Okie dokie, so we're just going to jump straight into this one. Last night I received this lovely message from an anonymous account that was promptly deleted upon me opening the text. And I just have a few things I would like to say:
First of all, I’m glad you have the confidence to send this to me anonymously. I mean, how brave of you to not attach your name or face to such a spiteful message; it really is inspirational. The only thing that could’ve made it better would be the use of an anime character as your profile picture. People say not to react to trolls, but I believe no action leads to people like you gaining even more confidence to wreak havoc in the lives of the people you target. Now, you claim that I “play the victim” of sexual assault and expect people to believe me because I’m a feminist. Well, congratulations, you got one thing right; I am indeed a feminist. I believe in the crazy notion that men and women should be on equal playing fields without men having to lower their standards, but that’s where your message stops being valid. I do not play the victim, I am the victim. Just because I haven’t given you and the internet a full rundown of an incredibly personal experience, does not make that experience any less real or valid. The general populous is not owed an explanation of every detail, and honestly, I don’t really care if you believe me or not. The people in my life I need to believe me know what happened and they have stood beside me for the last 2 years. The only time a victim should have to reveal what happened to them is when or if they choose to file a police report. Without accurate information, there would be too little for investigators to go on, but this process can be uncomfortable and draining for all those involved. There’s a reason you haven’t heard about police involvement in my case, and it’s because I chose to not file a report in hope that I would be able to move on and forget. In fact, I didn’t even tell my parents about the incident until recently because I was worried they may have wanted me to do something officially about it. Looking back, I wish I would have filed a report, but I made the choice that was best for me at the time, and now I am in a place where I don’t need to pursue this further. You say that as a victim of sexual assault, I should not be dressed as a “slut.” Well when I was assaulted I was wearing a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and my favorite blue flannel. That’s pretty much as conservative as I can dress without throwing on a turtle neck and a chastity belt. I had to throw away my flannel because it reminded me of him. The way a person dresses in no way represents what they are or are not willing to consent to. I should be able to dress in as little clothing I want and feel confident that my body will not be violated in any way. I was looking for a good night out with friends I trust, and that's all I was looking for. It has been two years since I went on a date that changed my life. The mental roller-coaster that was a result of the incident ended in me losing friends, transferring schools, and completely changing the way I look at almost all aspects of life. I’m not confident, I don’t laugh or smile very much, I have to tell people I don’t enjoy hugs because being touched (even in the most innocent of ways) triggers flashbacks. I have been diagnosed with three different mental illnesses because of one night, and people who send cowardly anonymous messages just to get a rise out of others have no place in my life. I hope you see this post and do a little reflecting. While I’m unsure of your motives, I need you to know your message did nothing but make me talk to the friends I always lean on. Am I angry? Yes. Am I hurt? You bet. Will I keep posting resources and messages of encouragement for other victims? Yup. Are you winning in any way? Not that I can tell. Am I going to keep on living my life despite assholes like you trying to ruin my day? I sure as hell am. And now a poem from a week after that night: Thanks So Much I opened myself up to you And the one thing I received Is a bloodied fist and anger At the way that I believed That you were a special person With whom I could put my trust I can’t believe I let you ruin me And fill me with disgust They tell me not to blame myself But what else am I to do When I put myself in this place Being alone with you I mean I guess I’m pretty lucky It could have been much worse But now whenever I close my eyes I see you. It’s a curse. It’s easy for them to tell me That this was not my fault But whenever I hear those words It’s like filling wounds with salt Because it was based on my judgment Me going to your place Hell I even feel kind of guilty For punching your stupid face How fucked up is that Me feeling sorry for you I guess that’s how I process The shit you put me through So thank you for destroying All the faith that I had I won’t be able to trust another For fear it’ll go bad
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AuthorI'm a Yooper who misses the stars. I make a pretty solid pasty and I think words are pretty spiffy. Archives
February 2019
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