doubleplusundead

I’m not dead. (And, for those of you who may not know who I am – I’m Ember. Or Sky. Or Skylia. Or some combination thereof. I used to write here a lot, but, well, life happens, and I’ve been out of the blogging loop.)

I’ve just not had a lot to say in a really long time.

But today … well, today, I have something to say.

I’m not even going through the old posts. I can’t be the first person on this blog to have something to say about Steubenville. Because, well, this is a blog full of decent, honorable, awesome people, who all have a sense of propriety and honor and a knowledge of what’s right and what’s goddamn motherfucking terribly incredibly disgustingly fucking WRONG. And I believe in this blog full of decent, honorable, awesome people to stand up and say the right goddamn thing at the right goddamn time. But, holy fuck, I just had to weigh the fuck in. I had to weigh the fuck in with some truths that I don’t often say, and that I have certainly never said on the Internet where any motherfucker could read it.

I’ve been raped.

Yeah.

Multiple times.

And you know what?

It’s fucking awful. Not, like, “I drank too much last night and I yelled at my best friend” awful; not, like, “I slept in late and my boss fired me for not showing up” awful. Awful like you never get it out of your head. All of your relationships from that moment on are fucked up. You lose an ability to communicate on a sexual level like a normal human being. You lose a part of yourself. Someone has taken something of you and violated it and treated it like a piece of fucking garbage and then, y’know what they did while you were crying quietly in to your pillow about it afterwards? They laughed at you.

And these boys in Steubenville didn’t laugh at you. You know what disgusting, hateful, terrible fucking thing they did? They bragged about it. All over the internet. The put up videos where boys said shit like, “She’s SO raped!” (HAH! ISN’T THAT FUCKING FUNNY!); they tweeted about it; they shared pictures and they were proud of themselves. They thought it was just the coolest thing they’d ever done. Until they realized: no more football. No more skipping classes and getting passes out of class or whatever the fuck else jock privileges they had. This girl had been raped and her parents had a flash drive full of evidence. And they were going to lose it all.

And then, they did.

And you know what happened? Nobody thought, “Way to go, criminal justice system! You gave those boys a paltry year or two in jail for ruining the rest of that girl’s life!” No. The media sympathized with the attackers. They bemoaned the loss of their football careers and they wailed about how these rapists were going to be registered as sex offenders for the rest of their lives for being fucking cunt-ass sex offenders. Girls bullied and teased and attacked the victim for costing their football team two players.

And some people were so so sad for the two attackers who cried in court.

You know what?

I hope you cry every night, boys. I hope you never stop crying – because she won’t. I hope when you get out, and you meet a nice girl, and you try to get it on, that what you’ve done has warped your mind so that you can’t. You can’t communicate with her. You can’t explain to her why you want to cry when she asks to have sex with you, or why you’re not good at explaining what you want from her, or why you do or don’t want to have sex with her. I hope you feel like objects. I hope you feel like she is only interested in you for your pathetic, tiny penises. I hope you feel like she couldn’t possibly love you for anything but what you can offer her in bed, and that as a result, you’re never capable of achieving orgasm.

And then I hope you cry some motherfucking more, you pussy-ass pathetic pieces of shit.

I won’t cry for you.

Because NO ONE ever asks for it.

She may have chosen to wear what she was wearing, do what she was doing, drink what she was drinking, be where she was, but that does NOT EVER EVER EVER FUCKING MEAN that she asked for someone to violate her body.

I HATE THAT.

It infuriates me.

And if you think a girl wearing something, doing something, drinking something, or being somewhere means that she DESERVES to get raped, then I really, sincerely hope something terrible happens to you that involves your testicles being forcibly removed from your body in a horrific, painful manner. Since angry doesn’t even begin to describe where I am, here are a bunch of fucking synonyms for angry. Take your pick.