I’ve never missed one single vote or referendum. I leafleted for women’s parties as soon as I turned 18 and I’m known in the office as the local political correspondent. I consider it my duty as woman to do so. You’ll find me front and centre at every women’s rights March of the last decade. I’m pro choice, the gender pay gap makes me sick and let’s not even talk about the lack of women in parliament.
That’s why I’ve never understood: why did I drop out of college twice? Too concerned with boys at the time before my education.
Why then do I tingle every time I pay for a meal and the waiter hands the change back to my male companion?
Why do I look at my face in mirror and imagine two pretty black eyes put there by a man double my size and twice my age?
Why do I dream of being abducted every time I go for a run, blaring my earphones full blast and running where I know the streetlights are broken?
Why would I prefer to be in some guys basement, fed dry cereal and loaned out to friends and strangers whenever he may be behind on rent. Which would be all the time.
Why do I fantasise about being assaulted by a bunch of brutish men in masks waiting for me behind the gym? Tearing at my leggings and taken turns?
I really don’t understand myself. More than that, I hate myself. Do you know why?