By Any Other Name

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and rape by any other name is still rape. Saying no is rape. Saying nothing is rape. The absence of consent is not assumed consent. Thinking he or she wanted it, doesn’t mean they did. Everything that falls outside of yes and all of its synonyms, falls directly inside of rape.

Maybe this means you know someone who has been raped. Maybe this means you heard slut shaming poorly covering rape. Maybe this means you have been raped. It does mean I have. It took me eleven years to finally accept that. You see, here is how it happened and here is how I believe raped happened, and how those two misaligned narratives lead me to suppress the reality of my own rape.

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Delusion, Glorification and Little Twisted Realities

I won’t lie to you, a part of me still believes having a blog, is for lack of a better term, a mark of a true douche bag. So, what does that make me? Part douche bag? An easy yes. In the pursuit of honesty, who isn’t a douche bag to some small degree in one way or another? Call me self-depreciating, but I think it’s delusional to think otherwise. Not everyone is going to love or even like you, and that’s okay.

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I may be deflowered but I am not devalued.

The space between being a child and thinking you are more than that is incredibly fragile. I don’t remember when the way boys looked at me outweighed how I looked at myself, but it must’ve been in a moment fleeting faster than a blink.

I lied about losing my virginity for the longest time. I felt an almost insurmountable level of shame because I had sex before sixteen. Oh, the absolute horror… yet, also not so uncommon. Neither one of us knew what we were doing, I think the fact that we both thought we had sex before we actually had sex, kind of says it all. I was deflowered and to be honest, I felt devalued. It wasn’t some magical moment, it was haphazard, awkward and incredibly rushed as we both tried to act like we knew what we were doing.

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Sweet Nothing

I think most people have that person that made them feel like, maybe they were everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. I did. On paper, we were nothing, but in between the lines, we could have been everything. For the longest time, I couldn’t shake him. I romanticised him when in truth there was nothing romantic between us except the story I made out of our failures. He will never know how many times my mind wandered to him and I will never know if I ever crossed his.

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