Month: November 2017
Dysphoria
I never wanted to be a woman anyways, it’s just what people told me I was. I didn’t necessarily want to be a man, but I was told I only had the two options, so I thought about it sometimes.
Then I was raped. And suddenly I wished so hard that I had been born with a penis. Everything else about male priviledge I’d watched and wished but simply shrugged my shoulders and continued on, but rape is something very different.
Men are raped too you know. Having a penis does not grant you absolute safety.
I’d always been told that certain things were more dangerous for me because of the fact that I was a woman though. So I wanted to throw out my womanhood altogether. Or at the very least, I wished I was less visibly a woman.
I started wearing tighter bras and looser shirts, bulkier sweatshirts. Fewer skirts, more jeans. I feared my femininity.
I still do.
I am still feminine though. I still present in a way that is coded as feminine in our society. I still think about chopping my breasts off, but now we’re finally back to the original reason: breasts are just really freaking inconvenient man. I’ve said for years, breasts are like curly hair: super attractive on other people, but I hate the work and pain required to have them myself. I didn’t choose this, can I please get rid of it now?
I am not a man, and only trauma ever made me desire to be one in any way. I am not a woman though, and that would be true with or without the trauma. In fact, presenting as female feels almost radical given my nonbinary gender. Of course, it also makes it more difficult to explain my gender to the cis-het crowd.
Of course I couldn’t choose something simple and easy.
You Don’t Know What Rape Is
Sure you may know a dictionary definition. You may know that sex without consent is rape. But it’s so much more damaging than I’ve ever been able to fully describe.
Nothing else has ever robbed me of agency so completely. Nothing else has ever left me so emotionally effected even years later.
Sex and Power
Sex is supposed to be about intimacy, even love. Rape rips this thing that’s supposed to be beautiful from your hands and shits all over it.
Rape is the violent theft of bodily agency. Rape is a mindless act. Rape turns your own body into a weapon of subjugation.
There is a reason why rape is used as a tactic of terror during times of war. There is a reason why there are higher rates of PTSD in rape survivors than in soldiers who have served in combat.
You’ll Never Know
And I hope you never will.
Abandon the Betrayer
When the weapon weilded agaisnt you is your very own body, the only way to hide is to abandon the body that betrayed you. Suicide becomes a very appealing option. Mental escapism, depression, are almost innevitable.
The breasts I’d already disliked, I now hated. The “cuteness” of face and hair and form I’d had mixed feelings about, I now did everything to distance myself from. Why would one ever want to be attractive? Being attractive attracts this kind of attention.
“Too Ugly to Rape”
Maybe I wanted to be ugly then. Why the fuck are these breasts growing even larger???? Can I please cut them the fuck off of my body already.
A Calculated Risk
Is still a risk. I know. I started this year by falling off of a roof and breaking my goddamn back, I know exactly how stupid some of the things that I do are.
Still Worth It
When I get bored, I get depressed. It is a fact of my life. I’d far rather die by falling off of a roof than by falling into the grey meaninglessness and slowly losing any sense of self until I no longer care whether I live or die.
An Act of Defiance
I refuse to do what a woman should. I am not a woman.
I know that as long as my body looks the way that it looks I still face the same risks that women face, but I defy your gendered expectations, and I live the life that I want to live.
Choices Make Me Who I Am
And I will not choose to change. I knew the risks, and I know so much more intimately now what consequences I may face. Living life unapologetically as myself is still worth it.
I Refuse to be Ruled by Fear
I know that if I lived my life the way I was told to, I might not have experienced something like this, but I refuse to let the fear of what might be stand in the way of the life I want.
Stupid Gender Roles
My dad would tell me stories of his wild youth hitch-hiking across the country, but always end with a warning that I shouldn’t do that because the world is more dangerous now, plus of course hitchhiking has always been too dangerous as a woman. Especially a woman alone.
I have hitchhiked though. And nothing bad happened. I was on my guard of course, and there were strange moments, but hitchhiking never ended badly for me.
If I let my body stop me from doing the things you tell me are “dangerous,” then I would never get to do anything fun. Not fun as I define it at least.
#MeToo
A purpose is being served here, and I’m glad that things are happening, but we’re kicking out the men who’s reputations have been tarnished in order to preserve the systems that have done the real damage. Until the systems are changed, we are all subject to these kinds of terrors.
Up in Flames
Trust, confidence, body image. All were damaged or destroyed that day.
The fire that consumed the final physical reminders of the worst day of my life.
I owe you nothing. If I don’t trust you, don’t be offended, I rarely trust men these days. And even women, few knew my story before I finally decided to word-vomit it all here.
Telling a story like this requires a strength of will that you should never ask of one who’s view of the world has been colored by the trauma of an assault like this. Telling this story has taken me years. And I’m still leaving out so many details.
Because something like this is intensely personal. It gets into your bones. This story has become a part of who I am. A part that I can’t share because it is inappropriate in most situations. Because I know what effect hearing others’ stories has on me, so I don’t want to force that on anybody else who is not ready for it.
I committed the physical reminders to the flames as a celebration of survival, and as I watched it all burn, I tried to let it all go. It’s a thing that clings to you though, leaves a permanent scar. I’m moving forward, and I can only do that by acknowledging my scars.
This isn’t your story, you don’t own it. This is my story, and I will tell it when and how I need to.
“What Were They Wearing”
Is a question that I shouldn’t ever have to answer. But because I wasn’t born yesterday, I know at least one person is going to ask. I’ve known for quite some time, so for a while I kept the actual clothes I’d worn that day. Ultimately, on the three year anniversary of my survival, I took a trip to the coast with my older sister and ceremonially burned the clothing that had no right to own my life. I always knew I’d eventually be writing about this though, so I took pictures.
The shirt I wore on that day. I valued this shirt primarily because the way that it was cut allowed me to hide the form of the breasts that I had recently grown, and secondarily because it hid the maximum amount of arm possible while still being as breathable as a tank top. I showed no cleavage, and the size and cut hid as much of my “womanly” form as possible. I know someone somewhere will say that this shirt was too revealing, that I therefore somehow brought tragedy down upon my own head. That theoretical person can go die for all I care.
They’re shorts. Sure, my legs were visible, but so is everyone else’s legs in the summer. As far as shorts go, these were as shapeless as they could possibly be, just bulky bits of fabric I wore to fit our society’s standards of what we should be ashamed enough to cover no matter how hot the weather.
Survivor
I’m not a victim, I’m a survivor.
Pride Parades
I’ve never been to one. I’m super gay, and I don’t hide it, but the first year I was out enough to make my way to a pride parade, I ran into disaster on the way there.
How fucked up is it that a man raped me when I was on my way to celebrate how gay I am? How fucked up that I haven’t been able to go since.
Gracetopher Kirk 