Why I Speak Up...

I’ve had something on my mind lately, and I've been remiss to post it because, well, I don’t know really. Sometimes I feel like folks come here to get a good laugh, and when I throw in a serious post I worry that I'll fuck up the ambiance or whatever the hell I’ve got going on here.

Thing is, my twisted sense of humor arose as a coping mechanism. If I hadn’t been able to say, “Ah, fuck it. I’ll stick around and see what else could possibly go wrong,” I might’ve ingested that bottle of pills oh so many years ago. But I didn’t. Okay, so it also had a little to do with envisioning my family at my funeral and realizing it would tear them apart, but I digress...

I’ve been active with Planned Parenthood lately, in particular supporting the cause of mandating hospitals to inform rape victims of the availability of Emergency Contraception. I’ve spoken at a rally, a press conference that was aired on the news, and to a few reporters here and there about my experience of being raped, impregnated by the rapist, and having an abortion ten years ago. I think it is incredibly important to share my story for several reasons, but here are just a couple.

Firstly, I want any other woman who might be in the throes of a similar experience to know that they are going to be okay. Really, really, really. That’s most important to me. Maybe a little crazy, but okay. I'm a little crazy and a little okay, and it's cool. It's cool, too, to cry a lot or a little. Just do what feels right. That's about all you can do. You are not alone, though it may feel that way.

Which leads me to...

Secondly, rape survivors are left largely on their own to deal with the repercussions of their assault. It’s fucking sad and shouldn't be that way. I remember spending much of my energy worrying what people would think of me if I told them. It’s not like breaking your leg. When you break your leg, you ring up your family, friends, and work and say, “Hey, I broke my fucking leg,” and people send you flowers and cards and you get days or weeks off of work.

When you're raped, at least in my experience, it doesn't go down like that. Especially if it's not 'Stranger Jumping Out of the Bushes' rape. I went to class the next day, and work after that. Everyone thought it best if I carried on as usual. So I did, wanting to make them feel better. I proved that I could still tie my shoes, and take notes about algorithms. Truthfully, though, it would’ve been nice if I could have taken some time to recuperate from a broken spirit. Just because you can't see it or slap a cast on it, doesn't mean it can't be broken or injured, ya know?

Rape is something many survivors suffer in silence because it involves sex, which people feel icky talking about it. But, people need to talk about it to make the stigma go away, and since I feel pretty damn okay most days, I do. I’ve got to honor my funny bone by giving appropriate recognition to just where it came from. Being tough as nails, and knowing that each time I laugh, it proves that the mother fucker who raped me couldn’t take that away. Not forever, anyway.

I have noticed that my serious posts go largely uncommented on. And you know what? That’s okay. Seriously you guys. One of the hardest parts about going public for me has been the response from other women who’ve told me how brave I am and relayed their stories. I usually say, “First of all, I’m no braver than you and second of all, it happened to me, and I still don’t know what to say to you except that it sucks and I’m sorry.” I feel like if I'm standing up in front of 200 people telling my story, I should know the perfect response, but I don't.

I'm only human. As are you all. Well, except for the one or two aliens that might read this, which makes me hope that I'm not a case study for earthling normalcy. If so, we're all fucked. But, to the humans, it's okay to be human, and not know what to say.

So, it's off my chest now. Thank you. I feel better. Hopefully, you are no worse for the wear, which would be the best case scenario for both of us.