No Blessings For The Abusers
In July of 2016, I was raped. And I’m so angry. I’m Annie and I am made up of water and anger. Everyday I am angry. Whether it’s visible or not.
Behind every joke and crumble of humor, I am full of rage.
I’m not sad, I’m not miserable, I don’t blame myself, I just know that this happened to me and I’m so fucking furious.
In another ‘me too’ post from one of my friends on Facebook (there have been too many), I read a comment, “We are living thru an era of sexual repression, titillation, confusion. Bless us all — the abused and the abusers.” A man posted this, to no surprise of my own. I don’t know this guy and I don’t want to. This, to me, was like a moment where someone is telling a story and this guy nudged his way in front of that person to interrupt.
No blessings for the abusers, none from me. I refuse to forgive the “person” that could do this do a human being. I’m done making excuses. Sure, “not all men”. But all men have a responsibility to speak up on behalf of women and to denounce the abuser, too, not just “sad for [Harvey] that his life is so messed up.”
I’m so sick of saying ‘sorry’ for every move I make and every outfit I put on. I’m sick of abusers being nominated for and winning Oscars (Casey Affleck, Ben Affleck, Roman Polanski, Harvey Weinstein, etc…) I’m sick of abusers being quoted and put on posters that are hung in elementary schools (Gandhi, yeah I’m fucking going there). I’m sick of abusers becoming the President, I’m sick of hearing about my friends being catcalled and then laughed at when they say “no” or “fuck off” (some men that women encounter daily as they drive or walk by).
I know I’m not alone but honest to God, I wish I was. I wish I could make it so no woman, man or transperson would ever have to deal with the emptiness, tension and ultimate oxymoronic state of being that survivors go through.
What’s worse is, people have died from this. From the trauma, from the unnecessary shame that was forced on them, from the emptiness, from the assault itself, from the inability to escape feeling mortified ALL THE FUCKING TIME. I pray for their souls, I pray for the beautiful humans hurt by abusers. I will never shed a good goddamn tear for the abusers. I won’t spare a blessing or one ounce of a prayer.
You are not forgiven.