TRIGGER WARNING: ANGRY RANT ABOUT RAPE

And so I became a ho (Part 1)

One day I realised that for way too many of the wrong years I wasn’t having sex but I’d been raped most of the time. It sucks. I was so shocked, I was feeling like maybe I should just die.

I couldn’t believe that I consider myself a person after people had just violated my body and raped me like I’m not a whole person to say no and be left alone. I wanted to die. I still feel that way sometimes, like I should just die because every day, everywhere I exist – not everywhere I go but wherever I dare to take up some space and exist – people rape me.

I grew up being made to feel like if I express my explicit desire to fuck, I’m gross. I’m wrong, I’m not doing what ladies do. Makes me wonder if that means ladies must be raped and never have sex?

I had q’wuestions.

I started to wonder what the fuck kind of fucked up shit is this? After all that time I’d spent being violated. I thought that the way “sex” happens is that someone kinda forces me to do it, that’s what they mean when they say that we shouldn’t come out right and want to fuck. I stopped hanging out with rapists a long time ago; I stopped chilling out and talking to men like they’re not some kind of “psycho” who’s just plotting to rape me eventually.

That previous sentence isn’t even a lie. Every time a nigga steps to me I think he’s just trying to buy time before he can rape me. Then people want to talk shit and be insensitive about rape like we’re talking about someone breaking your windscreen – a whole human life being treated like some fuck thing from a bin?

I am angry, I’m angry and bitter as fuck! And whenever a dude is trying to talk to me about MY body and what to do with MY self?! As if it is not my very existence the reason that I’m being raped – not that I was drunk out of my mind and wearing tight clothes.

Several months ago I woke up early on a Saturday morning to attend the inter-house sports day at my little sister’s school. As a woman person in her life, i.e. her older sister, it is my biological role to be supportive of her efforts in whatever she does. At 6am, we packed our edibles, camp chairs and all that school cheer spirit!

As we approached the school, I noticed something strange… several men were in attendance. Perhaps they were driving the kids with their female relatives to the school – we all know that women can’t drive.

It’s a miracle my own mother got us there alive, 7 km of pure adrenaline

Will we die?

Will this woman conquer a skill her gender has been failing at for centuries?

Anyway, we did survive the ride. So as we enter the school premise, there are more men. Sitting in their camp chairs. Looking like they might actually be here to watch their children play sport.

These men were behaving like… dare I say it… like women.

What on earth was going on?

My first question was obvious: If these men are sitting on their bums all morning watching their kids play sport, who is out in the bush hunting for today’s lunch?

Did they leave the women at home, slaughtering and skinning beasts on their own?

What kind of parallel world was I in?

Second question was: How careless must a woman be to let her children go out with this man person who’s only competencies are bringing home the bacon and fertilizing ova. Does he even know how to give hugs? What about dressing wounds, will he know what the child means when she’s crying?

I just think people need to stick to their roles! The world is coming to an end because of men thinking they can be present in their children’s lives!

 

 

What’s rape got to do with love?

Some time ago I told y’all that I was going through some things, failing to ID myself post-rape because I don’t want to feel defeated but I also can’t act like nothing happened. I should’ve titled it “What now” but I didn’t. Anyway, read it here.

Yesterday, I was thinking about this lonely feeling I have sometimes, a gap that requires some kind of romantic companionship with someone who’ll be the same person to fill that gap when it grows again. But the girl don’t play that, and I’ll explain to you how the first man who raped me has contributed to this.

This person who loved me until I was out of my teenage years raped me.

It’s obvious that when he raped me, he was not doing it to rekindle our long discarded love affair, nor was he doing it because he missed making love to me. (I used to tell myself that he did it because he wanted to remind me of how much we love(d) each other. It didn’t make sense that he raped me, I loved him.) He did it because he wanted to make me feel like trash.

I wonder now, and on other days when I think about him/it, if there ever was a time when he did love me. Rape is evil, disgusting, and dirty. I don’t think you can give such a horrid experience to someone you love.

Yeah, so what does he have to do with my decision to never be “loved” by a man-person?

  1. I don’t think men are capable of love.

This conclusion is based on that experience, and other encounters with people who raped me, and with man-“friends” who ill-treated me after I refused to fuck them. 

Also based on the news of men who rape their own children, beat their wives, ill-treat their family members and attack stranger-women every day, everywhere over anything.

  1. I am a cishet woman, so I am going to be lonely forever and ever.

The only people I trust, and believe can love honestly are the same people I’m not romantically attracted to. I will never have a happily ever after and I’m going to die alone because I would rather be lonely than let man sneak his evil ass into my life and try to kill me when he’s satisfied that I have served my purpose I his life. Shonda said it, “I don’t want a husband in my house.”

  1. I hate men.

Men are evil, disgusting, selfish, untrustworthy and full of shit. I hate them. Their whole existence is an inconvenience to me and I wish they would all die so that we start afresh and raise boys properly.

So yeah, I guess the people who raped me won. If they wanted no one else to ever love me, they win. They’ve ruined my life.

What do I become after an assault on my being?

Recently someone who raped me came up as a suggested connection on my LinkedIn profile and I was very upset by that. But the anger/annoyance/whatever-that-feeling-was-that-I’ve-been-avoiding-all-my-(post rape)-life was quickly replaced by confusion.

Am I a victim? 

As far as I [was] concerned, I was a victim during the rape. Right? Aren’t we all victims of a crime for the duration of said crime, and after that we go back to being who we [are] because the crime is over and we shouldn’t hold onto to it as though the crime inflicted upon us is the end of life as we know it. Isn’t that how it happens?

Shouldn’t I become a survivor now?

To come back (from hell) stronger. To be like society (all of you), unbothered by what has happened – move and get over it. To tell myself everyday that shit happens and not wonder about how I might have been different had that man not fucked me against my will? I mean, other things could’ve happened to create the person I am today, right? Why should I be holding on to some rape situation like that’s the defining moment of my life?

I don’t identify with either of these labels. I don’t. 

I didn’t lose to a rapist because for that moment all my autonomy was gone, my humanity disregarded, my existence nothing but a tool. I didn’t lose, I’m not a loser and he has not defeated me.

And I sure as hell am not moving on like it’s something to simply just “get over”. 

 

It’s okay to be hurt and traumatised and angry and not let it go.

I’ll never not be angry, and sad. I refuse to feel weak even though that’s what happened – I was weak, I couldn’t protect myself. 

 

Maybe someone else feels like this and we can make it normal to be neither victim nor survivor. To be angry black women who want to #KillAllMen.