I’ve just read about what happened. I’m saddened, enraged. I’ve done nothing but work and sleep and am barely able to sleep. It will cause another sleepless night:
As a 14 year old student trainer, my breasts were the targets of classmates, football players and other girls, even though I never once wore a revealing garment.
As a 16 year old in my first job, I was cornered while cleaning the men’s restroom. My friendly smile was too inviting, I suppose.
In high school, riding with friends at lunch, I learned how to aim for the solar plexus because I had to.
Because having a good sense of humor and being a modicum of social means I’m a cheating slut.
Because I can’t return a text while I’m at work means I’m a flaky bitch. The stalking in the following days was super-sexy.
Because not feeling right about going away with a man I hardly know makes me a prude with issues.
Because I can’t drive with my window rolled down without being catcalled.
Because I can’t shake a man’s hand more than once in a week or else he thinks I’m a tease.
Because if I turn a man down because I’m not interested or am otherwise engaged, I’m just a fat bitch lucky to get anyone’s attention.
Because if I’m alone at the bar, I’m game for anything and if I say I’m not, then I’m putting out false advertising.
Because my social anxiety precludes regular eye contact and that means I’m submissive and need a good lay to loosen up.
Because I don’t wear make up and that means I hate men, even if I don’t actually but that also means I’m playing a game.
Being told by women that men don’t like smart women, that men don’t like women in glasses or who don’t wear skirts, that being alone with a man is agreeing to advances, and that feminism is man-bashing.
It’s hard to be a woman. It’s hard to be human. We shouldn’t hurt each other to get the things we need. We don’t need to be alone or afraid but trust is harder to come by than it should be.