what the fuck was happening?

trigger warning: discussions of sexual assault and harassment

With all the news out last weekend, I’ve been thinking a lot about being 16, and being younger than that, and all the stuff we (meaning my friends at the time, but also, it turns out, lots of women I don’t know) thought was okay. I find myself asking, over and over, what the fuck was going on, and why it was allowed, and why weren’t we told that all of it was wrong and we didn’t deserve it?

Why, for example, did I have a friend who lost her virginity at 12 to a boyfriend older than her? She told us that having sex for the first time was called ‘popping your cherry’ because there really was a big ball of blood inside of you, and that when a guy entered you he would burst it. We all listened, rapt, and thought that she was worldly and wise, even though I’d read some books that suggested no such sphere of blood existed. That friend went on to have more relationships with men much older than her. I don’t know where she is now, what she’s doing.

Why did another friend lose her virginity at 16 to a married man in his late twenties? Why did we think that was cool and romantic, that the man would surely leave his wife (a total shrew, we assumed, probably uptight and irritating and totally wrong for him!) and be with a teenager? That friend cut me out later because she thought I liked her (older) boyfriend. She laughed when people spread a story about me getting lockjaw while giving head (not true! An excuse I gave because the guy was too high to be fully erect!). I used to get a nasty nickname shouted at me in the streets by strangers. I felt ashamed, slutty, and started wearing shorter skirts to embrace the image that had been assigned to me.

Why did I have a stalker when I was a child, who looked at my prebubescent body in its pedalpushers and odd socks and declared, practically salivating, that I had lovely legs? Am I remembering it correctly, that he would show up over and over where I was? I certainly remember the fear and the shame. I wanted to hide my legs from the man’s leering eyes, because there was clearly something wrong and dirty about my limbs to be drawing in not love, but something strange and dark and unsettling.

Why did I get hit on so frequently by adult men, particularly when I was in my school uniform, skirt only rolled up once, never twice? Why were cars full of men pulling over and blocking my path, asking for my number before I even had my own phone? I used to think I must just be appealing to older men, that perhaps I was incredibly mature. Now, I see teenagers and I feel sick at how obviously young they look.

Why did I not know to call it sexual assault when a man got me drunk and high enough to black out, then got on top of me, touched my body, tried to kiss me, until I came to and bolted in tears? Why did the other men there, sat in another room, think this was okay? I am so angry now, thinking about that.

Why did I then have sex for the first time with that same man, despite not actually liking him very much at all? Why did I accept things I didn’t like, that hurt? Why did I tell myself I did like them, and continue that relationship for months in an unsober haze? That same man told me he had had a relationship with someone two years younger than me. I think about her sometimes. I wonder how she feels about it now, looking back. I wonder what he said to her about me. I know he has told people things that aren’t true, and I wonder how much of it he believes.

Why, again - again! - did I wake up at a party to find a different man trying to unbutton my jeggings (deeply cool at the time, don’t ask)? Why, again - again! - did I not know to call this being spiked, or attempted sexual assault, and instead felt embarrassed for ‘getting too drunk’ (off one sip of a drink someone had handed to me? I think not) and throwing up on myself? Why did I describe him as ‘a bit creepy’, rather than anything worse?

These experiences are ‘not that bad’, certainly not in comparison to other women’s. There were a lot of near misses and grey areas. Sometimes I am angry, but mostly I am sad. Memories will pop up without warning and I’ll think god, what a shame that was taken from me and I wonder what I would be like if I hadn’t had those things happen. It is interesting to me how the weight of someone else’s body can be such a comfort, but also a terrifying, dangerous thing. I have a lot of fear that sits in my body and arches its back, hairs on end, when there is no danger nearby. I am jumpy and I feel like I always have been. I remind myself that I am safe. I can relax.

But why did all of that happen, and why didn’t someone - an adult, someone responsible and aware that things were wrong - stop it? Do the friends who are no longer my friends know that it wasn’t okay? Do they ever feel a fear that has no beginning and wonder why it’s there? I hope they’re okay. I hope they’ve been able to deal with that unease and move forward, that they’re not still trying to untangle things like I am. I feel silly for still being affected by what happened more than a decade ago, and I hope that they wouldn’t understand it, because they are truly unaffected and don’t see the big deal. I would like to believe I’m overthinking it all, but I don’t think I am. Overfeeling, maybe. Overasking: why, though? why? why?

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(I will probably delete this post in a bit but if you’ve read it and related to anything, please do feel free to ping me a message and we can chat)