Unbetitelt

“She deserves to be punished too.”

“I’m not saying I support rape, but-”

“Sorry to say - she deserved it.”

“She put herself in harm’s way”

“But if she was fingered, then that’s not rape.”

“She ruined their lives.”

“Yea, but did you see what she was wearing?”

“Boys will be boys!”

“She should know better than to drink at a party…”

  “He should’ve enjoyed it.”

“She must’ve lead him on.”

“But she orgasmed. That means she liked it - “

“Women can’t rape because…”

“Be grateful it wasn’t a man!”

“I’m sorry she hurt you but don’t call what happened to you rape, it’s an insult to the REAL victims…”

“You weren’t raped, you’re just lesbophobic.”

“She’s his wife, it’s her job to please him.”

“Oral isn’t rape.”

“Well he wasn’t armed, she could have walked away.”

“Guys can’t be raped, they love sex!”

“She didn’t fight back; it wasn’t rape.”

When I was a child, from the time I was about four and could understand things, my mom told me and my brother that we should have a secret word. That way, if we were ever in trouble or felt unsafe and we didn’t want the people around us to know we needed her to come get us, we could let her know. So she let us pick the word and my brother and I chose the phrase “peanut butter cups.” (I’m happy to share the phrase now since both my brother and I are adults now). 

I used the phrase twice in my life. Once, I was at a friends house when I eight years old. Her dad got really drunk and was throwing things against the wall. I was really scared and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself on the phone when I called my mom to come get me because I didn’t know if he would get more violent if I asked her to come get me. So I called her and was calm and after a couple minutes I asked “Hey mommy, did you get me those peanut butter cups from the store?” And she said “I’ll be right there.” And she came and got me within minutes. 

Second, I was a teenager spending the night at a friends house. Her brother and dad were drinking and they started talking about things that made me uncomfortable - ie: what they liked to do to women. My friend didn’t seem perturbed and said that was normal for them and that I shouldn’t worry. But I was worried because they were really drunk and I was 15 and the only ‘woman’ around that wasn’t related to them. I went in my friends room, told her I needed to call my mom and say goodnight. Before I hung up with her I asked “Next time we go to the store, can we get some peanut butters cups? I’ve been craving them.” And she came and got me, just like that. 

Suicide.

Today I went to school all happy and cheerful until a teacher came to our class in middle of the lesson and interrupted my teacher, saying

“We’re having an emergency-conference Ruhr after this lesson.”

After the conference was over, our teacher for the next class came to our home room and said

“Children, i have terrible news for you.

A boy from 11th grade, Georg* , killed himself on Sunday…”

I couldn’t bear it to listen any further and I simply started blocking out whatever he said, what everyone else said, I felt completely numb.

Georg remembered every single thing you told him. He remembered my name for the past 2 years although I’m a desperate case with names and always mixed his name up.

He remembered that I play piano & he encouraged me to never stop following that passion.

Georg had an impact and love on so many people-

Georg wasn’t that boy to show his hurt

Georg wasn’t that boy who showed his pain

Georg wasn’t the person who was sad

Georg wasn’t the one who seemed like a victim

George wasn’t the ‘depressed child’

Georg wasn’t the ‘helpless’ one

At least that’s how we all perceived him.

All that we didn’t expect George to be,

Lead Georg into suicide.

His depression.

His addiction.

His fight.

His sadness.

Georg didn’t die because he was ‘too weak’ or ‘unmanly’ or immature.

Georg was sick.

Terribly sick.

If you ask what he died of -

He died from depression.

I am pleading every single one of you,

and I know you are tired of those posts “oh don’t kill yourself cuz-“

But it’s true.

We opened a room just for people like me to come in and cry- people who weren’t even “that close” to Georg.

People from all classes came in, brought flowers, candles, everyone came. Everyone is grieving.

I know your pain.

But please if you’re reading this,

I’m begging you under tears:

Don’t kill yourself to night.

You have an impact on people,

Georgie had an impact on me.

I still remember when I was a young teen and he was playing a Nirvana song and he stopped it at this one line: “I miss the comfort of being sad”

He told me that when you start to get better, there’s a part of you that misses being sad and that if you start feeling that way you have to be extra extra aware and careful because if you indulge the feeling you’ll go down a self-destructive spiral

And even though that was years and years ago, I think about it all the time. Especially when I’m reading discourse on the idea of getting so attached to mental illness as an identity that you don’t want to improve things because you feel safe in it and don’t know who you are without it

oh god what did i do

I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE

oh?

you’re shitting me

Doot fucking doot..