
I wanted to write something about assault in light of the Kavanaugh accusation, but I can’t seem to do it. It’s not for want of a new angle — I can always find some way to make meaning. I am good at unspooling words. The problem is my will, and my faith.
…e receiving insults, probing questions, invasive remarks, misgendering comments, and condescension. I engage, sometimes, with the people who seem genuinely confused, but often they rapidly reveal themselves to have been playing dumb as a rhetorical device. I push back when someone says hateful, ignorant things, but it never seems to make an impact on the person’s future willingness to be hateful. When someone challenges me or other survivors, I marshal evidence and reason to the front lines of the battlefield, only to find that my opponent has turned tail and run off to their own camp, to revel in a victory that they seem to actually believe occurred.
The good times were so brief. I thought people wanted to listen. I was willing to lay myself bare to make listening easier. All I got out of it was a lot of annoying, entitled emails and a ton of secondary trauma and the ache of trying to carry a responsibility to heavy for my hollow birdlike shoulders.