after it happened, i went to the doctor.
i had to get tested.
and as i sat there,
covered only by a paper gown
and the last shred of my dignity,
the nurse prepping my swab told me,
"you should have been prepared."
as if was supposed to anticipate
that "making love" could be spiked with hate,
i don't think i had it in me to know
that he could do that.
that he would.
and that i was supposed to know,
that i should
have been prepared.
it was my fault
for putting myself in a position of trust.
"well you were alone together, so you must
have known."
"you should own up to the repercussions of your choices,"
and so i went voiceless for a while.
i believed them.
i believed them for a long time.
years of torturing myself,
playing it over and over again in my head
trying to find the moment i said yes instead
of the no's i so vividly recall.
to which there was no action at all
except to push me down harder.
and i have been pushed down every day since
by people telling me,
"you should have been prepared."
i was unaware
that i would be expected to take responsibility
for someone else's actions.
i never reported it.
i figured if it was a rape,
people would be on my side...
so i guess it's not a rape.
i hear stories of girls being persecuted
for the actions of their perpetrators -
as if punishment enough was not being used like a piece of meat.
being deceived by the institutions
you thought were there to help you -
what is so hard to understand about rape?
why are rapists getting away with it?
maybe because, after it happened,
the nurse preparing my swab told me,
"you should have been prepared."
and made me think that it was me -
and if only i was smart enough to see
what was wrong with that
and report that motherfucker.
and i could have stood up for myself
and so many like me
and faced my rapist
and told him,
"you should have been prepared
from the moment you ignored my protests.
from the moment you pinned me down.
from the moment you pushed inside -
you should have been prepared
for a properly-functioning society to recognize
the wrong that you have done upon me
and upon all of us."
but we don't live in a properly functioning society.
we live in a society of slut-shaming,
naming single mothers whores and missing fathers nothing at all
because we don't even want to acknowledge that it happens.
well, rape happens.
trust me - i know.
and rape prevention doesn't start with the victims,
especially when they are so often outgunned.
he was twice my size,
and i have never known the meaning of powerlessness
more than i did in that moment.
i would like to never feel it again,
but evidently it doesn't always matter what i want,
because i wanted him to listen when i told him no
and i wanted someone to listen when i told them what he did to me
and nobody fucking did.
nobody fucking did.
in a properly functioning society,
someone would have recognized that i needed protection
and if that could not be granted to me before or during,
at the very least grant me that mercy after.
it should not be a fucking revelation
every time someone tells me it was not my fault.
but we don't live in a properly-functioning society.
and maybe that should have been hint enough for me, huh.
i should have been prepared.

if i could write a suicide note that would explain away everyone's misplaced guilt i would kill myself in a heartbeat; alas.

my dad used to say, "it's selfish."
with the fury and conviction of someone who's never thought to themselves,
i am tired in a way that sleep cannot help.
because trust me, i have tried;
slept for days on end pretending i had died,
leaving food out 'til i was surrounded in waste,
wasting away to try to get a taste
of that sweet relief.
i've heard people say that it's the easy way out,
and i've heard people say that things are hard because they're worth it,
but all i want is one day.
one day of not constantly thinking
how much easier it would be to swallow a bunch of pills
and get in the tub
and go.
i know, i know i'm supposed to want to try
but no matter the reasons i don't understand why
i'm supposed to want this struggle.
i'm supposed to want to be alive when
being alive means fleeting happinesses and
heavy, haunting sadnesses.
and if i had a choice in the matter,
i would've chosen for me to never have happened.
if i could just be unborn,
things would be okay.
then all this mess would go away
and i wouldn't have to hurt people with this great dirty s word:
suicide.
i've had people cry to me, beg me,
ask me to promise, please, please, don't you ever -
and i've never once agreed because i refuse
to make a promise i don't know i can keep.
i'm sorry that i am hurting you.
but there is a great hurt inside of me
whose origins i can't detect,
and i can't predict where that will lead me.
so far:
strapped to a gurney, wheeled out in front of a playground
where children stopped playing to watch me scream at my mother
for pulling me out.
staring at myself in the mirror of my hospital room bathroom,
scraping my nails through the skin on my wrist
trying to see how deep inside of me i had to go
before i could feel anything.
withdrawing from school without telling my parents,
lying, telling professors i would work, telling friends i would travel,
setting up my room for whoever found me after.
my dad used to say, "it's selfish."
and it is, i know it is,
but how am i supposed to keep living for other people
and be happy with that?
i want to not be alive anymore.
i do, i do.
and i'm sorry that that hurts you.
but i can't go one fucking day without watching a bus drive by and thinking,
"i could have been in front of that."
home alone, cutting up vegetables and thinking,
"yes, right now, do it, you could do it."
taking my nightly medication, pouring out every pill,
counting them up and knowing,
"this is enough. this is it."
but i wait to cross the street
and i put the knife in the sink
and i take the proper dose
and i wait.
because i will gladly do worse things to myself
than i will do to other people.
maybe it's selfish -
but i find redemption in knowing that i have lasted this long
for everyone but me,
and i think that maybe it's high time i was a little bit selfish.
maybe, for me, just this one thing. please.
i'm sorry.
but if suicide really is some great unforgivable offense, well -
that's just one more broad burden
i will no longer have to bear.

i remember hearing about it in the third grade;
there was a complex on my street for "financial aid",
and a class that i was not a part of laughed.
a whole condominium of victims of condescension,
mockery of misfortune and i was scared to mention
my address. i didn't know whether we were on welfare too
or i should be laughing along with my peers.
how do you ask a single mother,
"are the kids at school right?
do their parents pay for where we sleep at night?"
it's not like we ever found ourselves on the street,
and she always made sure we had enough to eat
but the anxiety remains:
was i present for the mockery of my own position?
i remember no-name fruit snacks - i hid from my friends,
scared of the message that no label sends
or what it meant to have less.
my birthdays were spent at mcdonald's with two guests
and i never knew that that was strange
until another girl's party was horseback riding.
i've spent so much time hiding
and so much energy clawing my way
to a place where the careless shit people say
won't apply to me.
i wanted to be an actress, a singer, an artist
minus the starving part - not for lack of love for my art
but for fear of the perception of my funds
and what the digits in my bank account meant i was.
there are those who have it worse, and i can't imagine -
i worked since fifteen just to keep up with fashion
so nobody could mock me for second-hand jeans.
i don't want it all but i just want the means
to not have to worry about being perceived as lesser
just because that is what i have.
and i am clawing my way up as far as i can get
but it still feels like i haven't even caught up yet
to my middle school friends who got a cell phone on easter
and weren't even happy with it.
and there are times when i am so happy to know the true meaning of gratitude,
but the desire for more still drives me
to dejection and disgrace.
i'm tired of working so hard to save face
when my belongings shouldn't dictate my state of being.
i remember hearing about it in the third grade
and ever since i've been preoccupied with getting paid
enough to make me worth it.
my life at discount pricing.