"Armchair Activism"

I am still on disability because my employer said my medical restrictions were too restrictive for them. Blessing in disguise. I get to write more.

I've seen a few random twitter posts about how #redmylips is "armchair activism" and "we shouldn't have to change how we look to fight sexual assault." Methinks this poster missed the point, which is visibility. I am very proud to participate, and will continue to do so. It's not changing my appearance, I still look the same. It's saying "we see you fuckers and you aren't going to get away with it." So let me talk a little about what spurs my activism, which is far from armchair.

I remember a few years ago when I posted a picture of the medical record list I got from Kaiser and it had "Eating Disorder, Major Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and History of Sexual Abuse" on it. Kaiser sees those as diagnoses. I see them as battles I've won. Or am currently fighting.

7 years ago, I was raped by someone I consider a friend. I wanted to pretend it didn't happen so I did. Unfortunately, that included blaming myself, telling myself I must have wanted it, etc. I didn't realize how much it affected me. I started hallucinating when I was at the track. I started seeing the man who raped me when he wasn't there. I knew he wasn't there, so I didn't lose touch with reality, but there was a moment of panic each time I "saw" him.

I left roller derby because of it. I had plenty of "trainers," in quotations, because my "attitude" got me "taught lessons" by the "trainers" who didn't realize my sudden bitchiness came from Rape Trauma Syndrome. But how can one expect them to know. We can't. But we can expect them to ask "what's going on with you?" No one did, until I did my final team try-out, and a trainer said, rather snarkily "What's wrong with you, you think you just got this or what?"

Oh. Cocky. They thought I was cocky. They had no fucking clue. No one did. How could they? When I finally did come forward in an effort to protect a friend, I was told "You don't talk about this with anyone, we could get sued." My well being wasn't really on the radar. The bad news is I was "victim" (I hate that word) zero, but I wasn't the only. This predator had been inappropriate with girls in the league all along the spectrum (sue me, legal, I have 3 dollars to my name and I'm not using any), and they came pouring out of the woodwork. He got kicked out of the league. Prosecuted, I don't know.

But they thought I was just a cocky player who didn't understand that this derby thing took WORK and I was just a whiner. That's what I was told in no uncertain terms by someone who was supposed to "mentor" me. This was a non-professional sports hobby league for women (what it's become now I can't say).

So listen, fuck you guys. Really. If you want to mentor someone, start by checking in with them. Not that I would have felt safe telling any of those harpies what was really going on with me, but man could they put on a show. If they liked you, they were super sweet and supportive and what have you. Me and my cadre, well, we saw the bullying and thank god for my cadre. I'd been bullied throughout school and it wasn't a new thing to me, but it did seem to be a new thing to the bullies.

I fought that battle and lost. I walked away. For a long time, I felt like my rapist won. But then I realized I didn't really feel good about myself in that league. Playing the sport, yeah, I loved derby. But the league itself lost me. Not that he did me a favor, but it helped me realize that league wasn't for me. Many many leagues out there are far more supportive than the one I left, so I don't disparage roller derby in the slightest. I loved the sport.

The rape came after the medical record I posted at the beginning of my blogging experience. I didn't seek out help for it. I felt fine, I told myself. Until I had my child. Something about things being forced on your body without your consent, you know, kicks up that whole rape trauma stuff. I had to face it. I had to deal with what it was doing to me, so I went back to therapy. I worked on some things, I wrote some no mail letters. This is a battle I still fight, but I'm winning, I like to think. He won't destroy my relationship. He won't make me hide. He is the one hiding now. I had struggled with depression and suicidality in college. Self-harm, substance abuse, and all sorts. I remember studying about 4 times. I graduated by the skin of my teeth. When I read articles about colleges struggling to meet the needs of the "mentally ill" kids they're enrolling, I get it. I got services, but I didn't get better. Not for a long time. Not till I moved out here to California and was able to tear it out of my soul. There's no other way to put it. I cried, I was sober for several months. I relapsed mildly into my eating disorder when I got divorced at 24. "Mildly" I say because I wasn't puking, and I ate at least once a day. I still ran for three hours if I consumed anything with fat. But I was better. This was a battle I was still fighting. 3 years and 3 jobs later, I met people I love in this sport I loved, and I still fought.

I broke up with a serious boyfriend and spent a year drunk after the rape. I starved myself fairly regularly. Then I met my husband on the anniversary of night of the rape. I got to redefine the night. It was no longer the night someone I considered a friend violated me in the worst possible way. It was the night I met the love of my life. It saved me. Little did I know the roller coaster ride I was in for, but it's all been worth it.

Most of my battles are behind me. I still fight depression. I still fight my eating disorder. I still fight the anxiety that doesn't let me sleep like a normal person and the panic attacks that come far less regularly now. But I'm winning, and they won't. Not while there's breath in my body.

When someone tells you they struggle with depression, tell them they will win the fight.

When someone tells you they want to hurt themselves, get them help. 1-800-SUICIDE

When someone tells you they have an eating disorder, tell them they aren't crazy, and they have the control they so viciously seek already.

When someone tells you they have an addiction, remind them they are stronger than the substance they're fighting.

When someone tells you they've been sexually assaulted, tell them it was not their fault, no matter if they were drunk, dressed sexy, alone at night, flirting, or went home with the guy. No. Means. No.

But most importantly, love them unconditionally through it. Read my lips. #redmylips Love to all my fellow survivors.