December 23, 2010 § Leave a comment
I decided to wake this blog up again. I guess it’s some sort of defence mechanism, a response to having so much else to do. And what day to restart it too, the day before christmas. Yes, we celebrate on the 24 here in Sweden.
There has been so much this year. Mostly it’s been about rape. For the first time in my life, I have a boyfriend who is brave enough to stick around and listen, and to understand that if I break down crying, it’s not his fault. He is enough of a person to listen to me when I talk about how our culture has ruined my sexuality, because as a woman I learn to “give” sex, not have sex. I learn that sex is something that I either grant, or people take from me. As Sally says in Coupling (one of the best series ever by the way) : “We got what they want, and we gotta sit on it”
And you know what happens after years and years of just accepting that shit has happened to you, and you could never ever talk about it? When you finally open you mouth and start speaking up? You fall apart. You cry, you scream, you fall. Because suddenly all that sorrow, all that anger comes back. Every. Damn. Second. I’ve started to get physical reactions too, my body is acting strange, my stress-shoulder (it goes up when I get too stressed) is in so much pain I whimper if someone pushes it, I go all stiff if anybody so much as nudges me without asking first. I can’t take sexjokes. I can’t stand being touched in certain ways. I get panic attacks. I fall apart.
That is what happened. I’m still holding back from the big fall, when I’ll have to handle that one of the guys called me up and called me a liar. Why? Well, my best friend started dating him even though she knew what he did to me. And I, after quite a long while, broke contact with her. And he got mad at me for making her sad. His comment was: “You know, it wasn’t rape, I didn’t see it that way at least“. I hung up. We haven’t spoken since. I have nightmares about seeing him, and daydreams about clawing his eyes out. I wish I would have told the police. But I pretended to like it to get away. They would never believe me.
It’s fascinating. Everytime I mention that time, I start getting all worked up, I can’t stop talking or writing. It’s still a big soar. I would love to get over it. Probably wont happen.
But the boyfriend listens. He listens and he holds me and he stays with me and he does his best to understand me. And even though this has been one of the scariest years, I’m so grateful.
December 22, 2010 § 8 Comments
This blog has been quiet for quite some time, for a reason. That reason is neglect from my side. I was just too bored, to focused on other things to bother.
And then. Something happened.
The swedish campaign #prataomdet started up, more or less spontainiously, and spread like wildfire. It was a reaction to the whole Assange business, the whole denying of rape. The whole treating sexcrimes as if they are uncommon and strange and only done by weird lonely men hiding in the park. The campaign isn’t about Assange and his possible doings, it is a reaction to what has been written about it and what Assange himself, plus Israel Sharim has done. They smeared the victims. Many lies have been bouncing around the internet, CIA-connection has been discussed, the womens feminism has been pointed out – because a feminist can’t be raped. Or something I don’t know.
What makes me want to #talkaboutit, is that many has used the possible victims irrational behavior as a reason for this to be untrue. And it shows just how little people know about rape.
First time somebody took liberties with my body that I didn’t give them, I was 15. I managed to fend him off, just before he tried to penetrate me. I was a firm believer of that I should be able to stop whenever I want, even if I’m naked. I still believe that, but now I know that it doesn’t help what I believe because if a person has more muscle power, he can pin you down.
I went home and showered for an hour. Then I pretended nothing happened.
Next one up was a guy I was in love with. He did a lot of horrible stuff when he was drunk, he used violence, he did things to me when I was asleep. He was strong. I tried to fight him off, one of the time there was people in the room. They thought my sounds was from pleasure. They weren’t. After a while I gave up, and faked just so it would be over.
Next time I was at a festival, two guys, they seemed nice. They offered me drugs. Then they stopped listening. I didn’t call the police afterwards, I was still high. But a friend did. The police arrested them but let them go. There wasn’t enough proof that they had understood I didn’t want to. It wasn’t enough saying no.
Next time again, it was a long term boyfriend. He wanted me and I didn’t want him. I said no. I said stop it. He didn’t. Afterwards he didn’t understand why I cried. When I a year later dumped him and said it out loud. You raped me. He said no, he didn’t do that, he would never. But he did.
These stories are no secrets. I’m not ashamed of this. It’s not my fault. And the last days something important has happened. Suddenly my friends and I had said “Yes, it has happened to me too”, and shared our stories openly, with eachother, not caring who hears.
A small glimmer of hope in me has started to shine. Maybe I’m not alone anymore, wanting to talk about this openly, maybe I’m not the only one ready to stop hushing when these stories are told.
Whatever the meta-discussion about this says, we need to show just how common this is. Just how badly we need to take our bodies back from a society that treats them like shit.
I’m proud. I survived. I came out stronger. And I hope that somehow, this will start something new.