I feel like this must describe more people than we can even imagine. I feel like I’m being dramatic when I think about: being sexually assaulted in a dark corner on a strange street in Madrid and my phone was dead; all the times I was in a frat house of people I trusted, blacked out having sex with I don’t remember and only knowing it happened because I wake up naked with a condom next to me; how hot the german guy was before he got forceful and made me let him finish without a condom; all the times I had laid there in pain waiting for my past boyfriends to finish; all the times I have given in to a man just because I liked him; being scolded at planned parenthood in the suburbs because I didn’t know how many people I slept with; almost but not quite having sex with my manager at my first job when I was 15 and he was 24 because I thought I knew what I wanted. I can’t write #metoo because I can’t stand the thought of people thinking I’m promiscuous [that’s no excuse for sexual assault so it’s sad that’s what people would think], and I can’t stand the thought of my mom knowing that I was irresponsible and slutty in college [again, really sad that people think being irresponsible means you should be sexually assaulted]. I also can’t write #metoo because I don’t feel the same pain that many people feel; being whistled at on the street irritates me but it doesn’t bring up bad memories; sex in general does not trigger any bad feelings for me. The sexual assault experiences I have had in the past do not affect me unless I actively think about them, so writing #metoo feels like a slap in the face to those who ‘truly’ suffered, whatever that means. I wish we didn’t have to have this conversation. Maybe someday.
I feel like this must describe more people than we can even imagine. I feel like I’m being dramatic when I think about: being sexually assaulted in a dark corner on a strange street in Madrid and my phone was dead; all the times I was in a frat house of people I trusted, blacked out having sex with I don’t remember and only knowing it happened because I wake up naked with a condom next to me; how hot the german guy was before he got forceful and made me let him finish without a condom; all the times I had laid there in pain waiting for my past boyfriends to finish; all the times I have given in to a man just because I liked him; being scolded at planned parenthood in the suburbs because I didn’t know how many people I slept with; almost but not quite having sex with my manager at my first job when I was 15 and he was 24 because I thought I knew what I wanted. I can’t write #metoo because I can’t stand the thought of people thinking I’m promiscuous [that’s no excuse for sexual assault so it’s sad that’s what people would think], and I can’t stand the thought of my mom knowing that I was irresponsible and slutty in college [again, really sad that people think being irresponsible means you should be sexually assaulted]. I also can’t write #metoo because I don’t feel the same pain that many people feel; being whistled at on the street irritates me but it doesn’t bring up bad memories; sex in general does not trigger any bad feelings for me. The sexual assault experiences I have had in the past do not affect me unless I actively think about them, so writing #metoo feels like a slap in the face to those who ‘truly’ suffered, whatever that means. I wish we didn’t have to have this conversation. Maybe someday.