Dear Car-Dwelling-Shouter.
STOP IT.
Do you have any idea what emotions are pumping through my veins as I walk home...in the dark...at nearly ten at night?
As I grip my sharpest, longest key between my knuckles in one hand, a rape whistle clutched in the other?
While I take pains to "walk tall and confidant." Heading -towards- the flow of traffic so that no one can sneak up on me from behind, choosing to tread the tiny, cobbled sidewalk that no one else ever uses because it's too hard to walk on, given it's small width and the telephone poles periodically strewn through its path.
Do you know that sometimes I imagine what the attack upon my person will be like when it finally happens? Or wonder if I am wearing enough layers to protect me so that I can struggle free? Hoping that my clothing is baggy enough that they might think that I am a boy. Are you aware that I am growing my nails out once again not only because they look nice, but because they are a natural-born weapon?
Do you have any idea at all?
Upon reaching the home stretch (my apartment complex) feelings of safety start trickling in--the knowledge that I am almost home and therefore almost safe.
What joy: I can mark off on my calendar that I didn't get raped or mugged today, I think to myself. Tuesday was safe as well. We'll see about next week.
ONLY TO HAVE YOU SUDDENLY SHOUT AT ME FROM A PASSING CAR AS YOU RUSH BY.
NOT. COOL.
You probably think you are funny. And drunk as well, on top of everything else.
But I can't even BEGIN to explain the FEAR that washed over me, the thought of, "OH NO. SOMEONE IS BEHIND ME." My hands freeze up, and all my preparations are for nothing. I can't even blow the darned whistle, for freaking sake.
And then the rage settles in as I march the rest of my way home. Shaking with a combination of anxiety and the desire to put my key to your jugular.
I demand a hug from my roommate and try to cool down (by ranting online. Which brings us to this exact moment).
Then I begin to do what I do best: overthink it.
I hate that we live in a world that requires these kinds of protections--where I know that, simply because of my gender and my size, I am an automatic target. Someone that can be easily overwhelmed.
No one has the right to assault another person. NO ONE. No man, no woman, no child. And no one deserves to be assaulted. Or wolf-whistled at. Or propositioned. No one is "asking for it."
CONSENT IS CONSENT. NO MEANS NO.
I AM NOT AN OBJECT.
And don't think that scaring the daylights out of someone is funny. It's not. It's horrifying.
ESPECIALLY WHEN I'VE JUST COME FROM THERAPY, AND HAVE HAD TO SHARE MY STORY OF HOW I WAS ABUSED. THE FEELING OF HELPLESSNESS AND HORROR ALL INTERMIXED IN MY HEART AND BRAIN AND CAUSING ME TO TRUST NO ONE.
It's the cruelest thing you could have ever done, at the worst time ever. Thanks for setting my progress back. Truly.
The ironic thing is that earlier in the day at the train station another man tried to "befriend" me after I was polite to him. He was homeless but kept himself up well and he'd been asking people in cars for money, and I legitimately didn't have anything (I had maybe twenty cents on me) so I explained, apologized, and shrugged. He was okay with that...
But then he followed me to the station.
And started asking my name and how he could go about getting to know, "a little lady like me."
And started asking my name and how he could go about getting to know, "a little lady like me."
And when I said that I wasn't looking for a relationship he said we could still be friends, and suggested a hug. But I could say 'no,' then. I had the ability to put up my boundaries and say 'no.' Because you better believe I saw him check me out from behind as I was moving over to sit down on the bench. And in suggesting a hug I knew exactly what he wanted--to either cop a feel or search my pockets.
I said, "how about a handshake." No question. A statement.
His response was to say, sarcastically, "well. You gotta accept what the lady's willing to offer."
And then he walked off.
Oh, yes. I knew exactly what you were after.
And that's NOT okay, either.
And in the daytime I can say no. In the daytime I can tell a creeper that he won't be getting my consent to feel me up. At night I have no choice in the matter--I get yelled at, followed, cat-called. I can say no, even then, I suppose. I can fight back.
But should I HAVE to? Do I really have to say to some guy, "sorry, no. My body is never and will never be yours. Don't ever assume that you can touch it or look at. Keep your limbs and eyeballs to yourself."
The worst thing of all is that oftentimes the good guys--the ones that don't act like creeps, stalkers, or cat-callers, are completely oblivious that we deal with this night after night. And, yes, they have to worry about getting mugged. But it's different. So the best
thing you can do, you Few Good Men, is be aware, be protective, and put
your foot down about change. Do not allow yourself or others to do these horrible things. Because we can only do so much.
I am so, so very tired of living in fear.
I am tired of being treated like an object. A thing to play with. A thing to break.
Because apparently men have the "right" to do so, simply by virtue of being men.
But that will never be right. It has to stop. Now. With us.
