What was so shocking about my own “me too” story is that I thought I was unique. I was a badass tomboy, hardly victim material, so I thought I was immune to rape.
I was a student firefighter living in a fire station at the time. When one of the five guys I lived with slipped a drug into my soda, I was no badass. I felt like I was paralyzed as he tore off my clothing and climbed aboard, through my slurring and repeated “No, no, no.”
Sixteen years later and I am nearly whole, though I did struggle over a decade with terror, paranoia and nightmares.
It is awesome that women aren’t as silenced or shamed, but my heart goes out to people like Garrison Keillor. Grabbing a woman “by the pussy” is a lot different than touching a woman on the back, so distinctions ought to be made. How many men have I “sexually harassed” by touching their backs?
Thanks to Rachel Castor for her article (12/7) on this delicate subject, and thank you, Reader, for consistently sticking up for the underdog.
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