“Those poor boys’ lives will be ruined because of this.”
“But the girl was wearing—”
“She was drinking alcoho—”
“They won’t be able to play football anymore!”
“The boys’ futures are ruined because of her!”
“She should be held accountable, too!”
“What did she think was going to happen!?”
I was raped by four men in one evening. I got drunk and tried to say no. What did my predators do? They told me to drink more. They shoved a bottle in my face and told me to keep drinking. Drink till I was drunk enough to fuck them. I blacked out. They urinated on me. They assaulted me. They shoved foreign objects in my body, anally and vaginally. They took videos. I was just 16 years old. The video was sent around my entire school, and I was bullied every single day of my senior year of high school. I lost all of my friends. I was physically and verbally abused by peers and people I once called friends. Someone tried to set me on fire in the hallway during passing period. Nobody sympathized with me. Nobody cared about the fact that because of these events, I was trying to kill myself every single day. I was cutting myself, making myself puke, showering upwards of fifteen times a day because I felt filthy. I was scratching and peeling the skin off of my body because I was dirty. I looked at myself like I deserved what I got. The world saw me as dirty, so I began to see myself that way, too. My rapists were praised by my peers for their deed. I never had a voice. When I first learned about the Steubenville incident going to trial, I was overjoyed. Because Jane Doe’s story was my story, and if anyone deserved justice, it was her. She would get the justice I never got. She would change the tide of the rape culture movement. Despite the horrific events that occurred, I knew that the justice served would help ease her pain. But she didn’t get justice, and now she has to witness this news coverage, favoring and sympathizing with her attackers. Pain is not an accurate word to describe what she is feeling right now. Pain is the simplest term you could use. As a rape victim and an aspiring journalist, I am disgusted with the way this case was reported on. Jane Doe’s rapists deserve their suffering in prison. They deserve more. They do not deserve to be sympathized with. They made their stupid decision, and they deserve whatever consequences come their way. If you don’t want to be labeled as a rapist, don’t fucking rape.
Remember that episode of Johnny Bravo when he meets a girl on the internet and she turns out to be an antelope
sometimes life hands you lemons. And sometimes life squeezes the lemon juice in your eyes. And most of the time, I would just wipe that lemon juice off my face and look at the cooler citruses that life has given me, but my eyes can’t recover from this bullshit. Not this time. The lemon juice stings, and my eyes can’t recover so easily. Maybe I should just get used to the sting, look at life through the lemon juice. Maybe that’s just what life is; a long series of lemon juice in your eyes only to realize that life is made of the worst citrus and you never even get to the tangerines. God damn, I could use a fucking tangerine right now. Even a regular orange would be okay, at least it’s not a fucking lemon.
The moment you stop being afraid of the dark is the moment you realize that it doesn’t matter anyway.
Playing Animal Crossing and listening to The Get Up Kids is a pretty good end to a night as well, I suppose.
Today, Ron is feeling indifferent.