I'm fucking angry.
Yes, I have been taken advantage of, harassed, and abused. This is the reality for almost all women (which is to say nothing of trans and non-binary individuals). I have been called names; I have been followed. I have been grabbed, and I have been insulted in the most demeaning ways. I have survived a long-term abusive relationship. I have been told by a respected colleague that he wanted to make me "as uncomfortable as possible." I have gone through workplace protocols of complaint. I have sat furiously in the aftermath, after my employer did nothing to protect me or discipline the individuals at fault. I have watched many of these abusers receive award and accolade. I have held my tongue.
This is the world we live in. I try hard not to be jaded, but today I'm allowing myself to sit with this anger, and to share it.
I logged onto Facebook this afternoon, and read a post about Brand New's
Jesse Lacey. The musician was recently accused of misconduct involving an underaged child. These accusations are eerily similar to an experience I had around the age of sixteen.
Somehow, I began corresponding with a local man in his twenties. We'd never met, but we had friends in common. He knew how young I was, and yet we often exchanged sexually charged messages. I won't share it here, but I still vividly remember some of the language he used toward me.
Our exchanges never progressed beyond these messages. I remember once, after I finished taking the SAT, I opened my phone to a text-message invitation to his house. Over the course of a month or two, he invited me over numerous times. Even at sixteen, I knew something was wrong with those invitations. I never went. I felt uncomfortable, ashamed, and scared. I was just a kid, but I felt responsible.
Until now, I don't know that I've told a single person about this experience.
This individual is now an active member of my creative community. He is respected and well-liked, even by people whom I might consider friends of mine. I have shared a stage with him, and I have ignored his messages afterward. I have avoided events where I thought he would be present. The discomfort I feel around this person is far greater than any remorse I'd feel for missing out on a performance.
And I'm tired of feeling defeated. As I read the aforementioned Facebook post, I saw that this individual had left a comment to condemn the abuser. He argued for the execution of child abusers, demanding that they "be put to the firing squad." For a moment, I thought about calling out the hypocrisy of his post. Ultimately, I decided not to—I don't have the energy to search for those text messages and back up my claims; I don't have the energy to be questioned and avoided. I'd rather sit on my hands than face skepticism and exclusion for my experiences.
Honestly, I'm nervous to even publish this account, but writing this post was the best revenge I could have enacted. I feel just a little stronger for having voiced this story.
I am not alone in this, and neither are you. I'm still trying to figure out the significance and meaning behind all these experiences. If you're in the same boat and comfortable reaching out, I would love to hear from you. Shoot me an
email, or send me an
anonymous note. Let's talk about it, and let's hold each other up. We don't have to accept abuse as the status quo, even if we aren't all ready to share our stories and bare our scars. We can fight the messy fight for a more respectful world, and we can each contribute our own strengths to the battle.
It's going to take a long time, but we can do better.
