Feminism is for Lovers

Why this project exists.

I have never told this story in its entirety. Now, 5 years later I still cannot actually TALK about it, but I have to get it out somehow. Its clawing at my insides and making me feel like a coward. This is already coming out all wrong, like a shitty high school livejournal entry, but I have to do this, I promised myself I would.

People always ask, “Why are you a feminist?” I give the standard “I believe in equality regardless of sex, gender, object choice, race, class…” When in truth, I’m a feminist because I need to understand why. I need to know it wasn’t my fault. I need to know why he thought it was acceptable for him to do it. I need to know why I didn’t tell anyone, why I questioned myself. Its stupid, I know it is, but honestly, that’s why I started reading feminist theory.

It was the 4th of July and I was one of my best friend’s parent’s lake house with his sister, her boyfriend, and his friend. I had just turned 18. The friend was cute. He was a football player, one of the positions that required more running than tackling I guess because he was tall and lean. I can’t help but feel that I sealed my own doom one night when we were talking about relationships and he asked how I felt about one-night stands. I said I didn’t have any problem with them, sometimes that’s all you want and there is nothing wrong with that. Maybe this made me seem “easy” I don’t know. Look at me, still trying to figure out where I screwed up.

Two nights later, it was Sunday and we would be leaving in the morning, everyone got super drunk, because it only seemed logical that we had to finish off all the booze we brought, ya know, less packing. This is when he started hitting on me. He kept trying to talk to me, convince me to go on a walk. I didn’t want to. I had just wanted someone to flirt with, I wasn’t interested in anything else. My friend used to be straight-edge and could not handle his liquor for shit and I tried and tried to get him to come to our room with me. I didn’t want to be alone with the other guy. I knew he was going to try something and I didn’t feel like trying to maneuver turning him down, I was too drunk and too tired for that shit. My friend wouldn’t budge and passed out on the couch, I left him and went to our room.

Of course the other guy followed me and I began the “Oh man, I am so tired, I just want to hit the stack and sleep.” Attempting to say “get out, I don’t want to do anything but sleep.” He said, “Okay, I get it. Just a good-night kiss?” I conceded, trying to take the path of least resistance. The room was spinning and I needed to lie down. I just wanted him to go. He left. I laid down still in my clothes and passed out. When I woke up he was on top of me, in me. I had no idea how long it had been going on. At first I thought maybe I had just been really drunk and agreed, but then I remembered. It hit me what was happening as I lay there still taking it all in. Finally, a wave of disgust and violation swept over me and I pulled my legs back, then I knew I had been correct in my assumption that I hadn’t been awake when it started, he faltered, he knew I was awake now, but he didn’t stop.

I kicked. I kicked out with everything I had, knocking him off me onto the floor. He got up and started in, “You fucking crazy cock-teasing bitch!” His nose was bleeding.

I told my friend and his sister what happened, her boyfriend beat the guy up and that was that. I never reported it. Even then I knew that if it wasn’t my fault, everyone would think it was. Another reason is everyone acted like it was no big deal, like only a minor party foul had occurred and if I said anything, I would be the one that was overreacting, that was out of line. Plus, I had no proof. I had flirted with him, I had gotten drunk around him. I knew.

But why? I’m starting to understand why. The patterns of his behavior and mine and how they weren’t really just our own. They were part of this whole god damn system. Neither of us is really that rare of a case, unfortunately, we’re probably the norm. I could care less about reporting him, all that would happen is he would do a couple of months AT MOST. That is if anything at all happened to him. He was just a goddamned symptom of a much deeper rooted societal ill. I want to take down the whole fucking system that allowed me and so many other people to feel guilty and weak. I want to raise awareness that this shit is not rare, its just so hard to talk about, to admit to. Rape is still shameful. The burden of proof is on a victim who may not even know that what they just experienced is rape. So, I’m speaking, er writing out to deal with my own sense of shame and confusion about what happened to me and how I handled it. But also because I’ve realized that until this type of thing is talked about, its going nowhere.

This is why I’m a feminist.