I didn't know where else to post this. I'm a lurker, an unknown, but I'm about to burst with the pain of it all so here some of it is.
I suppose I first discovered I was worthless at 13. I'd had catcalls before then and there were adult men who had made me feel uncomfortable without me knowing quite why, but 13 was the age when I knew nothing I said would ever really matter and compared to the atrocities that women face around the world every day it was nothing. A non thing. But those non things add up.
So, what IS the point? I've fought, in my own private and small way, to stick up for what is right. I've got in the middle of fights to stop grown men from battering their partner, I've asked 'who do you think you are?' when I've seen women harassed in pubs, clubs, buses, trains, supermarkets, at work, walking down the street, in shops. I've stood in the head teachers office and argued about changing the protected characteristics from 'sex' to 'gender identity', I've stood up to the complaints of transphobia made anonymously to my employer. I've lost friends. I've donated and signed petitions. I've done what I can, when I can to defend women and girls and what's the point?
So few people give a shit. At all. I KNOW I'm not wrong. If I'd NEVER read any of the literature, if I'd never poured over the information posted on here by women, if I'd never heard of 'the terf wars' I'd still be confident I was right because I've seen it since I was 13 and we don't matter.
I don't know what to do. What's the point in speaking out? Telling our stories of our lives? So few believe us. We are mocked for our pain, laughed at for being raped, slurred for our thoughts. It's never ending and exhausting.
And the saddest thing for me is I've got it good. I've not had a bad life. I've been raped (didn't report - what's the point), sexually assaulted (didn't report - would have been doing it pretty much weekly from the ages of 13-30 - what's the point), overlooked in favour of younger, less experienced, less intelligent men in my career, spoken over by men who know nothing about the topic (any topic), been mocked for leaking blood onto my jeans, flashed at, followed home, called a slag for being sexually active, called a slag for not wanting to be sexually active, spat at, slapped and it's nothing unusual. When women sit down and think about all the casual throwaway 'show us your tits love' shouts, all the sneaky arse pinching and breast grabbing, the times when they've been genuinely afraid you realise it's insidious. It's so overwhelmingly horrific. Yet I still know I've got it good. Compared to most women in the world I've got it good.
I've cried tonight. I've cried for the women in the world who don't have my privileges. For the women that do. For our daughters who, if they are lucky, will have a life as good as mine. And selfishly I've cried for me. For the 13 year old me pinned to a table in a classroom with her shirt ripped open so a gang of boys could 'have a go' on my breasts. For the 13 year old me who's ordeal was ended by a teacher walking in and pretending nothing was happening, who ignored my tears and reprimanded me for not being where I was supposed to be and I cried for my 13 year old daughter for who the world has gotten worse.
I read JK Rowlings incredibly moving writing and I read the pile on afterwards. I just feel broken.
I'm sorry. There's no point to this post and it's all over the place. It was 4.30am when I started it and it's 5.30 now. (Many bits deleted many times). It's just a rant to people I don't know and who don't know me. The cowards way out. There is no point. It's an early morning glitch that has helped me to collect my thoughts for when my alarm goes off in 15 minutes and I start another day. Another day of quietly trying to make the world make sense when it appears to just fucking hate us.