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  • Clarke Rose

ME TOO/MOI AUSSI.


I feel so sad. I feel so sad because each of these assaults that us survivors have been through, that were hidden, that were dealt with alone, are now thrown out there, loud and unapologetically. It's absolutely heartbreaking. And more importantly, it's so fucking belated and necessary.

And to those who have chosen to share, thank you. You have been heard, and I pray to Goddess your words and experiences will not be forgotten.

And to those who have chosen not to share, that is okay. If it weren't for this blog, I don't think I would share. In a way, I feel my experience isn't as bad as others, or that I would be whining. And it's not right that I feel that way, and that feeling is a result of how my assault was handled. Because when I did tell someone about what happened, I was "whining." So perhaps I am scared to put it out there, for if it was ignored again, I may have to bury it even deeper. Whatever your reason, it's okay not to share. What is most important, is that at this moment in history, we, all assault survivors, are sharing and listening and loving and finding out, we are not alone.

And the perpetrators and passerbys are seeing that this sexual violence will no longer be kept quiet nor hidden.

And it is for that reason, I will say, "me too." Or in french, "moi aussi." I now address the perpetrator of my assualt. His name is Kai. I was twelve, and it happened while I was cutting paper skeletons in seventh grade science class:

I have been assaulted multiple times.

When I was eleven, an eighteen year old boy threatened to send a half-naked picture of me (that I accidentally sent to him, thank you technology) to my best friend's family if I refused to send him a full nude.

As a senior in high school a friend pulled out his dick and put my hand on it and said I had to touch him because he went to get lunch with me.

As a freshman in college I blacked out and was fingered on the street by a stranger.

In paris last year, a boy grabbed my pussy on the street.

Many times, I was fucked while I was drunk, and had not given consent, and did not want to be fucked.

I have been catcalled, grabbed, assaulted in the metro, and been sent unsolicited dick picks my whole life. Sadly, I think most women can relate to this.

But here I choose to talk about Kai, because I was so young, and my pussy had never been touched before, and it could have been a beautiful moment, and it was taken from me, by you, Kai--

We had been sexting. Me, probably on a goddamn flip phone with glued on fake diamonds and a cell phone key chain. I have no idea how I knew how to sext you, I never watched porn and I had no sexual experience, so perhaps my messages were simply from my primal and innate sexual place. Our interaction was virtual, and therefore safe. Sexting was to me, what porn is to a teenage boy. It made me feel good, and wet, and I was guarded by a screen. Nothing could actually happen. I was exploring, I was curious.

But you knew more than me, didn't you?

Because you messaged me, "I am gonna finger you in class tomorrow." And I didn't know what that meant. My older neighbor told me, and I remember consciously deciding I didn't want that. But nonetheless, I wore a dress to school the next day.

1. It's my fault, because I wore a dress.

You sat next to me in class. The paper skeletons were passed around, you put your hand on my thigh. I told you I changed my mind, you have to stop, I'm sorry.

2. Maybe my "no" wasn't clear enough. Maybe he couldn't hear me over the paper skeletons being cut.

You slide your hand up my unshaved thy, I say "no" again. The sound of skeletons and scissors is louder than my protest. You reach my boy short underwear. You play with it. I can't find words anymore, they are lost as you touch my adolescent vagina. No one knows, because they are trying to do the assignment correctly.

3. You win.

I said nothing to you after. I ran to the middle school girl's restroom and slammed the door. Tears were streaming down my face, I kept screaming/saying "He touched me! He touched me!"

My friend told me to go to the school counsellor. I was numb. The counselor says she has to report it. It is "sexual harassment" and it is not to be kept confidential.

4. I told on him.

It's a blur after that. They confiscated our phones, the principle, a man, came in and asked me how exactly Kai touched my underwear, my vulva. Kai got suspended for three days.

5. He got in trouble because of me.

They called my mom, who picked me up in a fury. I wanted to fall in her arms, cry right into her chest. Instead, she yelled at me. Accused me of being a slut, saying that's what happens when you lead guys on. The yelling continued the whole way home. When I look back on it, I think she was just sad and scared and wasn't sure how to react, because she apologized years later.

The aftermath of the situation fucked me up more than the event. I got blamed for everything. A rumor went around the school that I told on Kai for "hugging me from behind." His friends hated me, while my friends continued to hang out with Kai: Flirting with him, and talking to him in front of me. Two months later my best friend went on to date him. She had her first kiss with him, she wanted me to be happy for her. I had to sit across from him at her birthday party at Chili's.

I hated myself. I hated him. But I also felt like I owed him something: For getting him suspended, for getting him removed from my science class. Even though I hadn't asked for those things. At twelve, I dreamt about getting dressed up all seductively and going to his house and giving him a blow job to apologize. To have him on my side again, to not be the girl that was "sexually harassed." Everyone else blaming me convinced me I was to blame, it was my fault. I led him on. Because I am sexual, I will receive unwanted advances. That will be my life.

He was popular the rest of middle school. I had to watch that, people loving him. Eventually my best friend apologized for dating him, she didn't know any better, she was twelve too. In high school he became a loser. Always hanging outside the student government room, with his other loser friends, and I was on student government, and I would walk by him nearly everyday. I couldn't escape him physically, but I did escape him mentally.

I remember later that year in seventh grade, he came up to me and my friends and asked for some perfume, because he had just smoked weed and was worried he would smell like it when he went home. One of my friends began to offer some, and all of a sudden I no longer thought I owed him anything, I hated him, and then I realized hating him took up my energy, and twelve year old me looked up and said, "Fuck you."

And maybe "me too" is a version of what that "fuck you" did for me when I was twelve. I released him. I let him know he held no power over me. I don't feel bad. It wasn't my fault. Everyone reacted the way they did because that was the time, but the times are changing.


And thank Goddess for that.

#metoo #moiaussi #sexualassaultsurvivor #sexualassault #sexualharassment #recovery

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