Guest Post: Choosing
Visibility
by Casey Lynn
by Casey Lynn
4 minutes, 39 seconds.
In the wake of the political disaster we’re calling an
election, I was, and still am, an emotional mess. I am confused, frustrated,
saddened, angry, defeated, lost, and most of all, on November 9th I
woke up afraid.
Looking back, I thought I had experienced fear before: in 7th
grade when the beast of a forward on the opposing team came charging right at
me, before every improv show I’ve ever done, the first time I said “I love you”
to a partner, going away to college, traveling across the ocean to study
abroad, leaving my life in Chicago behind to move to Atlanta for grad school.
At those times, I thought I was afraid, but I realize now that nervous energy
and fear are vastly different.
As a cisgender, white, upper middle-class female, I’ve
always been very fortunate to be comfortable and proud of who I am without
having to fight much for it.
But also, surprise! Hello everyone; I’m bisexual. Consider
this my official coming out. Visibility level one: achieved!
Being a bi-sexual who has primarily dated men, I’ve always
had the “privilege” of invisibility. Falling in love with men meant my
sexuality was never publicly an issue, as long as this part of me was cached
away. And I know, if I ever did fall in love with a woman, she would be
welcomed by my family with open arms.
So, despite my sexual identity, the renewed fear I woke up
with, and continue to live with now, stems from an event I’ve kept private for
years. In 2012, just after my 24th birthday, I was raped.
I was at his apartment ready to go to sleep, so I curled up on
his couch. He said, “no, please, take my bed,” so naturally I got in because
beds are way more comfy than couches, thinking that he was going to relinquish
his bedroom spot and sleep in the living room. When he started to get in bed
with me I said, “what are you doing?” to which he replied, “don’t worry I’m not
going to try anything,” and I trusted
that. So, I got onto my side of the bed, still fully clothed, and fell asleep.
As I was drifting off, I felt him touching
me, grabbing my breasts, trying to get his fingers inside my skirt and
underwear. I told him to stop; he persisted. He tried to kiss me and again, I
told him to stop. He apologized and told me he wouldn't keep trying since I was
"clearly not into it." His ego was bruised and I was too exhausted to
placate his fragile masculinity. Again, I trusted him and fell asleep.
This time when I woke up, my bra was unhooked, my skirt was
around my waist, my top was hiked up to my neck, my breasts were exposed and he
was on top of me. It took me a second to process what was happening. I would
like to say that I punched him in the face, ran to the police station, took his
ass to court and now he’s in prison, but that isn’t what happened. I, like many
survivors, blamed myself.
The only thing I said to anyone about it, when I talked
about it at all, for the next three years was “I was drugged.” Which was a lie.
I didn’t want anyone to think that I let
that happen, that I made bad choices,
which “led” me to being raped while I lay sleeping, so I gave myself an out. It
couldn’t possibly be my fault if I was drugged.
That is fucked up. It’s not my fault, it was never my fault,
and yet I felt the stigma of victimization living inside me. Yes, I could have
left his apartment instead of falling asleep, but that moment of potential
indiscretion- and this is crucial- does
not make his actions my fault. He betrayed my trust and touched my body
without permission. That is not okay.
I am afraid because I feel that no one is advocating for
this part of my experience as a survivor. What little semblance of
understanding and support I felt has vanished overnight. I am afraid because a
man who lives by the “if-you-want-it-take-it” philosophy, even when it comes
to women, has been elected to be the next president. I am afraid because that
man has inadvertently empowered men across the country to believe that women’s
bodies are theirs for the taking. I am afraid because what happened to me was
reduced to “locker room talk,” and years of hard fought efforts to end rape culture
have been reversed.
I never thought I’d feel so obligated to come out as a
survivor. In the same way I never thought I’d officially come out as bisexual,
it seemed to be a non-issue. But now, I choose to be visible. And I hope that
this will encourage others to be visible as well. I decided to make this
disclosure because there is power in numbers. I want this because, when we
stand together and share our stories of survival, we can bring awareness to
this epidemic (and it is an epidemic). We can’t rely on leaders to advocate for
us; we have to advocate for ourselves. In the context of sexual assault,
silence does not equal consent. However, when it comes to allowing the
perpetuators of rape culture, sexism, and bigotry to continue unchallenged, our
silence is an accommodation. As allies, our silence means we consent to violence
against women and I do not consent.
...
Casey is an aspiring novelist and copywriting
novice. Read her blog about portfolio school and smashing the patriarchy
at lifeinthecircusblog.wordpress.com .
#bisexual #sexualassault
Thank you for writing this.
ReplyDelete