pain

Sexism is alive. I’m still “the bitch”, I’m still “the slut”

Sketch by Jack Potter

Sketch by Jack Potter

I like to think I’m a good person.  I try to treat other with respect and honesty. And in difficult situations, I like to place myself in others’ shoes and show them the curtsey I’d like to be given.

A week ago I had a drunken one-night stand. It wasn’t anything special, so when he left and said the typical “we should do this again some time,” I said “sure” and went back to sleep. The next morning, while trying to remember the fuzzy parts of the night, I decided that I’d had a good time, but that I wasn’t going to see the guy again.

Three nights later I was at a restaurant having dinner with a friend when another friends come up to the table and calls me a “home wrecker”.  I was shocked beyond belief. The only man I’d had sex with in over 2 months had never mentioned a girlfriend to me, and had even mentioned meeting up again. I immediately looked him up on Facebook and found that sure enough, he was part of a 3 year long relationship.  I broke down bawling in the middle of the restaurant, not because I was hurt, but because I’d been made into the “other woman” without my knowledge.  I cried for her. I cried for all the women that are cheated on and not told. I cried because I felt used as a weapon. And I cried because I could only imagine her pain. If I was her and part of what I thought was a happy, healthy relationship, I would want to be told, if only for health reasons, that I’d recently shared my boyfriend’s dick. But really for far more reasons than that.

I contacted him and asked him about her. He denied knowing me. I sent her the pictures of our texts and said, “I’m sorry. You don’t know me but I think I may have had a one-night stand with your boyfriend. I didn’t know about you until just now. I’m telling you because if I was you, I’d want to know.” She blocked me; however, they must have been together because I was bombarded with texts, phone calls and voicemails from him pleading me not to “ruin a 3 year long relationship” with his “true love”.

What was this? Me ruining his relationship? With his “true love” that he’d lied to, and cheated on? How was I the bad guy?

And then I remembered all the things people had said to me after I was raped, all the comments and accusations. “What were you wearing, though?” “How much had you had to drink?” “You shouldn’t have been there at that time of night?” This felt so familiar because once again, the blame for the actions were placed on me, not the man who did them. I was now the “home-wrecker,” not the guy who went and cheated on his girlfriend.  Society still refuses to make these people take responsibility for their actions. Why? Why do we protect them? Why do we propagate a society in which we blame each other instead of the real problem?

Sexism is still alive. I’m still the bitch who ruined a perfect relationship. I’m still the slut who was asking to be raped.

Anonymously submitted to ArtParasites