{"quotes":[{"text":"It is not your job to convince men to like you.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["2015","feminism","feminist-","feminist","feminist-writers","just-another-number","liberation","millennial","millennial-feminsts","quotes","why-we-need-feminism","womens-liberation"],"id":47980,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"I would take them a few times, feel my emotions and sense of reality fuzz, and look at my mother who had been doped up on them since we moved to Chattanooga. I would see her blank, hazel eyes, and her bright, but empty, smile with chronic, artificial, exaggerated cheer, and become scared. I often wondered if she was buried under layers upon layers of southern sugar. I would make bitchy, inappropriate statements and look for her. I would say something, anything to shake her and look into her eyes for something real. I saw it when she was upset or afraid. I saw it when she’d spot me exiting my bathroom, hair tied back, knowing what I’d done. I saw it when she found out I was raped. I saw it when I told her about the drugs I used. I saw flickers of a real person, but she quickly disappeared within herself once she gathered composure. I decided not to be like her. Even if it meant embracing my demons, I wanted to be real. After a couple doses, I would toss the meds in the garbage.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["family","just-another-number","just-another-number","maggie-young","maggie-young","medication","southern-families"],"id":86614,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"I would take them a few times, feel my emotions and sense of reality fuzz, and look at my mother who had been doped up on them since we moved to Chattanooga. I would see her blank, hazel eyes, and her bright, but empty, smile with chronic, artificial, exaggerated cheer, and become scared. I often wondered if she was buried under layers upon layers of southern sugar. I would make bitchy, inappropriate statements and look for her. I would say something, anything to shake her and look into her eyes for something real. I saw it when she was upset or afraid. I saw it when she’d spot me exiting my bathroom, hair tied back, knowing what I’d done. I saw it when she found out I was raped. I saw it when I told her about the drugs I used. I saw flickers of a real person, but she quickly disappeared within herself once she gathered composure. I decided not to be like her. Even if it meant embracing my demons, I wanted to be real. After a couple doses, I would toss the meds in the garbage.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["family","just-another-number","just-another-number","maggie-young","maggie-young","medication","southern-families"],"id":86614,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"Your true passion in life is what you’d be doing if somebody handed you 100 million dollars.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["ambition","dreams","feminism","feminist-blog","feminsit-writer","just-another-number","maggie-young","millennial","quotes","work-ethic"],"id":92641,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"The gentlemanly Number 23 would have never made such a crude statement to a lady. But I was not a lady. Sure, I was intelligent and strong, but I dared to be wide open. I was Maggie Young, chaser of boys, writer of scandal, dropper of f-bombs, tits on a stick.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["feminist","feminist","just-another-number","love","maggie-young","number-23","sad-love"],"id":141885,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"Males were expected to be ready to fuck any hole they could slip their dicks into. Boys weren’t considered men unless they were influenced by their carnal instincts to spread their seed.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["feminism","feminist","just-another-number","maggie-young"],"id":155693,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"From my first stab at second base, I became obsessively concerned for my vaginal upkeep. I began shaving the day after I felt my first tongue down my throat. The first buzz was a disaster, causing horrifically itchy dull razor breakout that made me look like I made love to a poison ivy bush. Whenever I thought there was a chance of unveiling my privates, I smothered every breakout with the same foundation I used for the occasional teenage acne face breakouts.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["controversial-memoir","edgy-memoir","feminist-books","feminist-memoir","just-another-number","maggie-young","memoir","number-2"],"id":170023,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"As a child, I ate up the image Carl strived to portray: An inspirational rags-to-riches tale of a go-getter emerging the hell of his sulfur-scented, Podunk Texas upbringing. With a community college dropout education, Carl managed to reach six figures as a mobile home lot manager when the trailer park industry boomed in the early nineties. He decorated his accomplishments with a large house, yachts, and weekly morale shindigs for his salesmen bursting with open bars and filet mignon. However, my mother was by far his prettiest accessory.","author":"Magda Young","tags":["feminist","feminist-","just-another-number","maggie-young","maggie-young","southern","southern-childhood","the-south"],"id":222051,"author_id":"Magda+Young"},{"text":"An eerie aspect of social media is the way the dead’s account lingers in digital space as a floating memorial. Friends post emotional farewells as if the departed will read them. But we all know that those words are for the rest of the world as if to flaunt their bond with the deceased like a new car or engagement ring. Just like any material possession that ceases production, a person’s value amplifies when they are dead. They have no future. They have no present. Their past becomes a limited resource that everyone is desperate to snag a piece of.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["death","drug-addiction","just-another-number","maggie-young","number-2","social-media"],"id":321530,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"},{"text":"I’m pretty sure Number 1 wasn’t even aware that he was using a man’s deadliest weapon against women. He exposed his vulnerability. Over the years, I would repeat a pattern of chronically caving to that same behavior. It didn’t matter whether or not I liked or respected him. Every time he dared to let his guard down and unveil some of his ugliest, grittiest faces, I whole-heartedly believed I was the only person on earth being let in on a secret. It was a mirage of a connection. Despite his faults and my prior resistance, I felt an obligation to uphold that bond. No matter what kind of person he was or how toxic he could have been, I saw beauty in that fleeting defenselessness as if he were an infant, innocent and untainted by the evils of the world. I always fell in love with that face in every man. I clutched that memory tightly, despite the fact that its weight wore my arms and drug my pace. I was so focused on remembering their moment of weakness that I was blind to who they normally were.","author":"Maggie Georgiana Young","tags":["feminist-memoir","just-another-number","just-another-number","maggie-young","maggie-young","memoir","number-1"],"id":330779,"author_id":"Maggie+Georgiana+Young"}],"pagination":{"page":1,"page_size":10,"total":15,"pages":2,"next":"?page=2\u0026page_size=10"}}