(no subject)
Remember that one time I found a fellow teacher blithely recounting rape while traveling in another country on his blog? And he was talked to about making his blog private but not fired? Or arrested? He still teaches at that school and his blog is no longer private. His most recent post includes him fantasizing about murdering a girl he met on Tinder who turned out to be fat, but whom he was still nice enough to go on a date with.
Remember that one time two men made a middle-of-the-street u-turn to stop in front of where I was walking, and one got out of the passenger seat to head me off and the other stayed in the driver seat, in my mind for a quick getaway? Remember trying to decide exactly the right measure of non-interest (so as not to encourage more conversation) and kindness (please don't get mad and hurt me, please don't get mad and hurt me) with which to respond to their greeting?
Remember how he posted online that he didn’t know anyone who had been experienced street harassment or sexual harassment and didn’t feel like it actually occurred as regularly as people let on - right after this happened?
Remember how your friend didn’t realize she had been raped until you heard her story and told her?
Remember how every single time you and your boyfriend saw each other for years you would do what he wanted, but you can count on your fingers the times things were mutual?
Remember that time in second grade where the boy who wouldn't stop touching me told me in the gym storage room that he was going to rape me?
Remember when my friend was almost killed by her husband and the Army just deployed him instead of doing anything to protect her? He comes back soon and she expects that he will murder her, perhaps their children.
Remember your other friend who was sexually abused throughout her whole childhood until she could finally leave home?
Remember how every boyfriend pushed you past where you were comfortable and you didn't think much of it because of course that's just how relationships are? Remember how you became just a shell of yourself, not sure what "self" was anymore, since what you wanted it to be got taken away? Remember the times it was clear you weren't happy, weren't okay, but there was plausible deniability because they also knew you wanted to be good, so.
Remember the tidal wave of detectives that flood the internet to decide whether or not a woman is telling the truth about being raped or assaulted? Sometimes they decide she only wants money. Other times it’s the fame. Both are apparently worth drowning in other people’s gaslighting and abuse.
Remember being told, "boys only want one thing"?
Remember the man at the pool who wouldn't stop talking to me, complimenting me, even after I thanked him and tried to stare intently at my book? He was with two other girls and it seemed like he felt quite bold.
Remember when Bryan was blackmailing me to date him in 7th grade? He reminded me continually of the embarrassing story he had about me, just in case. My "friend" Jessica thought this was so funny.
Remember when a man more than three times my age kept getting closer and closer to me at my summer internship in high school? I was terrified he would follow me to my remote parking lot one day. Finally he reached out and caressed my face and I found the nerve to tell my coworker, who handled it. Later that same coworker, whom I trusted like a father-figure, would start smiling knowingly at me and adjusting his semi-erection as though I couldn't see. I still love him as a mentor and I can't reconcile my confusion; I've spent years wondering if I'm to blame. I bet he still thinks of me fondly and has few qualms.
Remember how fast it goes from 0 to fucking bitch?
Remember that time a boy reached out and touched my breast in middle school and I didn't say a word about it to anyone because I was so shocked and confused about it happening that I wasn't sure if it was wrong or not? Whether I was making a big deal out of nothing?
Remember how even though it’s okay for boys to have trouble resisting touching breasts, and even though men enjoyed my sister’s breasts when she was a scantily clad NFL cheerleader, and even though breastfeeding is protected by law, my sister was aggressively excoriated by multiple police officers for breastfeeding in a Mecklenburg County courtroom because she was “exposing herself”? Remember how the online commenters said, “If a woman is going to whip them out, I’m gonna look,” as a way to explain why breastfeeding should not be allowed in public? Remember how the sheriff explained that the deputies were “trying to protect her” by threatening her and ordering her to leave? Remember the women who commented that they prefer other women use a cover? Or just, “Agree with the deputies!”
Remember how every boyfriend I've ever had has cheated on me at some point? Usually multiple times?
Remember when a boy drove in from another state to take Cathi to prom? But he didn't actually want to go, after all, so they didn't stay long; instead he took her to a hotel room and convinced her to "let go of her inhibitions" and have sex for the first time. He left afterwards and she never talked to him again. She was devastated.
Remember when Mr. Shelton threatened me until I let him read the private poem I'd written? We both knew that I would never do anything wrong; his escalating aggression about seeing my paper was confusing. We both knew it was just something private and embarrassing: I was in tears and red-faced. But he also knew he could make me do what he wanted, and he wanted to violate my privacy.
Remember being told purity was godly by people in charge? Being pressured about sex by people in charge? Remember how I formed this idea of self and morality in the first place? The idea it's then really sexy to forcibly shatter?
Remember the guy who, after being told that I would not date him but that we could be friends, began to get clingy, to beg, until I started panicking, imagining I could smell his cologne outside of my apartment complex at night?
Remember when Mr. Linton, my 7th grade history teacher, turned out to be a pedophile and went to prison? His victim (the one we know about) was 7.
Remember how Leslie told me, "Just make sure he takes care of you, too" and he didn't, doesn't, but I felt embarrassed and shy and pathetic saying so?
Remember how your boyfriend wrote a poem to another girl fantasizing about marrying me but having sex with her at our wedding?
Remember walking with your group of 14-year-old students downtown and being catcalled, not knowing if the call was for you or for them, since really it could be either?
Remember how your mom was raped and her guilt - at being raped - tore your family to shreds?
Remember when your boyfriend, after kissing another girl, asked if he could please just have two girlfriends?
Remember feeling like your apartment complex became decidedly unsafe because as you were walking to the parking lot, sloppy and angry, a man volunteered, "You're very pretty" even though he didn't know so much as your name?
Remember how when people disagree with you on the internet, you become a whore, slut, twat, twit, cunt, bitch? They will rape you, find where you live, murder you.
Remember when you wrote a poem about all of this and your 8th grade English teacher told you it was inappropriate? Your poem, that is. Your poem was inappropriate.
Remember that one time two men made a middle-of-the-street u-turn to stop in front of where I was walking, and one got out of the passenger seat to head me off and the other stayed in the driver seat, in my mind for a quick getaway? Remember trying to decide exactly the right measure of non-interest (so as not to encourage more conversation) and kindness (please don't get mad and hurt me, please don't get mad and hurt me) with which to respond to their greeting?
Remember how he posted online that he didn’t know anyone who had been experienced street harassment or sexual harassment and didn’t feel like it actually occurred as regularly as people let on - right after this happened?
Remember how your friend didn’t realize she had been raped until you heard her story and told her?
Remember how every single time you and your boyfriend saw each other for years you would do what he wanted, but you can count on your fingers the times things were mutual?
Remember that time in second grade where the boy who wouldn't stop touching me told me in the gym storage room that he was going to rape me?
Remember when my friend was almost killed by her husband and the Army just deployed him instead of doing anything to protect her? He comes back soon and she expects that he will murder her, perhaps their children.
Remember your other friend who was sexually abused throughout her whole childhood until she could finally leave home?
Remember how every boyfriend pushed you past where you were comfortable and you didn't think much of it because of course that's just how relationships are? Remember how you became just a shell of yourself, not sure what "self" was anymore, since what you wanted it to be got taken away? Remember the times it was clear you weren't happy, weren't okay, but there was plausible deniability because they also knew you wanted to be good, so.
Remember the tidal wave of detectives that flood the internet to decide whether or not a woman is telling the truth about being raped or assaulted? Sometimes they decide she only wants money. Other times it’s the fame. Both are apparently worth drowning in other people’s gaslighting and abuse.
Remember being told, "boys only want one thing"?
Remember the man at the pool who wouldn't stop talking to me, complimenting me, even after I thanked him and tried to stare intently at my book? He was with two other girls and it seemed like he felt quite bold.
Remember when Bryan was blackmailing me to date him in 7th grade? He reminded me continually of the embarrassing story he had about me, just in case. My "friend" Jessica thought this was so funny.
Remember when a man more than three times my age kept getting closer and closer to me at my summer internship in high school? I was terrified he would follow me to my remote parking lot one day. Finally he reached out and caressed my face and I found the nerve to tell my coworker, who handled it. Later that same coworker, whom I trusted like a father-figure, would start smiling knowingly at me and adjusting his semi-erection as though I couldn't see. I still love him as a mentor and I can't reconcile my confusion; I've spent years wondering if I'm to blame. I bet he still thinks of me fondly and has few qualms.
Remember how fast it goes from 0 to fucking bitch?
Remember that time a boy reached out and touched my breast in middle school and I didn't say a word about it to anyone because I was so shocked and confused about it happening that I wasn't sure if it was wrong or not? Whether I was making a big deal out of nothing?
Remember how even though it’s okay for boys to have trouble resisting touching breasts, and even though men enjoyed my sister’s breasts when she was a scantily clad NFL cheerleader, and even though breastfeeding is protected by law, my sister was aggressively excoriated by multiple police officers for breastfeeding in a Mecklenburg County courtroom because she was “exposing herself”? Remember how the online commenters said, “If a woman is going to whip them out, I’m gonna look,” as a way to explain why breastfeeding should not be allowed in public? Remember how the sheriff explained that the deputies were “trying to protect her” by threatening her and ordering her to leave? Remember the women who commented that they prefer other women use a cover? Or just, “Agree with the deputies!”
Remember how every boyfriend I've ever had has cheated on me at some point? Usually multiple times?
Remember when a boy drove in from another state to take Cathi to prom? But he didn't actually want to go, after all, so they didn't stay long; instead he took her to a hotel room and convinced her to "let go of her inhibitions" and have sex for the first time. He left afterwards and she never talked to him again. She was devastated.
Remember when Mr. Shelton threatened me until I let him read the private poem I'd written? We both knew that I would never do anything wrong; his escalating aggression about seeing my paper was confusing. We both knew it was just something private and embarrassing: I was in tears and red-faced. But he also knew he could make me do what he wanted, and he wanted to violate my privacy.
Remember being told purity was godly by people in charge? Being pressured about sex by people in charge? Remember how I formed this idea of self and morality in the first place? The idea it's then really sexy to forcibly shatter?
Remember the guy who, after being told that I would not date him but that we could be friends, began to get clingy, to beg, until I started panicking, imagining I could smell his cologne outside of my apartment complex at night?
Remember when Mr. Linton, my 7th grade history teacher, turned out to be a pedophile and went to prison? His victim (the one we know about) was 7.
Remember how Leslie told me, "Just make sure he takes care of you, too" and he didn't, doesn't, but I felt embarrassed and shy and pathetic saying so?
Remember how your boyfriend wrote a poem to another girl fantasizing about marrying me but having sex with her at our wedding?
Remember walking with your group of 14-year-old students downtown and being catcalled, not knowing if the call was for you or for them, since really it could be either?
Remember how your mom was raped and her guilt - at being raped - tore your family to shreds?
Remember when your boyfriend, after kissing another girl, asked if he could please just have two girlfriends?
Remember feeling like your apartment complex became decidedly unsafe because as you were walking to the parking lot, sloppy and angry, a man volunteered, "You're very pretty" even though he didn't know so much as your name?
Remember how when people disagree with you on the internet, you become a whore, slut, twat, twit, cunt, bitch? They will rape you, find where you live, murder you.
Remember when you wrote a poem about all of this and your 8th grade English teacher told you it was inappropriate? Your poem, that is. Your poem was inappropriate.