and strengthen who are without the help of any outside forces since their all against us. Men can’t handle that. They just can’t. The world is build for them, when they don’t get their way, when the world isn’t what they assumed it should be, they dissolve, they break down, they don’t understand it and refuse to adapt. Like angry babies.