Like Wings to Me

Rape culture is when I was six, and my brother punched my two front teeth out. Instead of reprimanding him, my mother said “Stefanie, what did you do to provoke him?” When my only defense was my mother whispering in my ear, “Honey, ignore him. Don’t rile him up. He just wants a reaction.” As if it was my sole purpose, the reason six-year-old me existed, was to not rile up my brother. It’s starts when we’re six, and ends when we grow up assuming the natural state of a man is a predator, and I must walk on eggshells, as to not “rile him up.” Right, mom? Rape culture is when through casual dinner conversation, my father says that women who get raped are asking for it. He says, “I see them on the streets of New York City, with their short skirts and heavy makeup. Asking for it.” When I used to be my father’s hero but will he think I was asking for it? (will he think) Will he think I deserved it? Will he hold me accountable or will he hold me, even though the touch of a man - especially my father’s - burns as if I were holding the sun in the palm of my hand. Rape culture is you were so ashamed, you thought it would be easier for your parents to find you dead, than to say, “Hey mom and dad,” It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for it. I never asked for this attention, I never asked to be a target, to be weak because I was born with two X chromosomes, to walk in fear, to always look behind me, in front of me, next to me, I never asked to be the prey. I never wanted to spend my life being something someone feasts upon, a meal for the eternally starved. I do not want to hear about the way I taste anymore. I will not let you eat me alive. Rape culture is I shouldn’t defend my friend when an overaggressive frat boy has his hand on her ass, because standing up for her body “makes me a target.” Women are afraid to speak up, because they fear their own lives - but I’d rather take the hit than live in a culture of silence. I am told that I will always be the victim, pre-determined by the DNA in my weaker, softer body. I have birthing hips, not a fighter’s stance. I am genetically pre-dispositioned to lose every time. Rape culture is he was probably abused as a child. When he even has some form of a justification and all I have are the things that provoked him, and the scars from his touch are woven of the darkest and toughest strings, underneath the layer of my skin. Rape culture leaves me finding pieces of him left inside of me. A bone of his elbow. The cap of his knee. There is something so daunting in the way that I know it will take me years to methodically extract him from my body. And that twinge I will get sometimes in my arm fifteen years later? Proof of the past. Like a tattoo I didn’t ask for. Somehow I am permanently inked. Rape culture is you can’t wear that outfit anymore without feeling dirty, without feeling like you somehow earned it. You will feel like you are walking on knives, every time you wear the shoes you smashed his nose in with. Imaginary blood on the bottom of your heels, thinking, maybe this will heal me. Those shoes are your freedom, But the remains of a life long fight. You will always carry your heart, your passion, your absolute will to live, but also the shame and the guilt and the pain. I saved myself but I still feel like I’m walking on knives. Rape culture is “Stefanie, you weren’t really raped, you were one of the lucky ones.” Because my body wasn’t penetrated by a penis, but fingers instead, that I should feel lucky. I should get on my hands and knees and say, thank you. Thank you for being so kind. Rape culture is “things could have been worse.” “It’s been a month, Stefanie. Get out of bed.” “You’ll have to get over this eventually.” “Don’t let it ruin your life.” Rape culture is he told you that after he touched you, no one would ever want you again. And you believed him. Rape culture is telling your daughters not to get raped, instead of teaching your sons how to treat all women. That sex is not a right. You are not entitled to this. The worst possible thing you can call a woman is a slut, a whore, a bitch. The worst possible thing you can call a man is a bitch, a pussy, a girl. The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl. Being a woman is the ultimate rejection, the ultimate dismissal of strength and power, the absolute insult. When I have a daughter, I will tell her that she is not an insult. When I have a daughter, she will know how to fight. I will look at her like the sun when she comes home with anger in her fists. Because we are human beings and we do not always have to take what we are given. They all tell her not to fight fire with fire, but that is only because they are afraid of her flames. I will teach her the value of the word “no” so that when she hears it, she will not question it. My daughter, Don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love you have for yourself and the lengths you go to preserve it. My daughter, I am alive because of the fierce love I have for myself, and because my father taught me to protect that. He taught me that sometimes, I have to do my own bit of saving, pick myself off the ground and wipe the dirt off my face, because at the end of the day, there is only me. I am alive because my mother taught me to love myself. She taught me that I am an enigma - a mystery, a paradox, an unfinished masterpiece and I must love myself enough to see how I turn out. I am alive because even beaten, voiceless, and back against the wall, I knew there was an ounce of me worth fighting for. And for that, I thank my parents. Instead of teaching my daughter to cover herself up, I will show her how to be exposed. Because no is not “convince me”. No is not “I want it”. You call me, “Little lady, pretty girl, beautiful woman.” But I am not any of these things for you. I am exploding light, my daughter will be exploding light, and you, better cover your eyes.

today my anthro professor said something kindof really beautiful:

Everything Okay?

Dear future self, (1) If you self injure yourself, clean and bandage it. (2) Do not start smoking cigarettes because the person you “love” yet broke your heart does. (3) When you want to end your life, don’t. (4) Cutting calories doesn’t do anything but make you unhappy. (5) If the number on the scale rises, throw it out. (6) When you want to end your life, don’t. (7) Break up with the boy who says, “You had a sexy phase!” when you tell him that you’ve dated a girl before. (8) If you’re in a relationship with someone and it seems like everybody is talking shit about it, just let them ramble. (9) If two people are happy, you leave them the fuck alone. (10) Oh yeah, and you can date your best friend and still be friends after you’ve broken up. (11) When you want to end your life, don’t. (12) Your closest friend might stop talking to you once you get into a relationship but that’s okay because it just proves she wasn’t a real friend anyways. (13) It’s always okay to cry. (14) One day, you’re going to meet someone and they are going to accept you for you and still love you anyways. Cherish that person…don’t let them go. (15) You know who I’m talking about when I say “they” but…THEY are going to try to tear your relationship with another individual apart. RUN AS FAR AS YOU CAN. DON’T LET THE BULLSHIT BRING THE TWO OF YOU DOWN. THEY’D KILL TO SEE YOU FALL. (16) When you want to end your life, don’t. (17) When you harm yourself again, clean and bandage it. Do not be ashamed. At least you are treating it. (18) When the boy with eyes like stars and bones like steel comes and sweeps you up into his life, you’re going to feel on top of the world, but when he leaves, your heart will turn to alcohol and you’ll be crying at 3AM wondering how you were ever happy. Did I ever tell you it’s okay to cry? Just as long as you don’t cry about the same thing twice. (19) Let me repeat that. Don’t cry about the same thing twice. (20) You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. (21) You’re going to be the nicest rude person people will ever meet…you won’t give a fuck about anything, but at the same time, you’ll care about a lot…and you’ll hate people generally but love people individually. (22) People are going to tell you that alcohol is bad for you. You’re also going to be told that loving that boy is bad for you too. Keep drinking. (23) Be more concerned about your character than your reputation … because your character is what you really are while your reputation is merely what others think of you. (24) You won’t tell him but his hugs hold you together when you’re not strong enough to hold everything that you are together. (25) Do not confuse lust with love. You might feel like your insides are melting when he touches your thighs. But it will not be worth the pain of you lying on the bathroom floor sobbing at 4AM after he finds someone new. (26) You will be on the beach one day, a popular girl will point out the stretch marks that delicately lick your hips. She will look you in the eyes and laugh. Don’t you dare cover them up. You are a tiger. You have earned your fucking stripes. (27) You do not need someone else to complete you. Do things for yourself for once. (28) Your anxiety is going to try and control your entire life. Tell it to shut the fuck up, because you’re trying to live and that task is hard enough as it is. (29) Not to spoil the ending or anything, but it’s going to be okay. (30) When you want to end your life, DON’T.