I remember getting gifts in the mail and taking pills the size of grapes. Staying at my grandparents house for a few weeks to get away from it all.
Feeling small.
Vomiting.
Nightmares.
Scared.
And this was after. I almost feel like the events that followed were worse than the few minutes (or what seemed like forever) lying on the gravel in the alley with my underwear down and a strange man on top of me.
Not to mention when the police came some piece of shit recorded me.
More concerned with headlines than the dignity I deserved.
But fuck him. And the guy I was dating at the time too. His words⌠Something along the lines of: I donât even date girls who have been with a lot of guys.
Right.
Because I choked myself, walked myself across the street and proceeded to rape me.
Why do we treat women as if they are unworthy?
God forbid all of us on this earth are?
I used to ride the subway and look around and wonder how many other women shared my same story. What was so hard to get over was the fact that this horror was happening all around me - thousands of other women had their own version of that dark alley.
Friends who didnât understand,
Family who werenât there,
Men who werenât tried and still walked the streets.
Women who brushed it off because it was someone they knew
or were conditioned not to speak out. Women who no one believed.
Fuuuuuck. me. This is tragedy walking all around these streets.
Women who try to hold on to their sense of dignity. Women who feel broken because some piece of them was taken.
Forsaken.
Never to be the same.
A scar to build over.
How many more
mothers
and sisters
and wives
and cousins
and aunts
and grandmas
and nieces
and granddaughters
and god daughters
need to experience this.
See? Theyâre everywhere.
Someone once told me it was almost like a rite of passage for girls around age 11 to be raped. Something inevitable. They wouldnât escape this fate.
Many begin to date women.
Many never trust again.
Many have trouble being intimate because those moments never feel quite the same.
Torrential pain.
What kind of world have we created.
This is why cat calls and passes get viewed as harassment because never do we know when the next guy takes a NO the wrong way.
This is why girls walk to bathrooms together. Women protect one another.
This is why mothers teach their daughters how to behave
because some guy feeling a bit too brave might take you to a dark place
and you wonât leave the same.
But itâs never what you wear.
Itâs never how you act.
If youâre drunk
And canât talk back
You need to give consent.
You can always say no.
Even if you didnât before.
You donât have to try to fit in.
You body is meant for you
Not for someone else to get inâŚ
Against your will.
Worried about taking the pill the next morning because that fucker couldâve impregnated you. Given you a disease or any other type of thing.
These are all things that fill the mind of a woman who damn near loses her mind when all she wants to do is cry or scream or be comforted.
Not to mention feel normal. How does one revisit being intimate. How does one regain strength if not by putting one foot forward every day and silently chanting: itâs going to be okay. Maybe not today but maybe tomorrow. Maybe for a minute and then maybe an hour.
When sleep finally comes, sweat and tossing does too, fresh images get replaced with vagueness but the feelings still try to bubble up and spill over. Itâs over. Itâs over. You donât have to worry.
http://www.patreon.com/posts/4472349
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