Oh I'm just a girl, lucky me...

*Warning: This is an angry, rage filled, fire burning, pissed off post.*

This and this and this and all of this has hit me right on my cynical, no-longer-affected-so-much-because-I've-seen-it-all-before head. Hopefully at this point everyone has read the letter the Stanford victim so eloquently composed. If you haven't, it's the first link... Off you go, I'll wait... Back? Grand. So now you understand my anger. I assume you too are feeling the frustrations at the injustice of it all but maybe you're thinking, hey, that's America. Ireland is grand. Well, my dear, let me give you some examples from my own life.

I'm fifteen and walking through a park. It is bright. A teen male on a bike circles me three or four times before jerking off behind me while following me. I run. I laugh it off. Others laugh it off. We talk about stupid men. I tell very few people. 

I am scared.

I am sixteen and walking through town, chatting with friends and a man punches me in the face for no reason but I am... too loud? too happy? too comfortable? ...Seriously, I've no fucking clue. 

I am confused.

I am eighteen and walking home alone from the pub. At the top of my road a man starts following me and trying to engage me in conversation. I ignore him. Eventually he starts playing with my hair and telling me how pretty I am. I run. I tell very few people. 

I am unsafe.

Multiple occasions throughout my twenties of being felt up in clubs, being told it's a compliment, calm down it was just a joke, having my wrist held so hard it hurt, having to tell my friends to txt me anytime I left them alone in a taxi, not wanting to be alone in a taxi if I was sitting up front (which I always was because, hi, tall). I have a boyfriend being the only way I'm left alone because my no means nothing, but once I am another man's, suddenly I will be left alone. 

I am frustrated.

I am twenty six. An old man who has been following me around the bar all night approaches me to tell me how pretty I am and how he knows someone who would pay me a €100 euro to takes pictures up my skirt. I tell him how horrible he is and ask him why he thinks he can talk to me like that. He tells me it's a compliment. 

I am disgusted.

I am twenty seven and have just left friends to get a Nightlink. A man I have rebuffed FOUR times throughout the night, both in Globe and at the burger place after, follows me down the road because he wants to have a conversation with me. I explain very politely that I accept he doesn't understand how much of a threat he seems to me right now but I do not want to talk to him. I want him to leave me alone (this is a great article for anyone confused as to why this would be a threat- sure, he just wanted a chat, right?). He does not, following me into Temple Bar, which for the first time ever on a Saturday night is empty. I call my male friend, explain to him what is happening, make it very clear to this man that I feel threatened and am on the phone to my "boyfriend." He finally leaves. 

I am angry. 

Last week, I was walking through town with people I work with and a group of males in a car scream slut at us as we walk past. Because of the traffic lights, we have to pass them twice more. They scream slut twice more and laugh about how hilarious it all is. 

I am tired.

I stand alone at a bus stop and feel uncomfortable at cat calls and beeps. I get a fright. I get confused. Feel self-conscious. Wonder if the outfit I felt so good in when I left my house is going to be worth all the stares and gropes and "compliments" I am going to spend the evening getting. How I'm going to have to pretend my male friends are my boyfriend because my NO isn't valid without male approval. Fuck everyone I've ever had to do that to. Seriously, fuck you. 

I sit with friends who share the same stories. I walk down the street and discuss the shit woman have to put up with. We all have these stories. Every single one of us. Talk to the women in your life. Compare stories. Men ask. Just fucking ask. I told a male friend some of these yesterday and he went from laughing to confusion to horror to disgust. I tell women and they smile knowingly. They counter with their own. What a lovely way to bond. It's 2016. 

I am fucking tired of this. 

Today, I am so fucking angry. I had managed to move past all this rage to the comforting area of cynicism, to a world weary nod and a tired shrug. I couldn't keep fighting it so I moved onto easier topics. Abortions and such. It's got to tell you how bad it is when abortion is the easy fight. In Ireland ffs. 

I am too loud, too questioning, too political, too passionate, just too much. So, in the last while, I have smoothed out my edges. I have become easier to swallow. I have ignored jokes that make my skin crawl, laughed at my own crazy feminist ranting because hi, don't be so opinionated, we're just having banter. Fucking banter. 

I'm tired and I'm done. Fuck staying quiet, I am all about screaming it out.