I know the internet. I've grown up on it's pages, it's forums and known it's trends. I know the good, bad and ugly on here and I know it's just for fun. I know we like to laugh and joke and pretend nothing matters. I know we grow friendships, marriages, grudges and families from it; and then in the next breath we say it's for lols and we don't care. Of course we care, it's our life now and it's a big part of it. If it wasn't for the internet my life experience would be less rich, less cultured, there would be less knowledge for me to take and teach others. My little bubble would be that much smaller.
We all know the joy this thing can bring. We know couples who met here, life long friends who have spent years of digital time together and those who love to hate us are on this space as well.
Because of this ever present part of our lives the 24 hour news cycle has taken hold, not allowing us to pause for breath before the next story takes hold and bombards us with tragedy, evil and anger. It's stressful. One recurring story really affected me this year and I need to talk about it somehow, somewhere.
This is 2017 and Times magazine's person of the year are 'The Silence Breakers'. The women who spoke out about sexual harassment, assault and rape mainly by men in powerful positions. Rich men and celebrities have been brought down in a whirlwind of revelation this year. Not poor men, not men who's names mean nothing to the general populace, but important men who people can be shocked are misogynists that abuse others for sexual gratification. We don't talk about the ordinary men. We tried to with the MeToo movement. I'm still not sure what a hashtag does to prevent sexual harassment, assault and rape but I guess it was worth a try. A show of solidarity. A shout out to those who are in the dark about how prevalent this is for women they know, love and share their lives and space with. The statistics and facts must have washed over them before this because nobody seemed to know or care. I often wonder if they still don't really. It'll take time to have an impact on the lives of ordinary men and women but let's not get down about a lack of progress.
Since the news hit it brought back many memories for me; memories which will be familiar for many women. I honestly lose count. I honestly cannot even express every account, every experience, every disrespect of my body and autonomy. It would be mind numbing to recount.
I never mention waiting for one of my parents to pick me up after a school disco. Waiting on the street and a van circling, over and over, the man leering at me like prey, waiting to pull over and offer me cash for a sexual act, thinking I was a piece of meat. I was 13.
I never mention standing around in town reading a book. A man has been staring at me for the past 30 minutes from across the street. He's pretty unkempt and in his 30's at a minimum. He comes over and hands me a hand drawn picture he's made. I think he's trying to be friendly. The picture looks like a cartoon drawing of me. I guess that's why he's been staring at me. He must be some down and out artist just bored out of his skull.
I see the guy later on. I'm in the city leaning against a wall waiting for a friend. He has a friend with him who's also a lot older than me. They both walk up to me. They don't seem so friendly now. The friend keeps watch while the creepy artist grabs my boobs with both hands, squeezing them and staring at me lecherously. After what seems like an eternity they walk off laughing. I am frozen and can't breathe. I am angry and upset. I can't stop crying. I'm a 14 year old girl.
I'm working my first job. A man started at the same time as me. He's in his 40's and I feel uneasy around him, there's something off but I have no idea what. I'm in a stock room stacking shelves. He walks past and I feel a brushing up against my ass. It doesn't feel natural and I think something is wrong. I freeze and he walks past again. This time it's not brushing, it's feeling my ass. I go to the roof and have a panic attack. I tell someone at work and they don't leave me alone with him again. He still gets promoted to assistant manager of the store. Not long after he takes the weeks money and leaves town. The Police say after running his name that he's known for ripping off businesses. They never believed my feeling something was up with this guy. I am 16 years old.
I'm watching a friends band in a bar. I'm wearing a jeans and hoodie. This is irrelevant to the anecdote but I feel like adding it anyway. My boyfriend at the time goes to the bar to buy us drinks. I feel a hand grab my ass and turn around to see a complete stranger grinning. I ask him “What the fuck?” and he says “That's what you get”. I am enraged. “That's what you get? No. This is what you get”. I punch him in the face. I am sick of this. I am 18 years old.
I'm an adult now and I have long term relationships. Sometimes these are good and sometimes these are really bad. Sometimes the man I've been with felt entitled to my body, to touching and grabbing me whenever and wherever, they disregard my feelings, act sullen when I don't want sex with them. They manipulate to grind me down. To make me into a hollow shell of a person. They pretend they have a right to me. Then they wonder why I don't want to be near them. Men are pigs.
I'm enjoying my life. Things are going great and I'm so happy. I go out for an ordinary few drinks. I drink more than a few. This isn't uncommon. We all like drinks and we have a great time. This time isn't so great. This time I am raped by someone I don't even know. This can't be right.
I spent years working with kids who have been abused, many of whom have been traumatised through rape. I've read the books, the stats, the serious case reviews. How am I a statistic now? Did all the reading up on this help me deal with it? Probably not. I hate myself and my body. I've never felt ashamed of my skin and my body but now I do. That's new. I find a way to shower by buying a bluetooth speaker and turning music on so I can close my eyes and sing along to distract myself from self loathing. Being in the shower makes me feel sick. I call my best friend and tell her I have a bunch of hair dye and will she help me out. “Of course!” she says, delighted to know I am ready to deal with my trauma. Nothing like getting bright red hair to sort out a crisis. I am 26 years old.
I don't go out the house much aside from work now. My soul trickled out a tiny bit every time someone used my body, every time I was helpless and dehumanised. A bit of me died that night. That man and all the others wore me down, I'll admit it. They haven't won but I'm not out fighting anymore either. I panic a lot now. I worry. Time heals things but I don't think I can ever go back to that person I was. It's sad. What plays on my mind probably more than my own trauma though is the normalisation of it. How this isn't a tragedy.
When I told my friends about that night I got some interesting responses. Some people were obviously concerned, they were upset, they were angry for me. I'll never forget a friends response when I told her the Police were useless. “Why did you bother going to them for?” she said, “They never helped me, never helped [name] either, they don't give a shit”. She's in her 50's. It seems I barely know a woman who hasn't been raped. They all keep it quiet. Until you join their club. Then they tell you quite bluntly. Then they tell you to keep it quiet from their grown up children, their colleagues, your friends who aren't in the club.
I don't think I should keep secrets about things happening that weren't my fault. I'm glad the women in the media finally felt they could speak out. It hurts every day that this happens everywhere, to so many people. Whatever happened to me so far in life is normal. And that's the world we live in.
So what was 2017? A year of almost-nuclear war with North Korea, international friendships being ripped up because of fear and hatred, and millions of women putting their hand up to declare that they too have been victims of sexual violence.
