…So if another victim of rape, a young lady three years my junior, has the moxie to carry around a mattress with her full time to send out
her message, I think I can blog about it.
About two
and a half months ago, I was raped.
Some people
would refer to what happened as date rape or even “gray area rape,” but those who are educated would
just call it rape. All the “gray area” term really accomplishes is making me
think it’s more my fault and less legitimate that the whole ordeal should have
an effect on me. So the first lesson here is never to refer to anything as gray
area rape. Lack of consent + sex = rape. Moving along..
Many of
my friends have seen me since, and would never guess any such thing had
occurred. Unlike the brave young lady taking a stand, I was unwilling to shout
about my assault from the rooftops, or let it effect me in any way really. But as a cheery open book-type individual,
and as a lifelong advocate for domestic violence survivors, I guess I should
start by standing up for me.
There’s
no right way to handle or cope with this situation. I commend the Columbia
student because she made her problem everyone’s problem, as it truly is. Rape
isn’t just her problem, or my problem, or my countless friends who have slowly
joined me as statistics problem. This is every college student’s problem and
thus every college’s problem, every NFL participant or viewer, every mother and
father, daughter and son. Everyone who has ever listened to or supported Cee Lo
Green in any way. You get the picture.
It didn’t
happen to me because I’m a slut, because I’m unintelligent or uninformed on the
issue, or because I’m reckless. My outfit that night didn’t rape me, nor did my
blood alcohol level.
Some stupid privileged boy did.
And I’m
willing to bet he has no idea he even did it. The next day he texted me saying
he had “had so much fun hanging out.” I vomit. And I blame him, but I don’t.
Sure I
repeatedly refused. Sure he had no right. But somewhere along the line, he
learned that to be acceptable behavior. He’s a monster in many ways, but more
of a Godzilla than anything. An amalgamation of all of the crap New York City (I mean our culture)
has to offer…
I don’t want pity or condolences, I want
awareness. That this can happen to anyone, and happen at the hands of even the
sweetest guy you think you know. That sex without consent is as far from okay
as it gets. That we live in a world where people say “I raped that test” and
have no idea who they’re triggering or how they’re minimizing other’s
nightmares in the process. That we all need to look out for each other and
treat one another as the beautiful fragile beings we really are.
As a
final disclaimer, I’m really okay, it’s rape culture that isn’t. So if you’re reading this and feeling sorry for me, or Emma Sulkowicz, stop and instead expand that sentiment
into your behaviors, actions, awareness of and beliefs towards this omnipresent
issue.
