A/N: I might delete this later but goddamn y'all I needed to rant. It was so bad I couldn't fall asleep. I'm hoping I can now.
I'm putting this up because it needs to be said. I might delete it because...I might want it to be gone. But for right now, this needs to be said.
mom,
i love you to death. but in loving you to death, sometimes you frustrate the hell out of me.
last night at the football game when i was discussing a girl's outfit with you, i was not saying she looked ugly or like a slut. i was saying, and i quote, "when the school says they're gonna be lenient with the dress code at games, that doesn't mean blatantly ignore it." i was saying that because the girl i saw (who had on a bralette and a jean jacket) was very obviously out of dress code, more obvious than they typically allow at football games.
and then you said, if i remember correctly -- and i'm pretty sure i do because i think this will forever be fucking burned into my memory -- "you know, and that's why girls get raped."
to which i replied, "it's actually not," in all seriousness, thinking -- god, hoping -- that what you said was a sick joke of some sort.
and you responded, "no, really. she's sending the wrong message to a guy."
i dropped the conversation instantly. i couldn't figure out if i was pissed or completely torn by your view, but i think i'll settle on distraught.
let me tell you why.
a girl's outfit, how she acts, how she speaks, and anything else under the sun, is not to blame if she is raped.
you know who is to blame? her rapist.
and that goes for anyone who is raped. the victim is not to blame. the victim did not ask to be traumatized and have their sanity practically ripped from their body by a butcher with a dull cleaver. the victim did not ask to be taken advantage of. the victim is not. to. blame.
a girl's outfit does not "send the wrong message" to a guy. a girl's outfit does not automatically make her to blame if she is sexually assaulted or raped. the one who sexually assaults or rapes her is the one at fault. not her. she did not. ask. for. that.
no one does.
the second the word, "no," leaves their lips, things should stop. and if they don't, then it is automatically rape or sexual assault. it is. point blank. end of story. no means fucking no, okay?
victim blaming has got to stop.
if you ever sit there and wonder why i never came forward about my situation of sexual harassment and online harassment, read the goddamn article i wrote. read it again. read it three times. and read it until your eyes barely have to register the words because they already have them memorized. read a fifth time and read it a sixth. read it until your eyes are burning.
maybe then you'll see the underlying reason of why i never came forward.
i was scared, obviously. i was young. i was so, so young that it pains me to even think about the age i was when that happened to me. but you know what other thought i had instilled into my mind?
that i was the one in the wrong. that everything he did and said to me was my fault, entirely. that it was my fault for letting it go too far. my fault for not telling a teacher sooner. my fault for not telling my parents. my fault for not telling my friends. my fault for not speaking up. my fault for not getting help. my fault for not standing up to him. my fault. all my fault.
but guess what? it is not my fault. that entire situation was not. my. fault.
i didn't ask to be harassed. i didn't ask to be threatened. i didn't ask for any of that.
when he threatened to rape me all those times, was my outfit the problem? no.
when he came to the fall choir concert freshman year and tried following me out, was my outfit the problem? look at my choir dress. was it the problem? was i sending the wrong message to him? were my collar bones showing too much? my arms? my ankles? my cheekbones? my eyes? my lips? my ears, maybe?
no.
the answer is hell no.
the answer is i didn't deserve it. the answer is it wasn't my fault. the answer is the outfit is not the problem.
the problem is those who can't control themselves, and keep their fucking hands to themselves. that's who the problem is.
not me.
and not the girl in the bralette and the jean jacket, either.
