lacigreen:

aprilefff:

:::TRIGGER WARNING::: abuse, rape, drugs, pretty much everything terrible

Before I start, I want to say that this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. I understand that I am setting myself up to be attacked in more ways than has already been done to me. People may accuse me of lying and may try any tactic to protect him because they don’t know who he truly is. I will have to take the heat for being the first person to openly come out about this, though I am NOT the only one who has experienced the abuse from him. There are soooo sooo many of us. I know of some, I’m friends with some, and I’m without a doubt sure there are some I don’t even know about. It’s not my place to tell their stories. I can really only tell mine.

Throughout the five years of knowing him, I have been mentally and physically abused… by Toby Turner.

I first met Toby when I was working at E3 in June 2011. I had flown there from Georgia and he was doing a hosting gig. He added me on facebook and as I was returning home, eventually my number. We texted almost daily and Facetimed with each other. He kept telling me that I should move there and that he needed a female host for his new gaming show, so a month after E3 I had bought a new car and packed my stuff for LA. I didn’t know at the time but that would be the one of many broken promises.

-I was writing way too many details when I realized that I have WAY too many things to tell that happened in five years. So I’ll cut out the small stuff. I was being cheated on since day one. He would fluctuate between telling me we weren’t together, to saying we were. Once I started finding the evidence of other women, he would fluctuate between admitting he was cheating, then to saying he told me he didn’t want anything serious. Every time I would try to leave, he would tempt me with saying he was ready to come out about dating me now. He would say he was just worried about what the fans would say to me and all the hate I would get. But he never cared about that. When he started dating Olga, we were still dating. He told me that they weren’t real and it was just a show for subscribers and views. At the beginning I actually believed that. Then my gut feeling was going off like crazy and I realized I was just being weak. I stopped seeing him and started seeing someone else. Of course I kept getting texts that he missed me and that I was the one he wanted. Once I stopped seeing the other guy, we went right back to dating. On and off just as I now know was coinciding with Olga and his breakups. Or maybe the breakups were lies. Who really knows. I know this makes me look really dumb, but you have to understand how he makes women feel. It felt like a drug. I would try to date other people and I was so stuck and in love with him that no one ever compared. But I notice now how I was also being manipulated and forced. He thought it was a game to keep going when I would say No. He would grab me and try to tear my pants off and I would say No and pull them back up. So forcefully that they would tear. I still have my pants folded in the drawer that have ripped belt loops and holes in the crotch from him trying to tear his way in. I even headbutted him once bc I was starting to see another guy and did not want to be physical with him. But I was so scared of losing him that I would just let him win and have his way with me. He would call me his girlfriend, then if he found out I told someone I was dating him he would accuse me of trying to ruin his career and insult me.

2013 was when the drugs really started. I’m not going to get into too much detail with that, but this was when the abuse started getting very violent. By this time I was conditioned to always make sure he was happy and I had so many panic attacks and anxiety when I was with him because I never wanted to upset him. We were writing most of his parodies and songs together and then fighting when the “high” would start to fade. Everything was a bipolar mess. There was an incident where we met up for dinner (his classic line “wanna eat?”) and he was on drugs of course. I told him not to park in the 30min parking spot. He was immune to all rules in his mind (“im a god”) so he left it. Our conversation at dinner turned toxic. He said some girl was aborting his baby, I said years ago I had a miscarriage but would have had it. This caused him to get angry that I would have kept the kid. He called me stupid, a faggot, among other things. (FYI to this day he STILL calls me a faggot. He uses that term all the time and calls me names even when he is being “nice”) So I am upset and trying to stand up for myself but only making it worse. I’m sure I cried at some point. I was always crying. We leave the restaurant and low and behold, his Range Rover got towed. He is yelling and mad. We get a uber(taxi?) and go back to his place. By this time I am absolutely terrified and just trying to not make him more upset. He started punching things in the kitchen. He kicks his stove and I get out of the way as he punches the pantry door. It has a big giant crack in it. (He later covered it with a chinese new year calendar and made jokes on vlogs saying “how did this get here?”) I’m crying and he’s blaming me for stuff, and then I go and sit down on the beanbag chair he has in the living room. He starts screaming at me to get the fuck out of his house. I’m balling and crying and asking him why he is doing this to me and he is screaming at the top of his lungs that he hates me and to get the fuck out of his house and that he’ll call the cops. He grabs his phone and saying he’s calling the cops and I’m just crying and crying. He screams and asks me “did you hear what I said you stupid fucking dumb blonde?!” (he would always tell me he hated blonde hair) and so I stand up to leave. I’m hysterical and get in my car and I speed off to drive away and he jumps out in front of my car. Immediately saying imsorryimsorryimsorrycmere cmere… I’m crying and I stop the car and he pulls me into the house. I’m nothing but a hyperventilating crying mess and I’m having a panic attack and shaking, when he starts taking off my pants and saying shhhhhh. He sets me down on the end of the bed and starts having sex with me. The entire time I’m crying and mumbling for him to stop but he keeps saying shhh. After he’s finished, he pulls my pants back on and I turn to my side and keep crying. I honestly don’t remember if he cuddled me after. Maybe he did. Once again I was psychologically damaged and stuck around. I even dyed my hair brunette to please him. We spent valentines together. At this point I knew I had to find a way to get over him. I just didn’t know how. He was turned on every time I cried and he was always mean and insulting to me, so this was the pattern. Friends tried to intervene and I actually lost a few because I kept going back to him and they thought I was weak and an idiot. I was. I finally mustered the strength and told him we should be just friends.

Feb 26^th, 2013. I came over to help him with something, I’m not sure what. My friend Alissa was having a party I wanted to go to and he kept telling me not to leave. I told him I had to go. He was being flirty and cute. I was conditioned to enjoy the tension and “game.” But I told him I was going. He asked if I would take a shot with him. Just one before I left. Yes, I know I should not have even said yes and taken a shot before driving. I am aware. But you have to understand, at this time drugs were running rampant in this house and I was so exposed to drug and alcohol abuse that I was just used to it. I said ok and took a shot with him. Instantly I knew something was wrong. At first I thought it was shitty vodka. I even asked what vodka it was since it was the worst taste I ever had. Then I saw his face… and I realized I knew what that bitter taste was. I asked him if he had slipped something in my drink. ::insert cute grin with gryphon voice denying it:: I asked a bunch of times and he denied. But I already knew the answer. I also knew that the people who die from mdma/molly have always been mixing it with alcohol. That both of those together are a DEADLY mix. That Toby is a drug addict and that the amount of drugs he put in my drink are far more than I will EVER be capable of handling. I start crying and telling him he’s going to kill me. Why would he try to hurt me. That he is selfish and that I am going to die because of him. This somehow gives him a moment of clarity or maybe it was just the drugs taking effect, but he admits to putting it in my drink. He tells me it was only just a little bit and it must have still been on the glass from when he used it. Then he admits fully to doing it. He starts crying as well and admitting he is a sex addict and drug addict and needs to get help. I am SO FUCKED UP at this point that I honestly don’t remember what happened. Did we have sex? Did we only talk? I’m not sure. All I know is at some point he is passed out cuddling me on his beanbag chair and I’m just staring straight ahead wide awake with anxiety. I literally feel like I am being held hostage and kidnapped. I don’t know this man. I want to escape but I am so fucked up that I cant leave. Once I feel like I can maneuver a car (the next afternoon), I drive home. I really shouldn’t have drove but I needed to escape him. I come home and my roommates are in the kitchen. They would be so mad if they knew I was still talking to Toby after the blatant rape, so I tell them that someone at a bar drugged me. They tell me to go to the hospital and I say I just want to lay down. I go in my bed and just start sobbing. I was fucked up on this drug for 3 days. I regret never going to the hospital. I regret never going to the cops for what he did. I honestly thought about his career ruined and I didn’t want to hurt him bc I loved him. How messed up is that? He had just tried to kill me. I knew I was too weak to go to the hospital, but I made sure to text him what he did so I would have evidence. So I would at least have a text proof that he drugged me. So he couldn’t turn around and deny like he always did. Like he denies ever dating me now. What’s messed up is the text he gave me before I texted the proof. “'twas fun”. Yeah. FUN.
I wish I could say I stopped talking to him after that. But we all know that’s not true. He said he would change his ways and I took him back again. March 2, 2013, I go in his bathroom and see a black thong and condom in his trashcan. He’s in the other room gaming, so I walk in there and grab him by the arm and he’s shocked, but I take him to the bathroom where I have put the items on the floor and I push his face down towards it. His response??? “what?”    'WHAT?!?’    “yeah what?…so?” and I’m livid. I say ‘Who the fuck is she?’ He tells me “It doesn’t matter. You’ll never meet her.” I really wanted to destroy and break everything in his house on the way out, but I just grab my stuff and go. Done.
Except not, bc I’m an idiot and I stay friends. The last time I ever have sex with him is Memorial Day of 2013. This isn’t by choice of course. This is a violent hate fuck after he thinks I am flirting with Max Landis at his (Toby’s) bbq party. Then of course I find out he was hooking up with another girl from the same party who is also a friend. The list goes on and on.

Mid to late 2013-  He finally has a relationship with someone else. (By this time, they are known as “mains” in my circle of friends that know the drill). So luckily I can say I never slept with him after that. But things still were messed up because he would always try to use me to masturbate. Either do it in front of me or try to grab my hand to do it for him. It’s disgusting and i’m embarrassed but it’s the truth so whatever. I became “just a friend” and I really thought things were looking up. We started doing songs together, even though I was helping him write them throughout this whole time. But NOW I was included and he was actually letting people know we were friends! Yay. Gag. I wont get into the lack of payment for anything I did, cause that’s a separate issue. But I knew I was being used. I was just so happy to be included! Yay. Gag. He always strung me along and would wave that carrot of songs or gaming to get me to come back.

2014- He tells me we will perform Depressing Song at Playlist. I’m super happy bc we wrote it together  and it was our “look how magic we are together” song. Once it gets close to Playlist time… he starts getting wishywashy like he always does. I ask him if we really are going to play the song because he never gives me a straight answer and he starts telling me he only has passes for Seth and Gabe and he doesn’t know. Then tells me he will only be doing standup. This is after I already have my flight and hotel. So now he all of a sudden doesn’t have a pass for me that he said he would have. So I decide to go anyways. My amazing friend gets me into playlist and I have a really good time even though I know the drill of if Toby sees me there, he will ignore me and I have to lie to fans and play along that he’s just sooooo awesome. He asks what I’m doing and I text him that I’m hanging with these other youtubers and he gets mad (and jealous) because I shorten their channel name and accuses me of acting too cool. I say they’re my friends and that’s just what I call them. He then texts a mutual friend and says something along the lines of, “April is on her high horse and I’m about to put her down.” The day of his performance, I tell another mutual friend that I just KNOW he’s going to play our song. She assures me he wouldn’t do that. I have Toby energy and we are super connected. I FEEL IT. I know he is. And he does… I’m going to admit to the internets, that I almost committed suicide. I was in the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. Worse than the cheating, the lying, the physical and mental abuse. I’m not sure why, but to deny me the very thing I created… to perform my song when it was my DREAM to be up there… That was worse than death. I was on a high balcony of my hotel, and the opportunity presented itself. Luckily I didn’t go through with it. I vowed not to talk to him. He didn’t get to use me in this new life. I spent all of 2014 getting constant texts from him. Some spamming, blaming, and attacking me, some saying he wanted to say sorry. Towards August I think, I started to respond. I have only seen him a few times since then. I saw him a few months ago in January at a friend’s birthday and though he was nice to me in person, he started flirting with my best friend and then was trying to text her to entice her to hang out with him. When I texted him to stop (bc hello we’re bffs and she’s gonna show me), the attacking verbal abuse was back again. He never changes.
He’s still abusing and damaging women. There are women with stories similar to mine. He’s still playing his games of multiple girls at a time. Still asking hot chicks to game with him as a pick up line. I keep hoping maybe he has changed and I tried not to give the gory details to the women he tricks and fucks over. But I see he hasn’t. Two “mains” found out about each other just the other day.

Why did I tell such extreme detail of the worst parts of my life and about him? Because last night I was working and went to a Toys R Us and saw a Tobuscus toy in the isle. I started to cry and have a panic attack. I was supposed to be professional, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to run up to the cashier and tell her that they are selling a drug addict rapist to children. They are selling a sexual predator and don’t even know it. But I know even if I did that, his toys would be out on the floor as soon as I left. Because people don’t now. Parents don’t know how terrible and toxic he is. How he hurts and destroys the best part of you. All they know is his funny voices and his characters. The back of the package called him a hero. I’m sorry but a hero doesn’t disrespect, abuse, rape, and drug women. He is not a hero. He is not a role model. He is a sick sick man.

Standing in solidarity with abuser survivors now and forever.  We support you, believe you, and have your back 100%, April.  

star-wipe:

After a judge denied pop star Kesha’s request to sever her contract with Sony Music and her allegedly abusive producer, Dr. Luke, other music stars have rallied behind the singer. Taylor Swift was quick to join the cause, pledging this weekend to donate $250,000 to help fund Kesha’s ongoing legal battle.

Still, not everyone is impressed by Swift’s so-called “generosity.” Singer Demi Lovato took to Twitter Sunday night to slam Swift for merely giving a quarter-million dollars to finance an expensive, ongoing legal case, when she could have made an actual impact by tweeting out a few vaguely supportive messages.

KEEP READING …

hobbitkaiju:

tired-gay:

i wish there was more talk on tumblr about hypersexuality as a response to trauma, tbh. i see a lot of talk about asexuality and sex-repulsion due to trauma, but i rarely see people talk about the opposite. idk, its a difficult subject i suppose

Hypersexuality as a result of trauma can happen because you start believing you’re not good for anything else but sex. Because you believe you can’t expect love without it. Because you believe sex is the only way anyone could possibly connect to others. Because sex is the only kind of intimacy you’re “any good at”. Because you don’t know how else to get attention. Because it’s easier to get sex than love. Because cuddling after sex is the only way you know how to get nonsexual physical touch. Because you’re high/drunk all the time. Because you have no libido/desire/attraction anymore and keep hoping that having sex will kickstart it. Because you’re good at sex and it’s the only way to get recognition and respect. Because you were told that you’re “bad at sex” and you feel ashamed and are trying to “get better at it.” Because you have flashbacks if you abstain from sex. Because you feel wordlessly desperate/scared/anxious if you don’t have sex for a certain period of time. Because you associate sex with danger and you don’t believe you’re allowed to be safe. Because you feel so bad so much of the time that sex/orgasm is the only way to calm down or feel good anymore. Because you’ve been re-targeted by other abusers/perpetrators who can tell you don’t know how to say no. Because you’re still with your abuser/rapist/perpetrator and the only way to prevent “worse” violence is to initiate sex. Because sex is physically or emotionally painful for you and you’re using sex to self-harm. 

Hypersexuality after trauma is way more common than anyone wants to believe, and it can happen for so, so many different reasons. These are just a few. 

queenkeyland:

brittanymichael:

echolessvoid:

An Article from Neena Susan Thomas

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“Through a rapist’s eyes. A group of rapists and date rapists in prison were interview…ed on what they look for in a potential victim and here are some interesting facts:

1] The first thing men look for in a potential victim is hairstyle. They are most likely to go after a woman with a ponytail, bun! , braid, or other hairstyle that can easily be grabbed. They are also likely to go after a woman with long hair. Women with short hair are not common targets.

2] The second thing men look for is clothing. They will look for women who’s clothing is easy to remove quickly. Many of them carry scissors around to cut clothing.

3] They also look for women using their cell phone, searching through their purse or doing other activities while walking because they are off guard and can be easily overpowered.

4] The number one place women are abducted from / attacked at is grocery store parking lots.

5] Number two is office parking lots/garages.

6] Number three is public restrooms.

7] The thing about these men is that they are looking to grab a woman and quickly move her to a second location where they don’t have to worry about getting caught.

8] If you put up any kind of a fight at all, they get discouraged because it only takes a minute or two for them to realize that going after you isn’t worth it because it will be time-consuming.

9] These men said they would not pick on women who have umbrellas,or other similar objects that can be used from a distance, in their hands.

10] Keys are not a deterrent because you have to get really close to the attacker to use them as a weapon. So, the idea is to convince these guys you’re not worth it.

POINTS THAT WE SHOULD REMEMBER:

1] If someone is following behind you on a street or in a garage or with you in an elevator or stairwell, look them in the face and ask them a question, like what time is it, or make general small talk: can’t believe it is so cold out here, we’re in for a bad winter. Now that you’ve seen their faces and could identify them in a line- up, you lose appeal as a target.

2] If someone is coming toward you, hold out your hands in front of you and yell Stop or Stay back! Most of the rapists this man talked to said they’d leave a woman alone if she yelled or showed that she would not be afraid to fight back. Again, they are looking for an EASY target.

3] If you carry pepper spray (this instructor was a huge advocate of it and carries it with him wherever he goes,) yelling I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY and holding it out will be a deterrent.

4] If someone grabs you, you can’t beat them with strength but you can do it by outsmarting them. If you are grabbed around the waist from behind, pinch the attacker either under the arm between the elbow and armpit or in the upper inner thigh – HARD. One woman in a class this guy taught told him she used the underarm pinch on a guy who was trying to date rape her and was so upset she broke through the skin and tore out muscle strands the guy needed stitches. Try pinching yourself in those places as hard as you can stand it; it really hurts.

5] After the initial hit, always go for the groin. I know from a particularly unfortunate experience that if you slap a guy’s parts it is extremely painful. You might think that you’ll anger the guy and make him want to hurt you more, but the thing these rapists told our instructor is that they want a woman who will not cause him a lot of trouble. Start causing trouble, and he’s out of there.

6] When the guy puts his hands up to you, grab his first two fingers and bend them back as far as possible with as much pressure pushing down on them as possible. The instructor did it to me without using much pressure, and I ended up on my knees and both knuckles cracked audibly.

7] Of course the things we always hear still apply. Always be aware of your surroundings, take someone with you if you can and if you see any odd behavior, don’t dismiss it, go with your instincts. You may feel little silly at the time, but you’d feel much worse if the guy really was trouble.

FINALLY, PLEASE REMEMBER THESE AS WELL ….

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do: The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do it.

2. Learned this from a tourist guide to New Orleans : if a robber asks for your wallet and/or purse, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you…. chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you and he will go for the wallet/purse. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!

3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car: Kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy. The driver won’t see you but everybody else will. This has saved lives.

4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping,eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their checkbook, or making a list, etc. DON’T DO THIS! The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side,put a gun to your head, and tell you where to go. AS SOON AS YOU CLOSE the DOORS , LEAVE.

5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:

a. Be aware: look around your car as someone may be hiding at the passenger side , peek into your car, inside the passenger side floor, and in the back seat. ( DO THIS TOO BEFORE RIDING A TAXI CAB) .

b. If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars.

c. Look at the car parked on the driver’s side of your vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)

6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. (Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot).

7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; And even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN!

8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP IT! It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked “for help” into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.

Send this to any woman you know that may need to be reminded that the world we live in has a lot of crazies in it and it’s better safe than sorry.

If u have compassion reblog this post.
‘Helping hands are better than Praying Lips’ – give us your helping hand.

REBLOG THIS AND LET EVERY GIRL KNOW
AT LEAST PEOPLE WILL KNOW WHATS GOING ON IN THIS WORLD.
So please reblog this….Your one reblog can Help to spread this information.

THIS COULD ACTUALLY SAVE A LIFE.”

EVERYONE BOOT THE FUCK OUT OF THIS

isn’t it sad that we have to teach women how to avoid rape instead of telling rapists not to fucking rape people

Nonono please please don’t listen to that post. I’ve seen it a few times without the explanation of how much it’s full of bad advice  so have a rape survivor saying how false it is and another article here and even more and more proof so please stop spreading false information!

ibelieveyouitsnotyourfault:

By Anonymous

In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.

In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.

In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.

In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.

In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”

In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”

Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.

Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window.  I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.

The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.

On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.

Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.

Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.

Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.

Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.

I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.

I don’t have any money, I said.

I really need your help, I said.

I will do it for free, he said.

Sit in the front, he said.

I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.

I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.

He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.

The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.

The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella.  Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.

Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.

I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”

Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many.  There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.

I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.

- Anonymous, age 25