Here goes ...
Content Warning. It took a lot to write. It took even more to post. Make it count. Please share. Please #BelieveWomen
#MeToo #TimesUp #RapeCultureIsWhen #WomensReality #YesAllWomen #ShameOnYou #WaitingForYouToSayIToo
I was small and something odd happened. I think it was you. I don’t know. No one does.
I was about seven and you told me I was a blonde bombshell in front of my family. My parents laughed.
I was about eight and at school and your hand went up my skirt. The children laughed.
I was about nine and you told my parents in front of me that I had Bette Davis eyes. You laughed. My parents smiled.
I was about ten and you forced a full kiss and grope on me. The adults said boys will be boys.
I was about eleven and you flashed yourself whilst talking to me. I was silent. You were smiling. The other adult said nothing. So I said nothing.
I was about eleven and you looked at me too long. I noted that you noticed me.
I was about twelve and you looked even longer. I knew that you noticed me.
I was about thirteen and you stared hard and got harder. I knew that you thought about me.
I was about fourteen and you groomed me for months. I was kind of flattered.
I was fifteen and you whistled, beeped and shouted at me in the street. I felt validated.
I was fifteen and you flirted with me. You were my teacher. You had a sports car. I was your favourite.
I was sixteen and you approached me and asked to take my photograph. A model you said. I felt beautiful. Topless you said. I was scared. You kept asking. I said no.
I was sixteen and you showed me you had a knife and that you could pick me up and throw me like a doll.
I was seventeen and you followed me into a toilet and cornered me and told me you could do anything to me and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt powerless. You felt powerful.
I was eighteen and cracking up. You ogled and hooted. You laughed with your mates.
I was nineteen and breaking apart. You jeered and leered. Your mates laughed with you.
I was nineteen and asking for a job. You took me into the back room and interviewed me. I didn’t get the job. I didn’t want it by then anyway.
I was twenty and I yearned to be loved and adored. You just notched my cherry up and bragged.
I was twenty and I just met you with friends and I woke up in the middle of the night with you in my mouth. I gagged.
I was twenty and you stopped me and asked to take my photograph. A model you said. You had connections. Nude you said. Or maybe a video. I was scared. You kept phoning. I said no.
I was twenty and I didn’t ask for it. You didn’t ask me either. I thought it was my fault for being so drunk. It wasn’t.
I was twenty one and you broke into my room and stole my clothes and left me a photo of you masturbating. I was weirded out and scared.
I was twenty one and you stood outside my door in the middle of the night and whispered strange things. I was scared and weirded out.
I was twenty one and I thumbed a lift lost in a thunderstorm. Your hands went between my thighs and stroked my knickers. I was polite and trapped.
I was twenty two and still didn’t ask for it. I couldn’t say no. I had passed out you see. I was fair game. It didn’t feel like a game.
I was twenty two and you walked me home to keep me safe but you wouldn’t leave when I repeatedly asked and you tried to undress me. I was angry and terrified.
I was twenty two and you gave me twenty seven bruises and I had to run away clutching my clothes in the dark and the rain. I was horrified and ashamed.
I was twenty three and you tried to get into bed with me. Your best friend my boyfriend had passed out on the sofa. I was confused and kept it secret.
I was twenty three and you demanded that one of us should give you a birthday present in front of all your friends. For a moment you all looked at the two of us like it was a good idea and almost half got up out of your seats. That moment went on too long until someone came to their senses. That moment when you all considered gang rape still haunts me like an ice cold relief it didn’t happen. That was a fun party.
I was twenty four and I began to tear my clothes and hack my hair and pierce my face and wear a scowl. You still beeped and propositioned me for money. I wanted to bury myself.
I was twenty four and you didn’t notice I was crying when you fucked me. When you did you didn’t care. I cared.
I was twenty four and I stopped eating occasionally. I hoped I would become invisible. I wasn’t.
I was twenty five and you followed me home and stood by my front door. I sat in the dark and prayed to something.
I was twenty five and you stood over me whilst I slept. You touched yourself and groaned. I woke up. You stroked yourself. I shouted. You shuffled off. I did not sleep.
I was twenty six and successfully burying myself and you offered me money to watch you. You begged and followed me in the street. I wanted to vomit as I told you to leave me alone. I was glad it was pedestrian rush hour in broad daylight.
I was twenty six and stopped eating at all. I hoped I would disappear. I didn’t.
I was twenty seven and I buried myself. I died a few times in a grave so deep. You would have fucked my corpse.
I was twenty eight and you rubbed yourself against me on the tube and on the bus and in a lift. I began to dig up my grave.
I was twenty nine and you were in my nightmares. I breathed life back into me.
I was thirty and so many times me too. I had the strength to stand.
I was thirty one and you took my head and smashed my face into a tree. You picked me up and threw me. I left. I had the strength to walk.
I was thirty seven and heavily pregnant and you said what about me and told me I was being selfish not to. You left. I had the strength to make you walk.
I am forty-nine now and it’s forever me too. I am strong. I am broken. I am angry. I am rebuilt. I am raging. I’d like to say I am coming for you but you took so much already I’m not sure I have the energy.
I am forty-nine now and this is my truth. It is the fact of you. I’d like to say I’m coming for you. You don’t get to take any more. Coming for you all. This is it. This shame. Tick tock. It's yours not mine. Time's up
And there it is. My Me Too