My Tits Are Not the Problem

I’ve already published an opinion piece on fashion, but this is more of a critique on the female ‘dress code’ and expectations our society has placed on those of the fairer sex. Warning for my sensitive readers: I touch on sexual assault, my use of the f word is excessive, and my thoughts may not align with yours. I’m not here to debate; I’m here to share my views.

Modern Day Romance

I follow a lot of blogs dedicated to dating in modern day with the help of technology based matchmaking platforms such as Tinder, OK Cupid, or any multitude of online dating sites. Bloggers are always writing about searching for their Baby/Boo/BAE in a sea of ghosting, cat fishing, and benching, trying to determine if they’re DTF, DDF, DTE, or if they have a GSOH IRL, then defending their said catch from thirsty THOTs while trying to establish if they’re FWB, NSA, or being slayed by DTR (translation below).

Are You SANE?

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

So I told my story. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done, but I knew at this point that he couldn’t hurt me. Boyfriend had already cut ties, so I had nothing left to lose. After I was finished telling my story to the officer, she asked me one question: “Do you want to press charges?”

Without hesitation, I said yes. He made me suffer for long enough. He needs to pay for what he put me through, but not just that; he needed to be locked up so he couldn’t do this to anyone else. She pressed that if I went through with it,  there would be a trial

Part III

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

It was over. My mind was racing and I was full of emotions: happy that he was gone; angry about what he did; relieved that I was still alive; sad that I let it happen; scared that he would come back. What do I do now?

First thing was first: lock the door. After he left, I ran to the door and switched the lock in place. I went to the front door that was never used and made sure that one was locked as well. I looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was mid morning; right around the same time that my class would have been released, which also meant that I was to head to work.

Part II

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

We have all imagined scenarios in our heads and thought about how we would handle them. What if a robber was running towards me on the sidewalk clutching another woman’s bag? I would stick my leg out and trip that sucker before he got away. What if I witnessed a car accident on the highway that ended with it catching fire? I would stop and offer to help. Maybe pull the driver from the burning wreckage… But believe me when I say: what you think you would do and what you actually do can be very different.

Part I

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

I know what you’re thinking: “How does it get any worse?” I had mentioned in another post that I endured being blackmailed into having sexual encounters with The Recluse because I knew that it wouldn’t last; once he had his way with me, I would be back in the arms of the one person I truly loved. How messed up is that!?

This Is It. No More.

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

Boyfriend is back. All is right with the world. He said he would leave me alone. He said he wouldn’t tell. He said…

“YOU THOUGHT WE WERE DONE, DIDN’T YOU? I LIED. COME SEE ME.”

I can’t. I won’t. Boyfriend will find out. “No.” Was all I responded with.

“DON’T MAKE THIS HARDER ON YOURSELF THAN IT HAS TO BE. YOU DON’T WANT TO WAKE MY DEAMONS, DO YOU? YOU HAVEN’T SEEN ANYTHING YET. ”

Not Again. Not Ever.

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

So I have a secret. Who doesn’t? Well… not many people have quite the unsettling secret that I have. Should I tell someone? Should I risk everything in the hopes that everyone believes me over him? As long as I stay away from him, I will be fine. He can’t hurt me anymore. What if I do tell and they believe him? Everyone will hate me. Everyone will blame me. They will think I’m a slut. Boyfriend will breakup with me and life as I know it will end. I don’t want him to leave me. I love him.

You Came On to Me

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

Often times, when I was working on assignments at Boyfriend’s, The Recluse would come over to visit. At first, I welcomed the distraction from school work. We would spend some time shooting the breeze until I felt my second wind coming, in which time I would politely excuse myself back to my work, and

Prudish Love

I’m writing out my life in a timeline, so to experience my story the way its supposed to be told, start at I Was That Girl In School… then proceed chronologically by post date.

It wasn’t the typical storybook love affair girls romanticize about by any means, but at the time, it was my fairytale.

We met on the school bus. I greeted him in the early hours when he first got on and asked him his name (this forwardness was, nor has it ever been, my thing, but on this particular bus, everyone was family). He was wearing ratty jeans and a tie-dye t-shirt topped off with a choker that showed off a Crush bottle cap (the orange soda…). Interesting. The next time