I’ve been debating about writing this all down since hearing about the Aziz Ansari situation. Somehow writing it down makes it feel more like an assault. Like somehow if I never verbalized what happened that night, it didn’t really happen. But it did.

My moment came when I went home with a guy I knew from school (let’s call him Mike). Mike and I had been hooking up for a couple months but I broke it off when I learned that he either had an ex he was still involved with or had a girlfriend. He never gave me the full story and I guess I didn’t really care. It had been about a month since I had seen him and a bunch of people from school were out at a bar. We started talking because, despite how it had ended between us, I didn’t want to not be friends with him. I wanted to prove that I could be a Cool Girl and complete divorce feelings from ***. At one point during the evening I remember I was taking a drink of my beer and he put his hand on the bottom of the cup to make it so that I had to chug the entire thing or risk it spilling all over me. He was trying to get me drunk. After that he continued to ply me with alcohol as we talked. We started talking about classes and professors but then he changed the topic. He started talking, in very explicit terms, about what he wanted to do to my body. He put his hand on my **** and leaned in to kiss me. I offered an excuse that our classmates were around and would see. He said he didn’t care. I said that I did care. He tried again. I allowed him to kiss me but turned my head so he only got the side of my face/neck. I did so not because I wanted to kiss him but because I didn’t want to make a scene in a crowded bar. I was wearing a dress and at several points during the night his hand went under my dress and grabbed my ****. Each time I squirmed out of his grasp. He continued to do it. I told him to stop and he thought I was being coy. I wasn’t. I just didn’t want his hand under my dress. Throughout the night he continued to talk about everything he wanted to do to me. He repeatedly asked me to go home with him. I repeatedly said no. When he asked why I brought up the ex or not so ex girlfriend. He dismissed that. He continued to ask why I wouldn’t go home with him. I told him I was on my period (which wasn’t a lie, but what woman hasn’t used that as an excuse when a man won’t leave her alone about ***?). He said he didn’t care. He wanted me. He wasn’t leaving without me. I agreed to leave with him because I wanted people to stop staring and honestly, because I was drunk. When we got back to his place I asked if his roommates were home. He said it didn’t matter. I responded that if they were I didn’t want to disturb them and would leave. He repeated that it didn’t matter. He said “you’re not going anywhere.” He undressed me and we were hooking up and he kept trying to have *** with me despite my insistence that we couldn’t. He did not stop trying. When I told him I had a ****** in, he told me to take it out. When I told him it would be messy, he said he didn’t care. When I told him I should go home, he said no. Every excuse I offered in an obvious attempt to get out of the situation he ignored. He insisted to the point where I became so uncomfortable my body literally shut down. I had a panic attack because a man that I should have been able to trust and a time that should have been fun caused me so much anxiety that I started hyperventilating and crying. That stopped him. My repeated objections and excuses didn’t. But my body literally shutting down and ceasing to respond to stimuli did. He drove me home and calmed me down but that doesn’t forgive what he did. I wouldn’t have needed him to calm me down if he hadn’t caused the panic attack in the first place. I told my roommate what happened as soon as I got home. While she was indignant that he was so persistent, it wasn’t seen as an assault. I didn’t see it as such then either.

I haven’t really spoken to him since. But I did speak to his girlfriend—well now ex-girlfriend—and told her everything. I still go to school with him. We have a year and a half left and I have to see him every day. The truth is I’m not okay with what happened that night. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been but that shouldn’t be the standard that I have to live by. Women shouldn’t have to be thankful that at least it could have been worse. I read an article once that said that men will always say that they don’t understand women’s way of speaking, but they do. Men understand the different ways women say no—whether body language, offering excuses, or outright saying no—but will choose to ignore it because it is simply easier for their purposes. This is not ok. Before that night I hadn’t had a full on panic attack in years. Since then I’ve had 6 panic attacks in as many months. Men don’t get to do this and get away with it. Men don’t get to pretend that they didn’t understand the situation. Because they do understand; they just don’t care. I don’t know how many times I actually said “no” that night, but I do know that I said it and he ignored me. And now every time I have to see him all of those ugly emotions are brought back to the surface. How he didn’t care enough about me to listen. How he clearly had one objective and didn’t care what he had to do to accomplish that. How I let myself be psychologically manipulated by this man for five months before I finally saw him for what he is. He is a monster. He is a predator. The worst part is, is that he is a self-professed feminist. If that is his brand of feminism, count me out. Recently I saw that he liked me on tinder. Because apparently disrupting my life as much as he already did wasn’t enough for him. He had to twist the knife just a little further in. Because all I ever was to him was a wet place to put his ****. He never cared about me. He used me. He used me until he couldn’t anymore and then he tried to come back for seconds. I will no longer allow myself to be under his thumb. I will no longer allow this man to control me and bend me to his will. I will resist. I will survive. And I will thrive. I will show him that I am not his. But I will not do this for his sake. It is for myself and for every other woman in my life that I will rise and fight and persist. It is for every woman who has come before me who fought so that I could fight. It is for every woman who will come after me so that she has one fewer man in her life intent on dragging her down.

So many conflicting images
society tells us exactly how we should look
but I’m still supposed to love myself exactly as I am.
Supermodel tall and athletic
but still petite enough that no man feels intimidated.
No extra rolls or bulges anywhere in sight
but not skinny enough to appear sickly.
Never cover yourself up too much as to appear prudish
but showing too much skin equates with promiscuity.
Don’t be too in touch with your sexuality else you should be labeled a *****
but don’t deny too many men else you should be labeled a tease.
Never not be aware of your surroundings as danger lurks in every shadow at night
but don’t seem too hyper vigilant unless you should appear paranoid.
Don’t dare wear too much makeup
but never let them see your flaws.
Beauty comes before all else, including pain
but never let them see how you achieve your beauty in danger of being labeled vain or sick.
Girls should be driven to excel
but only in activities deemed suitably feminine.
Society’s views dictate from birth how we should act, feel, and look as women,
but the molds they attempt to force us into are not designed to contained all the magnificence we are born with.

Sometimes I wonder
Do you ever think about me?
Because I can’t seem to get you off my mind.
Do you ever think about what could have been?
I do.
I think about how happy we could have been.
I think about how we would have fought like cats and dogs
just to make up a couple minutes later.
Because I could never really be angry with you.
Do you ever think about what would have happened if we had just listened to our friends?
I do.
I think about what our first real date could have been.
I think about how you would have ordered the truffle fries because they’re your favorite.
but how I would have had to ask for your ketchup.
Because you are always forgetting things.
Do you ever think about what our first (sober) kiss would have been?
I do.
I think about how you would have been too shy and polite to make the first move.
I think about how I would have had to lean in first if I ever wanted it to happen.
however it never would have lasted long enough to suit my fancy.
Because I could kiss you forever.
Do you ever think about what could have been?
I do.
I think about what never was.
I think about how I never told you what I know now I should have.
but I am far too much of a coward to put myself out there like that.
Because I never knew how you felt.
Do you ever wonder if we missed our chance?
I do.

This is slow torture,
driving me absolutely mad.
Minute by minute, second by second
my foothold in sanity slips little by little
until I’m falling down
the rabbit hole that leads to
the dark recesses of my mind.
Landing, crumpled, in the unfriendliest part of myself
I attempt to right myself only
to be tackled to the ground by my own thoughts
never to get back up.

She always made so many promises
that she never intended to keep.
Lies spewed from her mouth day and night.
Her lies only begat more lies.
There was never any peace from the untruths she told.
Promise coming from her was a death sentence
to any plans you could possibly have.
All we wanted was to have a little fun,
but she ruined any hope any of us had at a normal life.
Hanging all our hope on a promise made in the forgiving darkness of night,
we just wanted her to follow through once.
Promises made in the quiet of night were always
broken in the harsh light of day.
And how harsh these broken promises were, too.
The unkept plans and dashed hopes feel more like
broken bones and bruised skin than simply reneging on a half-formed promises.
And we never called her out on it.
We merely let her continue on using our egos and morals as her own personal punching bag.
It’s not surprising then,
that she never stopped lying.

As I sit here all by myself,
I think that I have never been less lonely.
Surrounded by strangers on all sides.
Their faces unfamiliar, but comforting somehow.
These are the people who keep me sane,
The complete strangers.
They don’t know my story,
and most probably never will,
yet they are so kind.
Sympathetic glances and a cautiously friendly smiles
can be the most helpful things in the world.
I draw my inspiration from little girl all alone in the crowd.
There is not a single soul here who knows anything about her,
but she does not despair.
She is absolutely in love with every person here.
I envy her ability to love the whole world with such grace.
For she has not yet learned to hate.
I hate that I hate.
The world has made me something that I had hoped to never become.
I wish I could forgive so easily,
but I know that I probably have more in common with these random people
than I will ever have with you.
I love you,
trust me, I do.
But recently, nothing is the same.
The awkward silences are more commonplace,
than actual conversation when we are together.
I worry that we are drifting apart.

There are days when I wish I could say
I believe in a higher power.
I know that on these days,
if I did this I would be
cheating myself of everything I know and love.
I am just so tired of being judged
for what I don’t believe in.
The earliest Christians were atheists, too
according to their Roman counterparts.
So why, if your ancestors were considered atheists,
do you judge me so heavily for not believing in the
one god out of thousands that you believe in?
You say that god gives you hope,
good for you, but I don’t need
some invisible man in the sky to give me hope for a better tomorrow.
I get my hope from the wonder in a child’s eye as they see something they previously thought impossible.
My love for my fellow man comes from the loving house that I grew up in, being taught to believe that deep down everyone is good.
My morals stem from a desire to see everyone have the same opportunities I have known.
So when you judge me and look down on me with derision in your eyes,
I implore you to get down off your high horse and look within yourself
to understand where your love and morals come from.
Do you truly love your fellow man as your god commands?
If yes, I ask you to look at how you treated that girl in high school who did nothing but make your life hell. Did you treat her with all the dignity and respect that you did your best friend?
If you did not, how are you better than me?
Do you actually want everyone to have the same opportunities that have been handed to you since birth?
If you have ever read the bible
(unlike most so-called Christians)
then you will know that god often chose the poor and unlikely to speak for him.
What thought do you give those that have not been born into your same station in life?
Most Christians only think of those “lesser” than them with contempt and hatred
(the very things your god and savior preach against).
Most will say that I am on the direct path to hell because I don’t believe.
If this is the Christian doctrine, how is anyone supposed to believe in a religion
where loving who you love is condemned, women will never be equal to men, and an all loving and just god sends someone straight to burn for all eternity for forsaking something they saw no proof for?
This is not the faith I want any part of.
You call me atheist for not believing in any god.
I call you mostly atheist for only believing in one.
At least I do things 100%.