Friday, March 16, 2012

I was a teenage SLUT

I'm taking back the word, just like my afro american friends did with their cringer word.
 I WAS A SLUT.
Hell Yes.  That feels good.  Try it, after your significant other has gone to bed.  Do it in the mirror.  Own it.

Even if you weren't a slut, go do it anyway, it feels kinda sexy and powerful all at the same time.

I was a Slut because I was violently raped when I was 15 and it forever skewed my understanding of sexual equality and mutual respect.

Take a moment.
Digest.

I'm so disassociated from this shit sometimes it feels like I'm just telling a story...that it didn't really happen to me, so don't worry about me, I'm fine (you and I both know that I am not fine, but whatevs, let's pretend)

I was taking the bus home from Santa Clara to Willow Glen, and a man followed me of the bus.  It was late, and I had no danger radar whatsoever.  I was walking down Curtner Ave as he was ambling along beside me, fucked up on something, slurring his words and not making much sense.  When I was almost to Cottle Avenue I told him that I was going to turn there, so see ya later.  Hr grabbed me by the throat, and started strangling me.  There was an orchard in front of a house, and he dragged me from the sidewalk to the orchard by my neck.  When he stopped, he struck me, and got so close I could see the tastebuds on his tongue and he said: "Bitch, I am going to kill you after I am done".

Breathe.
Stay with me.  I know this is hard.

What do I say now?  You know what happened.  He raped me.  He hit me.  He raped me.  He hit me.
I couldn't cry.  I tried to, but I couldn't.  I tried to prepare to die.  I wasn't sure how.
So I said this:
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.  Blessed art thou among sinners and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.  Holy Mary...Mother of God..."
Are you ready for the miracle?
I saw bright lights.  I thought I was dead.  I heard a car door slam and shoes on pavement.  It was a police officer.  I don't use names her, but the man deserves recognition: Officer Bruce Ady hit the guy on the head numerous times with his baton, cuffed him, and took him away.

I was taken to Valley Med, where I was treated with kindness and respect from a woman named Toby.  They took away my clothing for evidence, but I really didn't want that Misfits shirt that said "Die, Die my darling."  My Mama picked me up.  Thank God my step father was out of town.  I got to sleep in my Mom's bed.  So that's what I did  They gave me some heavy duty sleeping pills and I slept.
I woke up the next afternoon and went straight to the bathroom mirror.  There were deep purple bruises in the shapes of fingerprints on my neck.  I had two black eyes.  There was straw and dirt clods and gravel stuck in my hair.  I looked in the mirror, and said to myself: "this is who you are now."  Crazy Warrior Woman came out, and she solemnly painted my war stripes across my face.
This is who you are now.

I'm still here, me and my disassociated self.
Are You?
Thank You.

I went to trial.  I testified.  he claimed that the sex was mutual and that I liked it rough.  His defense attorney asked me if I had an orgasm with Mr. Winbush.  My sweet 15 year old self looked at her and said "what's an orgasm?"
The jury gasped.  They asked for a break.  When they came back, their eyes were red.
He was convicted and sentenced to 40 years (thank you Judge Cordell).
And I was left to continue to lead my life.

But my life wasn't mine anymore.  It belonged to Crazy Warrior Woman, and she needed power, and she needed control.  So she set about getting it by fucking her way through the town.

At night I saw things that weren't there, and I was jumpy.  Compounded with the childhood I had, it wasn't a great recipe for a successful life.  When I had had enough, Crazy Warrior Woman stepped in to prevent me from feeling any emotion.
 I drank.  I used drugs.  I ran away from home.  I dropped out of school.  I used sex and love as tools to obtain power, or saw them as a way of losing my power...It was completely black and white to me.
I thought I was so liberated and cool, but I realize now that was false bravado.  I still had moments alone where I was terribly sad, angry, isolated, and they were unbearable.

I have slept with 60 or so men and two women.

I am 41 years old, and between the ages of 31 and 41 I was married and faithful to one man.  You do the math.  I was busy (Crazy Warrior Woman was busy).

I regret most of those people that I bedded, probably 85% (sorry, random french guy.  sorry, pierced penis guy, sorry drunk barfly...I see that this has potential for a whole new post)
What I do not regret is owning the word.
I was a Slut.
And now you know why.



17 comments:

  1. I was near you for a preponderance of that early stretch. I didnt bed you. Wouldnt had you offered. Because as mean a bastard as i was during the 80's - I was you, only I was 4. Just as violently, by two men. I am a largely retired slut, and you, in that dark, disassociated way are my little sister. I'm grateful we survived what we thought we were worth since.

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  2. My heart aches for you, in a way it cannot ache for me. I applaud you writing it down, and I thank you for sharing. Truly. Thank you.

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  3. I don't know you, but I want you to know that I stumbled across this at precisely the moment I needed to. Thank you for writing your story, and helping me not feel so alone.

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  4. Thank you redheadedstepchild. It's o'dark thirty and your gritty honesty has already gotten me in touch with my own humanity. Your story has outraged me, but I have heard so many like it. I get discouraged until I realize that I have done what I could. I have never been cruel to another human being and I don't believe that my son will ever raise a hand to someone who is helpless. Bless you. I, too, used sex both as a weapon and as a shield. Healing does come.

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  5. I feel your hugs from across the universe, soul sisters. I'm gonna keep spilling because of encouragement from you. Cathartic as all get up. Peace

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  6. I have so much to say, yet nothing I could possibly say would express the range of emotions that were felt in reading this...Anger, pain, sadness, empathy, gratitude...and last, but certainly not least...RESPECT. To the remarkable Crazy Warrior Woman for your courage and honesty. To Boy Scout for his courage and honesty ;-) Who knew? Which is what is the thought that can't escape me. So many, including myself, sit in judgement and ridicule when we see the behaviors red talks about. Little do we know or even bother to know the "why's" behind it. This world is full of aching hearts...over whelming at times. I wish you all peace and healing... <3

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    1. Thank you fissy face. :)
      What a thoughtful and honest comment

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  7. Your courage and voice are both amazing, as are you. Much love for red.

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  8. Katie, a heart-breaking story that is all too common. Hopefully, telling the story in such a raw honest way is part of the healing, part of holding that aspect of self with tenderness, of seeing the truth of what happened to her. Thank you for your honesty and courage. Oriah

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  9. Thank you Oriah. Your honesty begets my honesty sometimes. I appreciate your words, from The Inviation, to your daily musings. Thank you soul sister :)

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  10. Wow, I'm glad you told me to breathe midway through the story. I'm so sorry for what you went through but so impressed that you have enough self realization to work through your past in an honest way to become the woman you are meant to be. What a great writer you are! This story was sad, so sad but also funny, at the end when you give a shoutout to all the losers (french dude, pierced penis guy, etc.) Good luck with your writing. Cheering for you!

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  11. I'm crying again right now, just like I did back then and it feels the same. Like you're so close, but still not close enough for me to save you. Why wasn't I around that night? It seems like I was around there every night except the one I wished to be. I love you and this time I'm not going to wish, I'm already there.
    I called my pierced penis guy "Carnival".
    Because he was like a ride at an amusement park.
    Let me know when you have a day that's free. I'll drive over the hill for a visit.

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  12. I came across this today upon seeing another post of yours. I enjoyed your writing on the other, but I identify with this so deeply. My judgement annihilated, my sexual identity destroyed by a lack of positive parental influence and a guy that was able to fly under the radar. I never had the opportunity to face my attacker. He got away with it. I found temporary solace in too many sets of arms. I did not equate sex and love. Hell, sex meant nothing. It was all I thought I had to offer. It continued into some of my college years. Eventually, I began to feel again and started feeling guilty and delved further into actually becoming a person of questionable worth. I had an epiphany after an awkward breakup. I no longer had it in me to continue this path. I closed off. After months, I reemerged (with guidance from my very loving and understanding grandma) with my heart more intact than it ever had been before. I finally understood unconditional love. I finally understood that my brain and naturally gentle nature meant more than my looks and vagina. I didn't become a born again virgin or anything, but life got infinitely more interesting thereafter. The whore within has been reformed for eleven years now. I still sometimes hate 'the whore'. I have more regret and sadness over what I did as her than I do over the incident that started me on that road. So with your inspiration, I will apologize to the dudes that got screwed: 7-page love letter guy - I am really sorry, virgin musician that ended up writing fourteen songs about how much you hate me, stuck in the 1950's fella, friend that is no longer a friend, stalker guy (more sorry for me than you on this one), random classmate, friend of friend that liked me, nameless dude, and all the others. Thanks redhead, that was cathartic!

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  13. Anonymous: It took me a lil' bit to post your comment and read it all...too much pain, to hard, too triggering for me. But I am so grateful to you for telling it. PS...love your warped sense of humor, woman: let's both start a blog called 'dudes I regret fucking'.

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  14. Thanks. That might be the most amusing and hilarious and heartbreaking blog ever. I'm in.

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