Sticks & Stones May Break Your Bones And Words Will Often Harm You

I remember  that day so clearly. I was wearing a royal blue t shirt with a white one peeping underneath. I had on my favorite pair of dark Old Navy blue jeans, socks that matched my shirt perfectly and a pair of white classic K Swiss. I went to the beauty shop earlier that day and I just knew I was cute with my fresh wrap and flat iron. The salon I went to wasn’t far from my friend’s home so I walked the mile or so there as I did every other Friday. Once I arrived my friend ran down the plan for the evening. She had a neighbor who was a few years older than us who always had the house to herself and would share it with us. This particular evening, my friend’s boyfriend and his friend came through with smokes and liquor galore. My friend and I were both 15 and her boyfriend was 20 at the time. He’d put us both on to weed and liquor the year before when we were 14 and he was 19 and we thought it was the coolest thing. We weren’t even getting high because neither of us knew how to smoke properly but that didn’t stop us from grabbing blunt after blunt. Now drinking? That was my thing. I would overindulge and welcome that numb feeling I would get. Even at such a young age I was running from myself. I was self conscious, sad and lonely and when filled with liquor I was the exact opposite. Either that or I was just too drunk to care. Anyway, back to that night. We gathered at *Tia’s house along with *Ray, and his friend James. James lived on the same block as my friend and I had seen him hundreds of times before that night. He was cute for a guy but I wasn’t into that kind of thing. Throughout the evening James and I talked a lot because our friends were so busy being boo’d up off in a corner. He was extremely friendly and seemed like a nice guy. So nice that every time my cup of Bacardi Gold was empty he’d fill it to the brim. I remember James taking my hand and guiding me to a set of steps that lead to *Tia’s attic everything following that is what was told to me by my friend the next day.

I woke up in my friend’s bed with her looking at me while giggling and saying “you f*&%#@! James!” as if I’d won a prize. I laughed and when I did my body felt like someone had dumped a ton of bricks on me.. especially down there. “Wait, what?” I asked in confusion. She went on to tell me that James took me to the attic and I had sex with him, that she heard it and he even showed them the used condom when he finished and I lay sprawled on the attic floor. I was disgusted for so many reasons. I couldn’t understand how my friend could be in my face laughing and smiling as she recounted the events of the night before. Did she not realize I was violated? How could she possibly think this was okay? Maybe her 15 year old brain couldn’t grasp the concept of consent but his damn sure did. He knew what he was doing when he kept my cup full and he took advantage of it.. of me. Somehow everyone seemed to focus on what I should have or could have done differently instead. Nobody around seemed to agree with me when I told them I felt as if I  was assaulted and that I should tell someone.”You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk then” and “you didn’t say no” is what I got from them. I may not have said no but I didn’t say yes either. Did that not count? James did not pull me into a dark alley, rip off my clothes and knock me over the head before having his way with my body so there was no way it was wrong. Because it didn’t look like their idea of rape or assault that meant that I was trippin and over reacting. Because I was a lonely teenager using liquor to cope, I invited it. If my own people felt this way there was no way any authority would take it seriously so I did what I knew to do. I cried long and hard and pretended it never happened.

That is why I have such an issue with the commentary on abuse and assault stories. I literally feel sick to my stomach when I read comments on a news story or reader responses on certain blog sites and social networks. When they told you sticks and stones may break your bones but words would never hurt they lied. Words not only hurt, they harm and especially when it comes to huge platforms like the internet. People can say what they wish how they wish and to whomever they want because it’s just a blog, twitter, instagram and facebook right? Wrong. Our favorite social networks have become known for starting movements, bringing awareness to issues and getting people out of here because there is not only power in numbers, there is power in words. It’s been quite a while since it’s been “just” an app or “just” the internet and that’s been proven over and over.

If we know this, why aren’t people more conscious of what they say? Why are people so insensitive? Why do they feel it’s okay to be rude and call it real? Words. Mean. Things. I am especially concerned about this when we have such a huge issue like sexual assault or domestic violence is being discussed. It’s weird to me how people feel entitled to proof of these atrocious acts and how they downplay people’s experiences. They even find ways to justify assault and abuse as if the attacked somehow earned it from their attacker. “Oh, he didn’t give her a concussion?! That’s not REALLY abuse then” “Oh, she’s always poppin off there’s no wonder he knocked her teeth out” “she didn’t kick, cry or scream so she must have enjoyed the sex” “She claims he raped her? whatever! She’s a hoe anyway.”

One-third of women world wide have been abused by their intimate partners. One third may seem like a small number but one is a large number when someone’s life and well being is at risk. Let’s take Baller Alert for example; Baller Alert has 205K followers on Intagram alone. I am no math wiz but one third of that is over 68,000 and I am overwhelmed just looking at that number so just imagine how many women that is world wide. I am sure that some of those women have successfully removed themselves from their abuser and I applaud them as I know it is not an easy task. But what about those who are currently in a relationship or marriage where they are being mentally, emotionally, sexually or physically abused and choose to remain silent out of shame and fear? What about the young girl who was sexually assaulted by a complete stranger or by a friend of a friend? I’ll tell you what, they’re reading those nasty comments as confirmation of why they can’t and won’t say anything. They believe that the same ridicule and judgment they witness being thrown out to everyone else will be placed on them so they choose to suffer in silence. THAT is why I urge people to be conscious of what they let slip from their fingertips.