On Consent - Guest Post

This guest post is anonymous for a reason. Enjoy is the wrong word. Read and weep. Better still, learn and teach.

On Monday the 2nd of March 2015 I was raped. I wasn’t down a dark alleyway. I wasn’t attacked. I wasn’t in any of the godawful stereotypical situations that society associates with being raped. I was celebrating a friend’s birthday at a club, I met somebody, we went back to my house. I repeatedly said that the invitation did not extend to a cosy conversation between his sexual organs and mine. When my vocalisations weren’t heard I said no. I said stop. Multiple times I said these words. I still wasn’t listened to. I lay there, staring at my ceiling (there’s a crack which I noticed and put getting it fixed on my mental to do list). Giving up my protestations, realising that it wasn’t going to stop and that no wasn’t going to be taken for an answer I waited for it to be over.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t shout. I didn’t fight. I said no and I wasn’t listened to. I was used as a vessel for his sexual gratification. A means to an end. I was the one left to deal with the consequences of his actions. I paid for emergency contraception and I will have to book an appointment for an STI check. I will do all this while he continues with his day to day life, perhaps not even recognising what he did.
I decided to write about this, not only to try and figure out my own feelings about it all but to tell people that rape, that non-consensual sexual acts, don’t always happen to people in the way television, films and the media would have you think. I haven’t cried. I haven’t shouted or screamed. I don’t even really dislike him, after all he seemed like a ‘nice’ enough guy for me to invite him back in the first place.

So I’m writing this partly as a tool to sift through my own feelings but also to demand a more open and realistic dialogue about consent and about rape culture.

After a couple of day’s reflection I’m bloody angry. I’m angry that I don’t feel comfortable taking this to the police, I’m angry that I’m sat here stewing and he probably has little recognition for what he’s even done, I’m angry that had this happened to me two years ago I wouldn’t have recognised it for what it was.

There is no right or wrong way for survivors to deal with this sort of situation. I want people who read this and who can potentially recognise that they have had a similar sexual experience to me, that they have nothing to feel guilty about. That if you didn’t really realise at the time that your voice wasn’t being listened to, that your body was being violated it’s not your fault. The blame is on the perpetrator.

The blame is on the patriarchy.

We live in a society where for centuries upon centuries men have been viewed as the gender with sexual desires that need to be sated at whatever cost. That women function as tools for their pleasure. This has changed somewhat over the last 50 years. People are actually open to discussing women’s sexuality, that women have sexual desires too, and despite some men not knowing the difference between a woman’s clitoris and her nose (jabbing is not a thing gents!), society as a whole realises that no matter your gender you can have lots of sexual desires or simply none at all.

As a society we recognise this but we don’t recognise the need for comprehensive education about consent from birth. As a society we don’t recognise that consent can be rescinded at any moment. That an invitation to my room is not an invitation into my vagina. It is these thoughts and attitudes that silence survivors, that make them even doubt what actually happened to them.

We blame the survivor. We tell them to be more careful, to not drink as much in future, to learn their lesson about bringing people they don’t know back to their house. When did it become okay to say this instead of insisting that people Do. Not. Rape. Of course, in an abstract way we all know this is wrong but a sense of entitlement makes perpetrators act differently.

We need to make sure that young boys and men know that pressuring a woman into having sex with them is not okay. That if someone says no once, they mean no. They should not have to repeat themselves. We need to make sure that young boys and men do not indulge in selective hearing. If your sexual partner says no or stop, guess what? You fucking well stop. If you then get angry because you’ve been told to stop and your pissed because you didn’t get to finish, take a step, raise your hand and slap yourself across the face hard because you’re being a douche and why would you even want to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to anyway? Your male entitlement and what you perceive as your right to sexual gratification whenever and however you want does not outweigh, my feelings, my body and my right to say no at any point.

I’ve had conversations with women where they’ve had sexual experiences that they did not want to have. That they’ve felt guilty for not providing sex and so have done it anyway. This makes me sick. It makes me sick to think that my friends have done this, that our sisters, mothers and daughters may also have done this. That they’ve felt a man’s sexual desire has outweighed their right to say no. That they have felt bad for not wanting sex but have done it anyway.

Our conversations about consent in society have to change. We have to take the focus away from survivors and onto perpetrators. We need to be teaching our children consent, be talking to our teenagers about consent, be having a dialogue with our partners. We must talk about consent in our individual spheres but we must also demand that the rhetoric about consent and rape culture changes in the media and wider society. We must be demanding that our police service does not ask a survivor what they were wearing, how much they had to drink or doubting whether they gave consent or not. We must be demanding that people, our institutions and our government believe the survivor and vow to change our culture and societal attitudes towards rape and consent.

Rape doesn’t just happen to people in the dark as an attack. Rape is the result of a society which perpetuates ideas of male entitlement. It is not necessarily a pre-meditated act. It is an act where someone decides to, quite simply, not listen.

People Who Can Fuck All The Way Off

Happy New Year everyone who marked it on 1st Jan!

For the rest of you, happy January!

One of my resolutions this year is to try to blog weekly. I'm feeling this might be the year it takes off...

I said as a (sort of) joke that I might start the year with a big list of people who can fuck off. This seemed to be popular with regular readers so here we go.

This list is neither exhaustive nor in any order. Buckle up, it's gonna get sweary and I'm putting a content warning for rape, transphobic bullshittery and general abusive fuckwittery right here.

TERRY WOGAN
Do us all a favour and fuck off. Serial scab and didn't report Jimmy Savile. And you know what, this scared thing cuts no fucking ice with me. A group of you would have an impact. Children got fucked. And you said nothing.

ESTHER RANTZEN
I truly hope you choke on your New Years Honour. Childline is an awesome, wonderful thing but you too kept quiet. Fuck off.

RICHARD DAWKINS
Your a dick.

TONY BLAIR
War criminal.

LADY GAGA
Assange apologist and professional Madonna tribute act. Fuck off.

JULIAN ASSANGE
Go to Sweden and face trial. Your hiding in a fucking embassy of all places while acting like a Lidls fucking version of the FOI Messiah makes me sick.

CHED EVANS
NOPE. Convicted rapist that refuses to believe he has done anything wrong has encouraged the doxxing of his victim so she has had to move five fucking times. And football 'fans' chant that he shags who he wants. Fuck all the way off you rapist slime. Or come round and I will kick you till my feet break.

NIGEL FARAGE
There aren't enough words to describe how I feel about you. Scaremongering, nasty, slimey, vicious piece of shit. Fuck all the way off.

CATHY BRENNAN
Dangerous nasty woman hating piece of shit. Trans women are not chicks with dicks. Fuck off. Forever.

ROB TICHENOR
Yes I know you are a fictional character. However, you are based on real life abusive, gaslighting bastards and I would happily hit you in the face with a chair until I got bored. Which would be never.

DAVID CAMERON
You and your ilk are watching people starve on your watch. You have no humanity. I'm not sure you are even human. Your welfare reforms are akin to eugenics and I will not rest until you are gone.

ED MILIBAND
It is not enough to be witty at PMQs. Pledge to reverse all cuts and then you will win a landslide. Until then it's back under your rock for you.

NICK CLEGG 
Student fees. Bedroom tax. Fuck off. Liar.

GAMER GATERS
It isn't about ethics in games journalism actually, it's about hurting and silencing women.

(and here is where I switched from my phone onto my netbook. It has totally fucked up the formatting. Apologies for that.) 

NADINE DORRIES

I fucking loathe you. You call yourself a feminist and then try and restrict access to abortion. Go fuck yourself. Or eat some kangaroo testicles or whatever. You have no business in my uterus. 

LOUISE MENSCH
I loathe you too. You are all that is wrong with white middle class feminism. And you glory in death.

WOODY ALLEN
I believe her. 

JOAN RIVERS
Yes, I know she is dead. She can still fuck off.

ADAM BLOOM
You are racist, sexist, homophobic and just not fucking funny. 

RUSSELL BRAND
When you stop calling women 'love' at the end of a sentence I might have a bit more time for you. Till then, you know the drill, fuck off.

DAPPER LAUGHS
Nope.

ANYONE WHO HAS EVER THOUGHT THAT 'JOKES' ABOUT RAPE, TRANS PEOPLE, RACE, GENDER OR SEXUALITY WERE EVER FUNNY. 
IF YOU THINK THAT WOMEN ARE BITCHES, CRAZY, HARD WORK OR HIGH MAINTENANCE. IF YOU CATCALL WOMEN. IF YOU THINK CHED EVANS DESERVES A SECOND CHANCE.
Fuck all the way off. Yep, you too. You are what I am fighting against. You make it hard for me to walk out of the door in the morning.

Fuck off. All the way off. And when you get there, come back here and fuck all the way off again. 

Wow, that was cathartic!

Will probably add more to the list as the year goes on. Until then, take care and try not to end up on my list!

         

On Being Triggered (cw for ptsd symptoms)

Triggered. Its a word we are hearing a lot more of these days.

There are people who have adopted it to mean upset.

I wish you would stop.

To encourage you in this I thought I would describe what happens when I am triggered.

Be careful, this may well be triggering.

My chest hurts. I don't mean it aches, it physically HURTS. It feels like someone is thumping me in the chest with a medicine ball repeatedly.

I can't breathe. I mean, I know I am breathing but I can't feel it. It feels like I am simultaneously heavy and floating. And that hurts too.

I go deaf. I am detached from my sense of hearing as I detach from myself. All I can hear is the voice in my head that is telling me I'm going to die, I'm going to be killed.

I get flashbacks. Scenes of my trauma replay themselves in glorious technicolour. Sometimes with added smellovision and Entity style injuries.

And I live it again and again and again and again...

I become immobile. I get to a safer place (bed, a corner etc) and then I am physically unable to move. I am convinced that if I try I will die or be killed.

I cry. Rivers of silent tears.

I go numb. I shut down.

I sweat. Stinky, adrenaline ridden, fight or flight sweat.

The inside of my head screams.

I die. Or at least I think I do. Usually I've just passed out.

When I come to, then I lie there praying for sleep just so I can escape the flashbacks even though I don't believe in god and I know I will have nightmares.

I have PTSD. There are many like me and we're only now speaking out and sharing our stories.

If you're upset that is still valid. Just PLEASE don't invalidate us by saying you are triggered just because you were upset.

On Climbing Out Of The Black Dog Hole

*big stretch*

First post in a while this. Might take me some time to get back into it. That I am being distracted by Turkish and Bricktop being ridiculously cute isn't helping but I'll live with that.

So why away so long and what to write about now I am able to put fingers to keyboard?

How about why I was away.

Been having a bit of a bad time lately. Been very low. Very depressed. Nearly constantly triggered. It hasn't been fun. I went to the docs to ask for a week of and she gave me a month. I have been a big ball of unreleased rage and as usual was turning it in on myself. Not healthy but the only way I could let the rage go without lashing out at anyone.

I have a real temper you see. It is nasty and vindictive and though not physically violent, I will cut you down to a weeping, blubbering mess with my words. I'm good at it. And when I am in the midst of it, I enjoy it. And I hate it. So I keep it all inside as I wouldn't be able to deal with hurting anyone. I would hate myself for it and the whole nasty, self destructive cycle would begin again. So, because I can no longer go to the beach and scream at the sea I internalise it.

So what had me so bad? My life is good. I have The Lovely and the amazing Doodlebug and I love my work and I am studying a subject I am passionate about. I have brilliant friends and apart from a bit of low blood pressure I am in good physical health.

Weird how your brain doesn't think like that though. Funny how it will find the smallest thing to latch onto to make you freak out and convince yourself that you are a waste of a perfectly good existence.

For me there were a few things.

A random phrase.

I see so much stuff tagged with 'trigger warning' these days. I totally understand and appreciate the effort people go to hoping I won't be triggered but they can kind of miss the point. I am, as I have previously mentioned, a survivor of some pretty horrific abuse. Yet I can read about abuse and it won't trigger me. Even if it is the same kind of abuse I suffered. I can distance myself from it and it won't affect me.

Yet. Put something like 'there will be blood up the walls' on twitter and I find myself right back at age 14 at my dad's house in Trinidad cowering in fear as he beats up his girlfriend.

A song.

Lyrics that have been fine can send me into a spiral at no notice at all. Let You Go by Chase and Status had me frozen in my bed in tears absolutely CONVINCED that if I got out of it the Big Ex was going to get me. Once I came out of it with the help of the wife and processed it, I could listen to the song again with no ill effects. Weird how that happens, but I have a feeling I know why it did.

Big Ex has moved on and got a new girlfriend. Really happy for him. Seriously, I wish him all the luck and love in the world, but it seems he is building Deeva 2.0. It's fucking creepy how similar she is to me. But I'm over it now and saving up for a divorce.

A blog.

My wonderful Doodlebug blogged about their abuse. It was the first I had heard of most of it and it floored me. I totally support their right to do it and I am glad they did, but it left me a ball of unremitting rage that had nowhere to go.

My first instinct was to grab a baseball bat and start swinging. These FUCKERS PUT THEIR HANDS ON MY BABY!!! But that would have done no one any good and Doodlebug would have been left without their prime support while their mother was in prison.

Autumn.

I hate winter. Loathe it. Winter is a thing to be survived. Winter is what I emerge from. Loathe it. It is dark and cold and vitamin D deficient. I ache for the sun on my skin and a warm breeze. Winter gives me chapped lips and wet feet and cold everything. I cannot impress upon you enough how much I loathe it.

The only thing that is worse is autumn. Autumn is the transition time from the joy of summer to the loathing of winter. I have to put the flip flops away. I wake up in the dark. I get home from work in the dark. Everything is dark, including me. So this is never a good time of year. I put the fairy lights on in my bedroom and hope for the best.

I have always survived autumn and winter, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

So I've been trying to get myself up. To make sure I don't press the self destruct button and wreck everything again. To actually talk about how I'm feeling. The anxiety. The depression. The suicidal ideation.

And it has worked to a certain extent, but there are other things that have helped.

The Lovely. He has been patient and kind and loving and actually made me believe that I deserve
him to be all of those things. It was him reaching out to hold my hand while he slept that kept me on this mortal coil this time and I love him to pieces just for being him.

Doodlebug. They are an inspiration to me. Their strength, their compassion and their laughter.

Turkish and Bricktop. Never underestimate the power of a small, fluffy animal to make you smile.

Knitting. Yes really. Keeps my hands busy, my mind free and the blanket we are making together is growing as much as the love we are knitting into it.

Talking.

I've been talking about my mental health problems on twitter and facebook and have been astounded by the love, support and understanding I have had back.

And the encouragement when things have seemed at their darkest.

I have love. I receive love. I love.

At the end of the day it is what will keep me going.

I started the climb out of the hole that is a depressive episode, but when I looked up there were so many hands waiting to help me I couldn't help but jump up.

So that is where I have been and why.

I'm back now. Slowly getting my mojo back.

Hopefully I will be fully back on form soon and this blog will be it's usual ranty shouty place.

Until then, thank you all, every single one of you for every kind word and cyber hug. Especially those who knew I was ill before I did.

Love you all.

Deeva xxx

ANNOYINGLY BLOGGER IS NOT LETTING ME COMMENT ON MY OWN BLOG. THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO COMMENTS.

Deeva by Gaslight

Here we go again. Another post. third in two days. You can tell that I am happy that my wrist is healed enough for me to write again and that I have had a lot on my mind.

This one is gonna be a whole heap of personal again. People who actually know me in real life will probably know who I am talking about, but fuck it. Silent no more.

Deep breath Deeva.

I read this today on gaslighting. It proper made me lose my breath. The author of the piece talked about the intentional gaslighting to highlight the unintentional. Powerful stuff. If you haven't yet, you should really read it.

It brought up all sorts of feelings in me. Memories became clearer and I recognised the full extent of what had happened to me. Was a real shock and I have been mulling this post since then.

Oh for fuck's sake Deeva, get on with it!

I have been gaslighted. By people who were supposed to love me. All my life it would seem, though to varying degrees. In what would seem an attempt to control me and keep me down. It bloody worked an all. For years and years. It clouded my image of myself. It clouded my judgement of who I was and it left me easier prey for others to do it too.

So, how to get it all out?

One bit at at time I suppose.

Mum. I know what you did and why. I know that you couldn't bear me to be me as I was, in your eyes, wild and uncontrollable. I know that this is why you would ignore me most of the time and talk about me like I wasn't there even when I was.

I know that you told everyone that they should feel sorry for me and watch out for me as I had no personality of my own and would leech theirs from them. I know you did this to keep me isolated and lonely because you were so scared I would speak up about the abusive shit I was going through.

I know that you hid money and when I found it and returned it that you managed to convince me that I had stolen it in the first place because you knew that I was bad at handling guilt and that I would be frozen and pliable.

When I had a baby to escape, I know that you told me that my son's grandparents had told you that they hated having me living with them because I was so lazy and useless so that you could make sure that I couldn't be comfortable anywhere and you could keep that control. I know you lied about that one because years later I actually asked them and their faces were more believable than your gaslighting.

For years after the first dissociative episode I had (remember that? Two weeks of rocking in the foetal position where you wouldn't call a doctor and you let my sister spit on me and kick me) I truly believed I had shingles. For me to convince the school that's why I was off, I had to be convinced myself.

No more. The 12 years in which we haven't spoken have been better because you weren't in them. And you never will be again.

First husband. What a dick you were. Sleeping with other men literally the whole time we were together and making me think it was all in my head. Just so I could continue being your beard. The thing you hid behind. How many rational explanations did you have for the gay porn? How many times did the phone ring and cut off when I answered?

And yet you made me think it was all in my head.

How many years did you allow your brother to bully me and spy on me before I finally got a moment of clarity?

And the fixing of the bathroom scales so that I would feel fatter than I was and not go looking elsewhere? Yeah, I know you did that too. You made it so that I had no identity outside of you. You were my only mirror and the image I saw of myself reflected in you made me feel worthless.

And you told the children that you weren't controlling it was that I had gone wild. Off the rails.

Well fuck you.

What I had done is broken out of your control. How I found the strength I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Even though you took everything from me, I survived and got stronger. Fuck you.

Big Ex. I escaped you too and am finally happy.

For years I thought I was, but your gaslighting was stealthy. It crept up on me and nearly destroyed me.

I know now that you were petrified of losing me, that you were terrified that with my ever increasing responsibilities with the union that I would outgrow you. But you know what? If you had just told me that instead of making me feel like shit, we might have got through it. There are moments now that I know were just designed to hold me back.

Like when I used a long word in front of our friends and was asked what it meant. 'That she is getting ideas above her station.' was your reply.

Like when you had me convinced that you were acting in my best interests when you told me that our friends only tolerated me because I was with you. That they thought I was boring and all I talked about was PCS. That they thought I was talking down to them.

None of this was true. But you had me convinced it was.

We weren't having sex because I had something to prove. We were having sex because I had something to prove.

I was going mental and I didn't know what I was talking about. Of course you told me about going to your mum's. Of course you did. I must have just forgotten. Or, and here is the ultimate one, I was trying to drive YOU mad by pretending that you hadn't.

Oh what a head fuck you were.

And when I finally got some help. Finally got someone who made me realise that I was intelligent and capable and NICE and convinced me to go and see a doctor as they recognised the symptoms of depression, when I FINALLY did that and got on the anti depressants that I dreaded having to take because YOU said they would change me.

Then. Up it ramped. You tried to convince me that I was a different person. That I was capable of horrible things. That the bullying I was getting at work was my fault. That the panic attacks were because of the dreadful person I was and how I couldn't face her.

You would scream at me for hours then deny doing so. Straight faced. I had no idea what was going on apart from the fact that I had some clarity for the first time in years.

Enough clarity that I could see you for what you were. A controlling, gaslighting piece of shit.

Fuck you.

So, what was the point of writing this post? Why do this now?

It's so I can impart this message.

It isn't you. It's them.

Never again.

Run. Be safe. Be happy.

On Being Furious At People Missing The Fucking Point

I was a bit hot and bothered last night and it made me grumpy. The Lovely was sleeping but I was too restless. Then I saw something on Twitter that pissed me the fuck off so I went on a bit of a rant using the hashtag #missingthefuckingpoint.

I thought I'd reproduce and add to it here. Explaining the things that made me so angry. It wasn't all on the one day, this had been coming a while and it felt good to get that rage out.

Buckle up, this is going to be a bumpy ride. Here we go...

'Not all men are sexist assholes. Some of us are trying to do the right thing and get you the equality you want'

No. Equality is mine by right, not because I want it. You want to be a good feminist ally? Listen and understand that by choice or not you are part of the patriarchy that damages us all. I'm sure you are a nice guy but being all defensive about your gender is not forwarding making that gender unimportant.

If you try to tell me that not all men are sexist assholes you are #missingthefuckingpoint

The campaign to keep women on banknotes. Yes, I know there are other fish to fry but actually this is important to people. We are capable of campaigning on more than one issue at a time you know.  Try actually taking five minutes to sign the bloody petition rather than snarking from the fucking sidelines and coming up with bullshit reasons why this isn't important. Besides,

Yes, I do understand that the queen is a woman and on every banknote #missingthefuckingpoint

Bloody rape culture and victim blaming gets everywhere. Despite the fact that a woman is more likely to be raped by a partner in her own home or by someone else she knows than being snatched off a dark street. I have written about this at length and I suppose I will keep doing so till it stops.

If you think that women are more in danger of rape while wearing revealing clothes #missingthefuckingpoint

Tell you who isn't though, the amazing End Victim Blaming campaign. They are making the point over and over again. Click on the link anyone who thinks any blame at all should rest with the abused. Go on, educate yourself. And keep that victim blaming shit the fuck out of my face.

Oh yes, while I'm at it, EVERY woman, regardless of gender assignment at birth is my sister. That is it. Not difficult. If you identify as a woman you are a woman. I don't fucking CARE what you have between your legs. I will defend your right to equality.

Claim to be a feminist and yet exclude trans* women? #missingthefuckingpoint

This one should be self explanatory really. Can't believe I have to say it. My body, my choice.

If you think abortion should only be available in cases of incest or rape #missingthefuckingpoint

Don't even think about telling me that women have equality. Don't even think that. Don't say that. Don't even allude to it. I will kick your fucking deluded ass while I explain how we don't.

I see my sisters all over the world being denied autonomy and being treated like chattel. Think I won't be angry? #missingthefuckingpoint

I'm also sick and tired of the division that means the Tories and Lib Dems are able to decimate a society I was once proud of. We will never defeat them if we spend our time being the People's Front of Judea or the Judean People's Front. It's pathetic and it turns people off. The very people who we need to be our army are waiting in the wings to fight while we argue about which strategy is the right one while excluding all the others. Here's an idea, how about we actually fucking unite and realise we have a common cause and merge the strategies where possible for maximum effect?

If you are a left winger spending time provoking and berating other left wingers then guess what... #missingthefuckingpoint

This one took a few to get across. Being a feminist to me is about choice. Not being part of an army with a uniform. It is about the individuals coming together for a common cause. I can't stand the idea that if I don't dress a certain way, look a certain way, have a body hair then I can't be a 'proper' feminist.

If you grow your leg/armpit hair because that's what feminists do #missingthefuckingpoint

Be hairy or smooth. Makes no odds to me but if you do either to conform to an ideal then you are #missingthefuckingpoint

One of my followers put it better than me. She has a protected account so I won't publish her name but she was bang on!

doing shit to fit an ideal is absurd to me. Doing what makes you happy is the way forward.

This last section was about my utter fucking contempt for those against Equal Marriage. What business is it of yours what people do? How the fuck does it impact on your marriage if I wed a woman? Keep the fuck out of my business and I will stay out of yours.

Think that what consenting adults do in the bedroom is any of your damn business then you are definitely #missingthefuckingpoint

This, from the amazing @midweshtener.

If you berate or disdain other folk for life choices that have absolutely no impact on you, you may well be #missingthefuckingpoint

And this from me.

If your god is more important to you than the people around you then you are #missingthefuckingpoint

Rage expelled for a while I went to sleep.

Then.

I woke up to the news that George Zimmerman has been acquitted for the murder of Trayvon Martin. Not exactly a shock to be honest to wake up to the news that Black American's sons can now be hunted down and killed with impunity.

However.

If you think that the potential for a riot after this verdict is the biggest threat then you are royally missing the fucking point.

The biggest threat is that the verdict will create more George Zimmermans.

*sigh* I lost Twitter followers after my rant last night but I refuse to apologise. When the world stops making me angry I will stop ranting. I will live in a world where race, sexuality, gender, disability, none of that shit will make a difference.

But that isn't today, and I can't see it being any time soon so I will continue to speak my truth.

If you think I won't or that I give a flying fuck of what you think of me for doing so then you are MISSING THE FUCKING POINT.

On Being Believed

Trigger warnings for abuse apply.

Earlier I was trying to explain to The Lovely why We Believe You is such a powerful statement.

I talked about rape culture and purity culture and patriarchy and all the other things you would expect. I talked about it being the starting point that might encourage a woman to report abuse. That cynicism, no matter how well meant would be a barrier. Mostly he gets it. He is a good man, a good feminist and a good ally.

But it occurred to me that there was another reason We Believe You is so powerful. And this would not occur to anyone who hasn't been there.

It is because, for many of us it is the first time we have ever heard it.

I heard it for the first time when I posted on the #Ididnotreport hashtag. I cried for hours. And hours. For the first time in my life I felt at peace. It has been a huge contributing factor to the fact that I am able to be so honest on this blog.

I spent my life being told I was over reacting, making it up, being ridiculous. I heard excuses, 'reasons', most of which pointed to it being my fault. I provoked him. I should have been better. Looked after myself better, made myself more attractive, more available.

You know what?

FUCK YOU!

Fuck you the ice cream man who felt me up when I was 14 and told me that no one would believe me if I told.

Fuck you the woman who told me that the occasional slap was ok but I shouldn't put up with full on punches.

Fuck you the man who raped me when I was 14 and let his mates watch. And then told me that no one would believe it was rape because he was my boyfriend.

Fuck you woman who told me not to tell my mum because it was her wedding day and people might not believe me because they might think I was trying to deflect attention from my mother's big day.

Fuck you mum for replying when I finally plucked up the courage to tell you years later that you didn't believe that I would have kept it a secret for that long and that if it was true that I would have told you at the time.

Fuck you man who told me that no one would believe he beat me while pregnant because he was so solicitous of me in public.

To the woman who said I should maybe wear make up more often so that he would find me too attractive to hit. Fuck you.

Fuck you man who told me that no one would believe I didn't know he was shagging about and would assume that I was weak for allowing it.

Fuck you everyone who made me hide inside myself so that I didn't have to face up to all the abuse I had taken because I was such a 'strong woman' that no one would believe me.

Everyone who told me it was my fault if it happened. Fuck you.

Anyone who thinks that a starting point of I Believe You is discriminatory against men. Fuck You most of all. Just fuck you.

In a week where Stuart Hall got 15 months, where Charles Saatchi calls putting his hands round his wife's neck a 'playful tiff' (this is actually an abusers way of saying look how easily I could kill you), where Unison conference voted down a we believe her amendment to a motion because TEH MENZ, fuck you if you think that I will not ALWAYS put I Believe You at the forefront of my mind.

Just fuck you.

To anyone who is being abused. Speak up and speak out.

I believe you.