Enough.
Apparently, I’d drunk too much.
Those were the words used against me.
Apparently, a couple of drinks was the difference.
The difference between innocence and deserving it.
But I’m sure they would have found other words.
Words to shame, humiliate and disregard me.
You see, I was a victim.
A victim of rape.
—
In my early twenties, I stayed over at a friend’s house after a party.
All of my best friends were there.
And that was the night.
The night I apparently deserved it.
The night I was left broken and alone.
But I did the “right” thing.
I shared every recollection.
Every bruise, every crevice, every tear.
Believing that I would be protected and defended.
—
When it came to the court date, it went by in a haze.
I remember sitting in that box.
Pouring out my soul.
Feeling numb, feeling exhausted, feeling like I’d lost myself.
To a room of strangers.
Strangers who, without knowing me, would be judging me.
I wasn’t me anymore.
I was a shell.
__
A week later, the police came to my door.
They told me the verdict.
Not guilty.
They found alcohol in your system.
__
The next few months were filled with a rage so deep and so powerful that I had no way of expressing it.
I was trembling so hard with anger that I forgot how to cry.
I was filthy, I was unworthy — and then one day, I was told I’d asked for it.
You shouldn’t have been drinking.
What kind of girl does that?
__
The grim reality of Sarah Everard’s experience has shaken me.
It’s shaken me enough to write this.
But it hasn’t surprised me.
We know what happens.
We know why.
We know what they get away with.
It’s history repeating itself.
Time
and
time
and
time
again.
It’s why I’ve never publically said anything until now.
It’s the shame. The stigma. The audacity to call it out.
—
But Enough.
You see, I was a victim.
Past tense.
Because I’ve chosen not to be.
I’m lucky.
I’m lucky that I’ve been able to fight my way through the rage, the tears, the shame and the therapy.
The panic attacks, the anxiety and the trauma.
Because I will not let this kind of blaming define me.
So I’m calling it.
I’m calling it for everyone who’s ever been a victim.
Who’s been blamed for something that’s not, nor will ever be their fault.
Enough.
__
Enough of the bullshit.
Women should be allowed to do whatever they damn, please.
Period.
And not be harmed for it, not be shamed for it, and not be blamed for it.
I’m calling time on it.
And I’ll use those embers of rage,
To act…
