A Trip Down Memory Lane...

I don’t really have a story, but I do have something to say.  Ever since coming across the Violence Unsilenced blog, I’ve been Remembering.  Going back to times in college, to my relationship with my ex-gf.  Remembering instances where I could have been in danger, but I never really was.  Why, with statistics so high, was I never…

I have something to say about the way that I viewed myself.  My worth.  My rights as a woman.  I have to write this out, this buzzing in my head, so that I can see it all before me.  Who I was.  Who I want my girls to NEVER be. 

I may come across as very…flippant when I talk about my sexual history.  It’s very easy for me to be an open book when it comes to details of my life.  I don’t give a fuck, really.  But when it comes down to how I feel/felt about those situations, it’s a lot harder for me to talk about. 

But, I will need to.  Because I want my daughters to know that they don’t EVER have to put some dude’s needs/wants/dick before their own spirits.  How I’ll ever talk to them about this, I don’t know.  But I’ll start here.

I have never been raped.  I want to get that clear right now.  I’m not a survivor.  I am definitely NOT putting myself in the same league as the women from Violence Unsilenced.  They are true rockstars.  I was just stupid. 

The night I lost my v-card.  We all remember that non-story right?  Okay, a few details I left out.  Mostly, okay entirely, because I’m embarrassed.  As we started…you know.  I changed my mind.  Only I couldn’t verbalize it.  All I kept saying was “Okay…okay…okay...”  I was thinking “okay, enough. Stop.” But it didn’t come out that way.  Of course there was no way for him to know what I was thinking.  So I laid there and let him do what he was doing.  I remember someone knocking on the fogged up windows, the sweat from his hair falling on my face.  And when he was done, I asked him “why me?”  And, his response?  “Because you have the biggest tits of any girl at this party.”  Yay.  I’ve never told anyone that. 

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A date who drove all the way from Wyoming.  Before I left, one of my roommates gave me a knife hidden in a lipstick.  It was a blind date after all.  We went to a movie and before the lights even went off he was pawing me.  We “made out” during the entire movie, him trying to put my hand on his dick, me trying to keep him off of me.  And the whole time, me thinking that this is something I had to do.  He had driven so far…and I didn’t want to be a Bitch.  He tried to spend the night but I blamed my roommates and made him drive back north. 

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Huge rugby tournament in Montana.  Sitting in a diner with my teammates.  An older man walked up behind me, spun me around, kissed me and stuck his tongue down my throat.  And then he walked away.  I remember that he tasted of cigarette smoke.  

Later during The Party, a HUGE rugger from New Zealand tried to get me to come to his hotel room.  All I wanted was his t-shirt.  I said no, knowing what that would imply.  Even in my drunken state, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fight him off. 

That same night, a guy declared that I was his “make out buddy” for the weekend and proceeded to kiss me and grope me all night.  I was super drunk and high, but knew that I was not the one in charge.  I just tried to keep my friends in sight.  I was so lucky to have his attention.

On the last day, we played a quick game of 7s rugby with a men’s team from Canada.  We decided to play in our “underwear”.  Thinking we were so smart, we played in our boxers and sports bras.  They played in their tighty whiteys.  I spent most of the game yelling, “That’s not the ball, you fuck!!”

Because I didn’t want to seem like a Bitch (again) I laughed all of this off.  I didn’t think I could say “no” or “stop” or “fuck off”.  I didn’t feel like I actually had the rights over my own body. 

Even though we were ever vigilant with each other, one of us did get raped that weekend.   Although she wouldn’t tell us until much later. 

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Last merry example of what a lucky idiot I am. 

Rugby party.  I had been drinking all day.  At one point a friend commented that I was the perfect height for a blow job.  I went to punch his leg, but missed and hit him straight in his crotch.  He went down and I got a pitcher of beer poured over my head.  I also had to “shoot the boot” which means to chug a shoe full of beer. 

Later that night I was puking in the sand.  I was laying there a little away from the party, and I heard a small group of people approach me.  There were about 4 of them and they gathered in a circle around me.  They were laughing and talking, but I couldn’t really make out what they were saying.  Then one got down on the ground and got behind me.  I just remember hearing his pants slapping the back of mine.  Then more laughter.  I was completely aware of what was happening, but couldn’t move.

Then I heard the voice of my friend.  She told them to get away from me and told me to get up and that she was taking me home.  They laughed and said, “We’ll take her home!”  And I remember saying, “Please don’t let them take me.”  Of course she didn’t.  Lucky idiot. 

I never told anyone what they did, or what I thought they were going to do.  It was my fault.  I was too drunk and obviously not responsible for my well being. 

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And, of course, I’ve never told anyone how I felt about all of these situations. 

I felt like I couldn’t say no.  I felt like to protest would be being a Bitch.  I felt like maybe those were my only chances to be with a guy.  I felt like I was too ugly and too fat to ever attract anyone, so I should just take what I could get.  (That’s probably what I thought the most.)  I thought that in all these cases, I was the one to blame.  That I had put myself in these situations so I deserved everything that happened.  And maybe that’s partially true. 

But now that I’m older, I know that no one has the right to touch my body without my consent.  That no matter if I’m lying naked in the middle of the sidewalk, I still have ownership over my body.  Logically I know that, but it still is a battle inside my head. 

How do I instill the truth in Isa and Maya?  That they are the only ones who can make decisions about their bodies.  That sex should be a wonderful, beautiful thing and that they should own that as well.  How do I instill, in them, the power to say “no” or even “yes”?  It’s so frightening, to think that they might turn out like me.  To not know their worth, to not have a voice.  I want so much more for them.