As a girl I was always taught to be on the defensive.
I was taught to always watch my drink being poured, to never pick up a cup once it was placed down, and to never accept drinks or drugs from boys I didn’t know.
I was taught to use the buddy system so that my friends and I would be safe, to never go to party alone because that would make me vulnerable, and to never go upstairs with a boy I didn’t know.
I was told to know my limits, to not get too drunk and to always know how I was getting home. To always have my cell phone on and charged. To know who I could call if I needed help.
Well, besides being a bullshit system of victim blaming by placing responsibility on the survivor, as if it our fucking fault and that the solution is for us to watch our drinks more carefully and not to teach the assailants that we do not owe you anything and you cannot just fuck me at will and just because you have been able to get everything you want in life and you are entitled does not mean that you are entitled to me, besides all of that, it didn’t work.
You raped me just two weeks after you told me that you loved me. I was not taught that this was even humanly possible, you fucking monster.
I was not taught about how my sober, verbal, and definitive ‘no’ actually meant ‘hell yeah’. Because though you asked for my consent, asked me if I wanted to have sex with you, and though you too were sober, you didn’t care. You fucked me anyway.
I was not taught about how hard it would be to give words to what you did to me. My best friend turned boyfriend, the one who loved me. For five months I called it nothing, I just pretended that it didn’t happen. Later, it became a ‘misunderstanding’. Then, with more clarity, ‘sex without my permission’. And finally, eight months later, I called it what it was: rape.
And I was not taught how hard it would hit me. The class I would fail, the days I could not pull myself out of bed, the panic attack I would have, the friendships I would let go of. I was not taught about my soon to be dependence on medication and how my anxiety would spiral out of control. Nor about the flinch that would happen deep inside of me whenever I see your name or your face or your body walking around campus, as if nothing is different. And I was not taught about just how broken I would feel, how differently I walk through the world now.
If you are listening, even though you probably aren’t, my no meant no.