A #MeToo Story with a Revenge Twist Ending

me too

 

When boys will be boys, girls will be girls

or

Revenge Never Tasted So Sweet


I hit puberty at a fairly young age.

I don’t blame the hormone-laced barely edible chicken tenders they served regularly or the 2% hormone-infused milk they forced us to drink every day during lunch at my rural Kansas grade-school. I don’t BLAME that, though let’s all admit that it could have helped move it along.

In any event, by 6th grade I had grown to the height and weight and boob size that I still am today. In other words, my breasts were at eye level to pretty much every guy in my class.

Even as these guys went through puberty themselves they never forgot that I had boobs.

In fact, they liked to remind me every day that I had boobs. And an ass. And sometimes they even reminded me that I had a vagina!

How did they do this reminding, you may wonder?

Well, not only did they talk to me about my body parts, but they thought it was perfectly okay to grab my breasts and my ass and sometimes even my vagina whenever they were near my breasts, ass, vagina– which was at least every day during P.E. and sometimes in the hallway, in the classroom, when we were all at sporting events etc.

Now, I was nothing special.

I wasn’t the prettiest girl in the class nor was I the girl with the biggest breasts.

Sometimes I wonder if those girls were harassed more or less than me. More because they were prettier or had bigger breasts or less because it was too obvious because of their beauty or their breasts.

We didn’t discuss it.

I only talked to my best friend about it. She didn’t get harassed or assaulted. She said it was because she didn’t have any boobs; I think it was because her dad was the dudes’ P.E. teacher. (Those boys were dumb, but they weren’t complete idiots.)

I was a target.

I was a target of their torment.

I was not fond of being a target of torment. Who would be?

So I did what I had been taught to do. I told an authority figure what was going on. The first authority figure I told was my P.E. teacher, an older woman who had also been my mother’s P.E. teacher.

Guess how she responded?

Oh yeah, you got it.

She told me:

“Krystal, as you know, boys will be boys.”

And that was that on that.

So, I then went to my school counselor, also a woman, guess what she said?!

Mhmm. (There is a theme here.)

“Krystal as you know, boys will be boys!”

Such an interesting way to deal with the problems of sexual assault. Totally worked! Oh yeah, letting boys grab girls boobs and butts and vaginas because they’re just being boys is definitely a good strategy. It worked so well that at least several of these boys who were being boys turned out to be men who rape.

That’s right. ‘Boys will be boys’ turn into ‘men who rape’. Not all of them of course, but one is plenty, two is too many, three is just ridiculous. And since I know for a fact that more than three boys left our school system to become rapists I will say that the whole, “boys will be boys” mentality isn’t how we should be raising our boys.

Anyhoo. I’m not a parent or a teacher so what the fuck do I know? Surely, listening to girls when they say something is wrong or even teaching people how to respect each other is too much to ask of our authority figures?

Just want to say a big FUCK YOU to the authority figures who chose to disregard the fact that I was daily being sexually assaulted.

me too
Seriously, fuck you authority figures that do not listen to their students.

Don’t worry you all. This is where it turns and gets good.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. I decided I would seek REVENGE!!!

This is the part of the story that’s hard to tell. I know what I did was wrong, but to be clear, I felt the need to protect myself. I felt the need to teach these boys a lesson since no one else seemed capable of doing it.

Now, this is where I become both impressed and totally fucking scared of my former self.

I decided to kill them with kindness.

I began baking them cookies.

That’s right. About once a month I would bring cookies in for everyone to eat after lunch. Chocolate chip cookies, brownies, sugar cookies, you name it, I baked it. These boys got quite used to me being sweet. So sweet. So very fucking sweet.

Until of course, the last time I brought in cookies. No-bake cookies. Cookies that may or may not have been laced with chocolate ex-lax.

You see, these boys made me feel like shit every single day of my life from the time I was 12 to well even today when I think about it. All I wanted was for them for one moment in time to feel what it felt like to feel like shit. And the only way I could think of for that to happen was if they literally shit themselves.

The greediest ones were the ones who suffered the most. You know what the bible says about greed– it’s like a deadly sin and shit.

And shit they did.

One guy was fixing a roof when it hit him. I’m not sure if he made it to the toilet in time. Another guy was on the john for three hours. One girl came up to me the next day and said to me, “I know what you did to those cookies and I just wanted to let you know they did NOTHING to me!”

“So, you’re still full of shit?” I said.

She huffed away.

See, I couldn’t NOT allow anyone to eat the cookies. There were some innocent people who had to suffer with them, and I do apologize for that. My best friend even ate one KNOWING that they held a secret shitty ingredient just because she didn’t want to rouse suspension– a real trouper of a best friend.

What happened after?

Well, they started leaving me the fuck alone.

No one told any authority figures either. They must have realized that they were being punished for their past behaviors. Or maybe they were smart enough to know that the authority figures would only respond with, “girls will be girls!”

And I beg you all to keep that in mind. If you continue to allow your male children to get away with inappropriate behavior because of course, “boys will be boys.” Do not be surprised when girls start behaving like girls and take matters into their own hands. Or their own cookies, if need be.

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Addiction and Personal Growth, Bullshit?

addiction

Maybe It’s Okay to Not Be Better?

or

Words of Wisdom From a Professional Drinker

Yes. I am addicted to shit. Not literal shit, but a bunch of stuff people become addicted to, alcohol mostly. Though, not in an alcoholic way quite yet, more in a binge-drinking sort of way.

I’ve been drinking since a young age. First to numb the pain of growing up in a culture that thought I was too weird, too stupid, too woman to do anything with myself. Second to numb the pain of trauma. Third to numb the pain of being around other people while maintaining a sense of self (aka being able to talk to other people). Fourth to feed my depression because it gets really hungry and loves booze. 5th because beer tastes good.

Blah blah. I could keep going with a ton of reasons, but who cares.

I have drank  (drunk?) A LOT.

And I don’t even feel bad about it.

I only want to admit that I do it. Perhaps because I haven’t hit rock bottom. Or maybe that time I drank and got raped was rock-bottom and I just can’t get myself to admit that the drinking was the problem not the rapist… wait. That sentence is wrong. It was for sure the rapist’s fault that he raped.

But anyhoo, back to me, enough about that loser.

I love to drink. Drinking loves me. But perhaps we’re not in the healthiest of relationships? Perhaps we’re a little too dependent upon one another?

I’ve been in Florida for just a few days and my desire to drink has shockingly subsided. Sure, I had 4 beers over like 7 hours earlier today while at the beach, but I could have lived with or without and been fine. I didn’t continue to drink after I woke up from a nap, which I would normally do. So, progress not perfection right?

That’s the other thing though. I’m really getting tired of personal growth bullshit. Can we all just admit that we’re not good at certain things? That we are in fact BAD at certain things? Why do we have to feel this constant need to IMPROVE? I’m not advocating stagnation. I believe we should move more like water in a river than water in a puddle. Yet, if you’ve ever watched a river it does have times where it just chills. It’s okay to fucking chill.

“Transformation”…”Personal Growth”… “Mindfulness”… In the U.S. these concepts are part of an industry… this industry is rooted in capitalism. Trying to improve your spirit is just as much about making money as trying to make yourself prettier. You are already pretty. You already have spirit.

Feeling guilt or shame because you’re not namaste enough will not make you more namaste it will just make you feel guilt and shame.

Do we need any more of that?

I think not.

How does addiction and personal growth interconnect?

Well. How many people feel guilt and shame about whatever the fuck is wrong with them?

Everyone.

Why not just embrace that there is shit wrong with you? Be a fucking chill ass river for a day or month or year or whatever. Maybe stop worrying about BEING BETTER and just be whatever the fuck you are?

It’s at least more liberating for me so far. And my addictions have stopped being so addicting, so perhaps there’s something to “not growing” after all?

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This Is My Me Too Story

One of My Me Too Stories At least.

Because Sex and Rape are NOT the same thing.

I didn’t want to get so heavy with this website so soon after launching, but this story has stayed with me ever since it happened (way back in my undergrad days).

One of the ways for me to move on, to get back to empowerment, is letting it go. I do not want to hold on to it in anymore.

My biggest fear has always been disappointing my family, that’s why I’ve only ever told my closest friends. I also was scared that if I said anything that my dad would find the guy and murder him and then not just my life would be ruined anymore.

I used to hope my rapist would die a brutal death or at least an early death since he killed me when I was so young. Now, I just want him to recognize that what he did was wrong. I want our community and our education system and our family dynamics to recognize that how they brought us up, wasn’t always right. I want them to step up and teach children how to be better adults. The way we treat each other is so often so fucked up.

From now on when we say, “boys will be boys,” I hope that carries a different meaning. I hope it means that they will be respectful, thoughtful, courageous. I hope it means that they will do the right thing. I hope it means that they will learn how to communicate their hopes, desires, wants, and needs in an emotionally mature and honest way.

In grad school I recorded an album and wrote a paper for my graduate thesis (about music being an avenue for change), one of the interludes on the album was about rape. The lyrics went, “everyone woman has a rape story, every woman’s been raped.”

My thesis board, a group of three feminist women, said they didn’t understand the song. Not ALL women have been raped. I explained to them that it wasn’t a song, it was an interlude and that it meant if one of us is raped, we all are. We are all connected on this planet, everything impacts everything else. We should work to end each others’ suffering. We should work to rise above the violence.

Pleasure over pain.

Thank you for listening to my story.

I prefer to talk about other things and plan to do that now that this is finally over.