A Blog Called Everything

I'm a 20 year old cisgerendered, bisexual, polyamorous, sex-positive female. I'm anti-rape, pro-queer rights and love cats. (General trigger warning).
Posts tagged "rape"

In working on my book, I went to Rwanda in 2004 to interview women who had borne children of rape conceived during the genocide. …At the end of my final interview, I asked the woman I was interviewing whether she had any questions. She paused shyly for a moment. “Well,” she said, a little hesitantly. “You work in this field of psychology.” I nodded. She took a deep breath. “Can you tell me how to love my daughter more?” she asked. “I want to love her so much, and I try my best, but when I look at her I see what happened to me and it interferes.” A tear rolled down her cheek, but her tone turned almost fierce, challenging. “Can you tell me how to love my daughter more?” she repeated.

Perhaps Todd Akin has an answer for her.

“The Legitimate Children of Rape” - Andrew Solomon on the historical relationship between rape and pregnancy: http://nyr.kr/RsAKyQ (via newyorker)

(via desliz)

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If you’re a woman, wild sexual behavior is downright fucking dangerous. Not only can you “get yourself” raped, but you’re also damn likely to find yourself blamed for it. After all, you should have known better. I’m over the whole thing. Start to finish. And I hereby declare my right to be wild and maintain my bodily autonomy… There are risks inherent in any behavior. Even if you never leave your house, you risk depression due to lack of sun and social interaction (never mind the risk of fire, gas explosion, electric shock, earthquake, falling down stairs, cutting yourself on a kitchen knife, or getting a splinter). But rape is not a risk inherent in partying or in “wild sexual behavior. I’ll repeat that: Rape is not a risk inherent in unregulated partying or sexual behavior. Need proof? Consider this: It’s not a risk for nearly half the population. I’ve never met a straight man who worried about being raped as he contemplated a night of debauchery. Vomiting in public? Yes. Getting rejected by sexual prospects? Sure. Getting in a fight? Maybe. Getting raped? Come on. It’s a risk for women because, to put it bluntly, simply being female is a risk factor for rape. Partying wouldn’t have anything to do with it if vast swaths of the social order weren’t constructed on the foundation of control over women’s sexuality.
In defense of going wild or: How I stopped worrying and learned to love pleasure (and how you can too) by Jacklyn Friedman from Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and A World Without Rape
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Sure, there are plenty of ways drinking and/or sexing can be bad for you - any pleasure can be manipulated or abused for any number for reasons. But there’s nothing inherently wrong with either, and when you force women to choose safety over pleasure in ways men never have to (and when you shame them for choosing “wrong”), you teach women that their pleasure is not as important as men’s. And that’s a slippery slope we all need to stop sliding down.
In defense of going wild or: How I stopped worrying and learned to love pleasure (and how you can too) by Jacklyn Friedman from Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and A World Without Rape
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The fact is, many abuse victims don’t realize they’re being abused. They undergo trauma and just don’t understand why it hurts. I was never taught about enthusiastic consent. The phrase entered my vocabulary only a couple of years ago. It pains me to think of how different my life would have been if someone had taught me that I was supposed to want sexual contact and say so; otherwise, it was wrong. I truly thought that fearfully giving up after saying no twenty times counted as consent. If taught differently, I don’t know that I would have avoided the initial assaults, but I do believe with all my heart that I would have gotten myself out of that situation sooner. At the time, I knew that rape and physical assault were inexcusable acts of violence generally committed against women. I just didn’t realize that what was being done to me was rape. For that reason, it took me years to realize why I felt so traumatized.
Real Sex Education by Cara Kulwicki from Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and A World Without Rape
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Reporting a sexual assault is not easy, and most sexual assaults are not reported. The false report rate is no greater than the false report rate for any other felony.
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peacel0vemusic: “How society socialized me into believing I was wrong/ guilty/ dirty/ ugly/ slutty and that my attacker was just horny/ drunk/ made a mistake/ just really liked me and how my rape was just non-consentual drunk sex.” By Taylor Shiloh Kall I got dressed that night. Picked up some clothing up from my floordrobe- you know, the closet on the floor- I got one of those. Tight short skirt. Check. Shirt, guess this will do. I remember standing there, staring at myself in the mirror while putting on my eyeliner and thinkin’, “hmm definitely not having sex tonight.”  Apparently, Alex had a different plan. I acted like a slut that night. I flirted, hard. I drank, hard. I got silly. I even flirted with him. For awhile I blamed myself for the rape, because hey, I FLIRTED! But wait— flirting doesn’t equal consent… I was drunk. We stepped outside. He said, “hey baby, I’m really feeling you.” And I said, Aw thanks but no.” He said, “But you’re just damn irresistible.” and I said, “no.” He said, “let’s go back to your room chica.” and I said, “no.” I didn’t scream. Even when he pushed me down on the couch.  I didn’t scream. Not even when we bent my wrist the wrong way. I just remember being in that dorm lounge thinking, his friends are right down the hall. Someone save me. But I didn’t scream.             Society has taught me to need the stares. To crave them. Tease the boys. Buy lingerie. Lose 20 lbs, do it so they can’t resist. Resist for them. Guys can’t control it. Guys think with their dicks. Oh REALLY?             And when you’re raped, scream. I didn’t scream. When it was all over, he said, “hey baby, let’s go back to your room.” I said, “uh no, can’t tonight, sorry love.” And I RAN. I didn’t know how to say what had happened to me, because I was drunk, and I was flirting, and well, I thought, it was my fault. Where’d you go last night Taylor? It was the moment of truth. I thought, if my best friend Sammy responds to it negatively, I was raped. I said, “Alex had sex with me.” Sammy laughed and said, You were SO drunk last night!” That laugh still haunts me. Because for months after I thought, I wasn’t raped. I couldn’t have been. I can’t be a statistic. I can’t be a victim. I followed him into Merrill. No. I said no. Again. After over a year of working through my grief, fear and anger, I say yes. Drunk non-consentual sex is RAPE. I was raped. When I admitted to myself I am a survivor, the hardest step was admitting it to others. Society has taught me two things: 1- that I am a bad woman for being raped. 2- that I am a bad victim for speaking about it. Society has taught me that this rape was supposed to ruin my life. For awhile, I felt guilty that some days, I don’t even think about it. And that some days, it’s all I can think about. I tend to get two responses, both outrage me. One, from my fellow survivors, a nod, a look, compassion, an oh-shit-you-too? WHY? WHY MUST OTHER PEOPLE GO THROUGH THIS? And then the other- the stammering, lack of eye contact, detachment, the I’m sorry. Everyone says they’re sorry, as if they hold the burden of my attackers guilt for him.  no one ever says it’s not my fault. No one ever says, “I’m sorry, and I’m going to work actively against this.” I’m here because I am not just a victim. I am a survivor. I am here because I need y’alls support. I need you to look me in the eye when I speak about sexual assault. I need you to turn to victims of assault and say, “I am here to support you. In whatever you need.” And I need you to mean it. Support me. Step up and fight back with me, and for me. I’m here today to support you, in whatever you need. I’m here today to once again reclaim my body, and to say to my fellow survivors- IT WILL NEVER BE YOUR FAULT. No matter how you’re dressed, how slutty you are, how drunk you are, it will never be your fault. I demand that as a survivor, as a woman, as a goddamn human, I no longer be confronted with normalized sexual violence. Honor my survivalhood. Honor my strength. Cut the bullshit. Don’t whistle, holla, touch my body. Stop interacting with me in non-consentual ways. People tell me I’m irresistible. Guys say, “hey legs” when I’m walking down the street. And my legs look GREAT in this skirt. But let me break it to you- I. am. Resistible. I’m also powerful. Strong. Brilliant. Hilarious. Intelligent. Creative. And going to change the world. But holler’s never shout “Hey you, keep doing what your doing! Hey you, It’s gonna get better. Hey you, I got your back against all this sexism.. maybe if they did, they’d get a nod or a wink, instead of the finger. So society taught me that I should stay quiet, as a woman, and as a survivor. My rape should remain shrouded in shame. But what am I supposed to do in the moments of being triggered when I’m sitting at my desk at work? What am I supposed to do when a pal of mine makes a roofie joke or someone’s facebook says, “lol, stop raping my status.” It is not my job to educate each of these people, no. It is not my job to share my pain, no. But who else is stepping up for me? No one else has made these demands for me. What I demand is action. I’ve spent countless hours this past month trying to examine myself as a survivor with a shit ton of white privilege. I’ve read critique after critique by online bloggers, trying to understand, to shift, to change, to grow. But critique isn’t enough. Action is. And this is my demand. ACT YOUR RAGE. We’re starting something new, at least I am, and I need your help. I need your voices out here making  demands for inclusivity. There is power in numbers and in bodies, and we’re not stopping here. It’s new to me, to take pride in surviving. Isolation is the key to my PTSD, and I can’t do this alone. Rather than critiquing this from afar, shape this into something that fits your reality. None of us are made any safer by making the distinctions between good feminists and sluts.  Today is just a moment. This is a moment where I cry out FUCK THIS SHIT. Where we all shout FUCK THIS SHIT, and from here we don’t stop. See for me, this is my start. I’m starting now and I’m not backing down and from here, we are going to build a movement. I want to celebrate us here today, and congratulate us on coming together. Yes, we’re really doing it. And no- rape culture and sexual assault aren’t going to end here, but we are taking steps. We must continue. We must keep going, keep loving, keep fighting.

peacel0vemusic:

“How society socialized me into believing I was wrong/ guilty/ dirty/ ugly/ slutty and that my attacker was just horny/ drunk/ made a mistake/ just really liked me and how my rape was just non-consentual drunk sex.”

By Taylor Shiloh Kall

I got dressed that night. Picked up some clothing up from my floordrobe- you know, the closet on the floor- I got one of those. Tight short skirt. Check. Shirt, guess this will do. I remember standing there, staring at myself in the mirror while putting on my eyeliner and thinkin’, “hmm definitely not having sex tonight.”  Apparently, Alex had a different plan.

I acted like a slut that night. I flirted, hard. I drank, hard. I got silly. I even flirted with him. For awhile I blamed myself for the rape, because hey, I FLIRTED! But wait— flirting doesn’t equal consent…

I was drunk. We stepped outside. He said, “hey baby, I’m really feeling you.” And I said, Aw thanks but no.” He said, “But you’re just damn irresistible.” and I said, “no.” He said, “let’s go back to your room chica.” and I said, “no.”

I didn’t scream. Even when he pushed me down on the couch.  I didn’t scream. Not even when we bent my wrist the wrong way. I just remember being in that dorm lounge thinking, his friends are right down the hall. Someone save me. But I didn’t scream.

            Society has taught me to need the stares. To crave them. Tease the boys. Buy lingerie. Lose 20 lbs, do it so they can’t resist. Resist for them. Guys can’t control it. Guys think with their dicks. Oh REALLY?

            And when you’re raped, scream.

I didn’t scream. When it was all over, he said, “hey baby, let’s go back to your room.” I said, “uh no, can’t tonight, sorry love.” And I RAN.

I didn’t know how to say what had happened to me, because I was drunk, and I was flirting, and well, I thought, it was my fault. Where’d you go last night Taylor? It was the moment of truth. I thought, if my best friend Sammy responds to it negatively, I was raped. I said, “Alex had sex with me.” Sammy laughed and said, You were SO drunk last night!”

That laugh still haunts me. Because for months after I thought, I wasn’t raped. I couldn’t have been. I can’t be a statistic. I can’t be a victim. I followed him into Merrill. No. I said no. Again. After over a year of working through my grief, fear and anger, I say yes. Drunk non-consentual sex is RAPE. I was raped.

When I admitted to myself I am a survivor, the hardest step was admitting it to others. Society has taught me two things: 1- that I am a bad woman for being raped. 2- that I am a bad victim for speaking about it. Society has taught me that this rape was supposed to ruin my life. For awhile, I felt guilty that some days, I don’t even think about it. And that some days, it’s all I can think about.

I tend to get two responses, both outrage me. One, from my fellow survivors, a nod, a look, compassion, an oh-shit-you-too?

WHY? WHY MUST OTHER PEOPLE GO THROUGH THIS?

And then the other- the stammering, lack of eye contact, detachment, the I’m sorry. Everyone says they’re sorry, as if they hold the burden of my attackers guilt for him.  no one ever says it’s not my fault. No one ever says, “I’m sorry, and I’m going to work actively against this.”

I’m here because I am not just a victim. I am a survivor. I am here because I need y’alls support. I need you to look me in the eye when I speak about sexual assault. I need you to turn to victims of assault and say, “I am here to support you. In whatever you need.” And I need you to mean it. Support me. Step up and fight back with me, and for me. I’m here today to support you, in whatever you need. I’m here today to once again reclaim my body, and to say to my fellow survivors- IT WILL NEVER BE YOUR FAULT. No matter how you’re dressed, how slutty you are, how drunk you are, it will never be your fault.

I demand that as a survivor, as a woman, as a goddamn human, I no longer be confronted with normalized sexual violence. Honor my survivalhood. Honor my strength. Cut the bullshit. Don’t whistle, holla, touch my body. Stop interacting with me in non-consentual ways. People tell me I’m irresistible. Guys say, “hey legs” when I’m walking down the street. And my legs look GREAT in this skirt. But let me break it to you- I. am. Resistible. I’m also powerful. Strong. Brilliant. Hilarious. Intelligent. Creative. And going to change the world. But holler’s never shout “Hey you, keep doing what your doing! Hey you, It’s gonna get better. Hey you, I got your back against all this sexism.. maybe if they did, they’d get a nod or a wink, instead of the finger.

So society taught me that I should stay quiet, as a woman, and as a survivor. My rape should remain shrouded in shame. But what am I supposed to do in the moments of being triggered when I’m sitting at my desk at work? What am I supposed to do when a pal of mine makes a roofie joke or someone’s facebook says, “lol, stop raping my status.” It is not my job to educate each of these people, no. It is not my job to share my pain, no. But who else is stepping up for me? No one else has made these demands for me.

What I demand is action. I’ve spent countless hours this past month trying to examine myself as a survivor with a shit ton of white privilege. I’ve read critique after critique by online bloggers, trying to understand, to shift, to change, to grow. But critique isn’t enough. Action is. And this is my demand. ACT YOUR RAGE. We’re starting something new, at least I am, and I need your help. I need your voices out here making  demands for inclusivity. There is power in numbers and in bodies, and we’re not stopping here. It’s new to me, to take pride in surviving. Isolation is the key to my PTSD, and I can’t do this alone. Rather than critiquing this from afar, shape this into something that fits your reality. None of us are made any safer by making the distinctions between good feminists and sluts.

 Today is just a moment. This is a moment where I cry out FUCK THIS SHIT. Where we all shout FUCK THIS SHIT, and from here we don’t stop. See for me, this is my start. I’m starting now and I’m not backing down and from here, we are going to build a movement. I want to celebrate us here today, and congratulate us on coming together. Yes, we’re really doing it. And no- rape culture and sexual assault aren’t going to end here, but we are taking steps. We must continue. We must keep going, keep loving, keep fighting.

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altraragazza: I love this campaign! It does an awesome job of conveying everything that consent can be. Plus it mentions safewords. What’s not to love? 

altraragazza:

I love this campaign! It does an awesome job of conveying everything that consent can be. Plus it mentions safewords. What’s not to love? 

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Ten Best Ways to Practice Consent →
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[One] important thing you can offer a survivor of nonconsensual sex is physical safety. Never touch any part of their body without prior permission. That includes their hair, shoulders, arms, hands - anything! It can be very difficult for survivors to feel that they own their bodies. You can help by acknowledging that they own every bit of their bodies and have complete and total control of them. Just because it was okay for you to touch them in a certain way yesterday does not mean it is okay to touch them that way today. Just ask. May I hug you? May I hold your hand? And never assume the answer will be “yes.” Listen for their answer and accept it with a sincere smile no matter what their response. Survivors need to feel loved and accepted, no matter if they say “yes” or “no.
Veronica Monet
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If conservative and anti-feminist men continue to argue that women’s very public presence enables men to assault them, then perhaps they’re the ones who should be pressured to stay at home.

‘Feminists Can Fight Back’ by Jill Filopvic

Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and A World Without Rape

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