And being a woman...
I was going to write about fitness goals and how I haven't been as good about them as I'd hoped, but I just read this headline: Police looking for suspect in string of rapes over a map of my neighborhood. Hey look, two of the dots basically overlap on my apartment.
I am so angry right now. I hate this shit. I hate that those things would happen to anyone, that there's really no form of redress. Selfishly, I hate what this does to me. I hate that this news has changed my day and my week and my life. I hate feeling this powerless. I get to go home and be afraid in my own apartment and even more terrified to leave it. I hate that there's very little I can do about that. I hate that it's the smart thing to be afraid. I hate that I already was unsettled and constantly aware of my vunerability. I hate that I double and triple check my locks before I can sleep. I hate knowing the pepper spray I carry everywhere with me would probably only buy me a little time to run if I needed it.
It sickens me how relieved I am when Tyler comes home some nights. That being myself and alone is basically unsafe behavior.
It's two seperate strings of rapes, too, for those of you who aren't reading the article. It's one string of break-ins followed by rapes and an apparently unrelated series of bus stop rapes. Police spokesman says "We're stressing that people need to be aware of their surroundings, lock their homes and windows, and be mindful when approaching dimly lit areas." Okay, I'll try to be mindful. Thanks for that.
Yesterday I walked past my apartment because I didn't want the man who had slowed his car down to drive alongside me while he asked for my number to know where I lived. Last week I got on a bus that takes longer to get to work rather than continue to stand next to the large man making eating noises at me at the bus stop. I call Tyler and have him check out guys who appear to be doing repair work on our apartment, before I go inside, because you just never know. More days than not I smile and flirt with men who say disgusting things, because I don't want to find out how angry they'll get if I tell them to piss off.
Days go by when I am not forced to consider the possibility that I might in the next few minutes have to defend myself from sexual assault. There are days when rape is a headline, a distant thing that happens to other people, and days when I don't think about it at all. Lots of those days, when you add them together, I suppose, but not nearly, nearly enough of them to constitute actual peace of mind.
I am too angry to be entirely eloquent or coherent. I hate this shit.
I am so angry right now. I hate this shit. I hate that those things would happen to anyone, that there's really no form of redress. Selfishly, I hate what this does to me. I hate that this news has changed my day and my week and my life. I hate feeling this powerless. I get to go home and be afraid in my own apartment and even more terrified to leave it. I hate that there's very little I can do about that. I hate that it's the smart thing to be afraid. I hate that I already was unsettled and constantly aware of my vunerability. I hate that I double and triple check my locks before I can sleep. I hate knowing the pepper spray I carry everywhere with me would probably only buy me a little time to run if I needed it.
It sickens me how relieved I am when Tyler comes home some nights. That being myself and alone is basically unsafe behavior.
It's two seperate strings of rapes, too, for those of you who aren't reading the article. It's one string of break-ins followed by rapes and an apparently unrelated series of bus stop rapes. Police spokesman says "We're stressing that people need to be aware of their surroundings, lock their homes and windows, and be mindful when approaching dimly lit areas." Okay, I'll try to be mindful. Thanks for that.
Yesterday I walked past my apartment because I didn't want the man who had slowed his car down to drive alongside me while he asked for my number to know where I lived. Last week I got on a bus that takes longer to get to work rather than continue to stand next to the large man making eating noises at me at the bus stop. I call Tyler and have him check out guys who appear to be doing repair work on our apartment, before I go inside, because you just never know. More days than not I smile and flirt with men who say disgusting things, because I don't want to find out how angry they'll get if I tell them to piss off.
Days go by when I am not forced to consider the possibility that I might in the next few minutes have to defend myself from sexual assault. There are days when rape is a headline, a distant thing that happens to other people, and days when I don't think about it at all. Lots of those days, when you add them together, I suppose, but not nearly, nearly enough of them to constitute actual peace of mind.
I am too angry to be entirely eloquent or coherent. I hate this shit.