I wrote this in January of 2015. I am still 5’2”, 100 lbs. And I am still angry. Angry as fuck. But I am as strong as I feel angry. I have to be.
I was raped at 22. I never came forward. It haunts me, the idea that he still could have, or still continues to not listen when a girl says No. Or Stop. Or Please. But I choose to believe he has. Because it is harder to make people change, to make people listen, than to just move on within yourself. I want to believe it was just a miscommunication. That alcohol collided and neither of us were really caring for each other or what the other needed, which is what should be taught in sex education. We should be teaching communication, rather than abstinence and guilt.
But now I’m speaking to you… You know who you are. You read this blog. I see you. Know that. The second you over step, I’ll come forward. And the sad thing for me? Your life won’t be ruined. This is the lamest of threats because it is not your name that will be dragged through the mud, but mine. My actions – which have not been pure or holy or lady-like in the very least will come out, too. I have never been and will never be a “Virtuous Woman”. My name will be done. And your name will live on as a “Well…. he MAY have done this ….” But another man will redeem you. Because that is our world. You stuck your dick down my throat while I was unconscious and your name will live on. You told me you were wearing a condom when you were not and your name will live on. I punched you in your face, clawed at your neck, and asked you to stop and apologized the next day for being “crazy” and your name will live on.
This is our world.
You could one day run for office. And I’d have to stand before a court, I would have to speak out, because you should not be in any form governing a country. It would be my civic fucking duty. But me coming forward? Ever? Would only be a hell of a week for you.
So. Here I am. Asking you and anyone else with questionable character to own up. And fucking change. Be a better person, not a better man—because the toxic ideal of what a man is has to change. I’m not asking what it means to be a woman anymore. I’m asking, what is it to be a man. What does it take for you to feel secure? To feel whole? To feel good about yourself? Because all I’m seeing are sad broken men, raging just as much as women about this changing world. What is YOUR problem?
I was never taught to be, nor am I, a man’s ear. I was never taught to be, nor am I, a man’s support. I am mine. And you, are your own, too. This is your chance, your time, to take a step back and fucking listen, and think. Go to therapy. Figure it out. Because women? Obviously… we’re done with helping you along. You have to be your own, and be what’s right. I am not asking for your power, or wisdom, or heart. I’m asking for your integrity.
My mother taught me integrity. She fed it to me in my pop tarts at breakfast, my PB & J's at lunch, and my meatloaf’s at dinner. Your mother, I guarantee, taught you the same. Integrity is not a man or a woman’s role. It is a human role, but somehow… most men have let it slide to continue their search for power, success, and their “rightful” place. It’s asinine, and cowardly. Give up the search. Join the struggle for peace hope and love like the rest of us. It’s not as easy, but it’s far more rewarding, I promise.
I recognize almost none of what I said is filled with peace, hope, or love. And many of the women who have raised me would be disheartened by my bluntness, my “cruelty” to my fellow man. They’d ask me to calm, to stick to my lane. To continue being the neck instead of the head. But that’s where I come in. I am no neck. The women who raised me, the world I have lived in, created a monster.
They made me a head.
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