Angela Gibbins Ate My Hamster

Note: all the way through this I am going to be referencing articles. I will not be linking to any of them. If you really do need to read hateful crap then find it yourself.

Over the past couple of days there has been a media furore surrounding one of my close friends, Angela Gibbins. Real nastiness. She has been subject to death threats and rape threats. She has had the press camped out on her doorstep, imprisoning her and questioning her neighbours. She has an online petition calling for her to be sacked. She has had hate articles written about her, one of them downright vicious. She has been misrepresented as a champagne socialist. She has had her wedding photograph stolen to 'illustrate' this as if carrying flowers and a glass of cava whilst wearing a stunning frock coat is just what she does on tuesdays.If you didn't know Angela you would not know that it was her wedding photo by the way. You would usually expect to see a big white floofy dress right? Angela doesn't do big, white and floofy. She has been called a 'dog faced feminist bitch'. There have been aspersions cast upon her looks, her personality, her reasons for not having children. She has been reported for hate crime. Fucking hate crime. For pointing out a rich white kid has privilege. If those screaming for her blood spent that energy actually fighting racism then, y'know...

Her alleged crime? That she reportedly called HRH Prince George a Fucking Dickhead on Facebook.

Well, let's get that one out of the way straight away. She didn't. The Dub Pistols shared the meme.

And so have at least a thousand other people. OK? Can we get past this crap now please? There is no need to pillory this woman for having an opinion on privilege and comparing the fate and future of George to the lack of future and the fate of another 3 year old child who wasn't lucky enough to be born into the royal family.

Angela isn't vile. She isn't a bitch, she isn't deserving of death, by hanging or otherwise, or unemployment. She is a good woman.

Let me tell you about my friend.

She is thoughtful. When I decided I wanted to learn to draw, she sent me some beautiful pencils and a lot of great advice.

She is encouraging. When a member of my family was struggling with confidence over their art, she spoke gently to them, encouraged them, praised them and helped.

She is generous. When a friend of mine was having trouble with University finances, she talked him through it and made sure an autistic man got the chance to study.

She is caring. When she gets libraries re opened she also makes sure that schools are built; when she is getting finance for buildings in the desert, she makes sure that no one suffers by insisting there is not a drop of wasted water. When you are low she sends a message saying 'All will be well.' and you believe her. Because she is Angela and she will move heaven and earth to educate, facilitate and make you feel safe.

She has been shot at three times (hit once, grazed twice) rescuing people from war zones. She doesn't pull the ladder up after herself, she makes sure that she creates opportunities for women.

But it's fun to make things up like she isn't a real person right? We could start a #AngelaMadeUpHeadlines hashtag.

Who Let The Dogs Out? We'll Tell You Who!

'I went to Glastonbury with Angela Gibbins and she stole my Pikachu.'

ANGELA GIBBINS FAKED THE MOON LANDINGS

You get the idea right? It's all fun and games and no one gets hurt.

No. It does hurt people. It hurt Angela and her brilliant husband when they had the memory of their happiest day stolen from them. It hurts her friends and family to see her being pinned down in her own home. It hurts her colleagues at the British Council because they now have to shoulder her considerable workload.

I only hope that it doesn't inspire the same kind of person who ended up killing Jo Cox.

Angela inspires me. I stand by her and restate that there really is no room for an hereditary monarchy in a democratic society.

Got your back Ang x

On Being Woke AF

Oh I'm proper pissed off today. I don't know if it is because I am over tired or because this year has been like a fucking roller coaster but today can fuck off.

This year so far has had some brilliant bits. The Lovely has started his own business, we are closer than ever, Daughter Person is going to Uni, I got a first in a uni assignment, my job fulfils me and I became an aunty again to the fightiest little girl ever. (12 weeks early, came out shouting, you can tell we're related).

Also has had some proper shit bits. Mental health took a real knock after spending less than 2 hours with Bio Mum and I got a (not entirely undeserved) bollocking at work. I'm tired, my endo is shit and I am piling on weight so not always feeling very good about myself. I am weepy a lot of the time and I despair a lot of the time and I am starting to blame one thing.

I am woke as fuck.

I sometimes wish I wasn't. I sometimes wish I could go through the world totally oblivious to the shit that goes on. I sometimes wish that I wasn't as aware of mental health issues, or race issues, or gender or disability or sexuality issues.

I sometimes wish I was the kind of woman who was happy with her lot in life and thought that All Lives Matter because we need to be equal! I sometimes wish I had no idea about privilege or intersectionality or the fact that 2-3 women are murdered by their current or ex partners a week.

Maybe I would sleep better. Maybe I wouldn't be so fucking TENSE all the time. Maybe these things wouldn't piss me off so much.

Motivational posts: Fuck off. Just fuck off. On my FB timeline RIGHT NOW is such bullshittery as HIT LIKE AND SHARE IF YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER/SON/MUM/DAD/DOG/CAT/CROCODILE OR WHATEVER THAT YOU LOVE WITH ALL YOUR HEART!

Well fuck me, I love my cat and my daughter person, I had better share the shit out of that!

Oh and articles about THE WORST EYEBROW SINS WOMEN CAN COMMIT.

Are you fucking shitting me? Do you not think that we have enough to worry about without people judging us for our fucking eyebrows now? It's like patriarchy panicked because women had started to not give a shit about armpit hair and had to have something to have a go at us about. PSA: do what the fuck you like with your eyebrows. Couldn't actually give a shit and if you are judging women for theirs you either need to get a fucking grip and/or stop buying into a patriarchal society that wants women to shame each other for capitalism.

While I am at it, people can make you feel bad without your consent. (this is the motivational post I hate the most, fucking victim blaming piece of shit that has no idea about manipulation and coercion).

Also, if you derail a conversation about violence against women to talk about men, you can fuck off an all. You are part of The Problem.

Don't want an abortion? Don't get one. Just stay the fuck out of everyone else's wombs and decisions.

Also, reverse sexism is not A Thing. Sexism is backed up by cultural oppression and capitalism and teh menz don't get that. You're confusing sexism with Fragile Masculinity. And worse, they have women doing it.

Reverse racism: See above.

And white people. Stop thinking you can say nigger. I don't care how much fucking hip hop you listen to, you don't get to say it. Not ever. Stop.

See what I mean? All of this would be easier if I never had any political awakening. I would be able to go through my life without giving any of it a second thought. But I can't.

I can't see the bloody poster for Emilia Clarke's new film without wondering why, when she is gazing directly into the eyes of her loved one FROM THE SIDE that we can still see her entire bloody cleavage!

I can't see a 'joke' saying that (and I really wish I was making this up) 'gagging is the most romantic sound you can hear because it means someone has chosen your dick over oxygen' and not lose my shit.

I can't not call out slut shaming. PSA: women can have lots of sex and still respect themselves.

STOP FUCKING JUDGING WOMEN FOR THEIR CHOICES.

I can't not call out racism, homophobia, transphobia or ableism.

STOP JUDGING PEOPLE NON STOP.

My life would be easier but I just can't.

You can't go back to sleep once you've woken. You can't be blind when the scales have fallen from your eyes.

You can never go home again.

Guest Post - On Doubt And Rust

This one is anonymous. It is also sad and beautiful and shows the damage that can linger even after the abuse has stopped. Written from the new partner's perspective, it made me cry.

Here it is.

A state of doubt and rust

I met her in a storm, immediately captivated by her smile I knew I had to talk to her. I didn’t see it at first, but you don’t do you? I think when you meet someone that you’re attracted to, you automatically display all your best parts, your smile, your sense of humour all the things we look for at the beginning. She's that mythical creature, that one person they say exists just for you. Two chemicals that mix together to form something beautiful. But at first I didn’t see it. She's gotten good at hiding it.

Those first few days and weeks are a wonder. It’s a voyage of discovery, a beautiful island in a deep blue ocean that you want to explore because it feels like home. The wonder of a stolen kiss, the brush of her hand when she passes you in the bar and you know that the two of you share a special secret. It’s the first time you’re with each other and in the haze that follows you tell your inner feelings to each other. All these things adding up and creating an overwhelming feeling that you can’t be without this person, because she wants the same future as you. Because she’s everything you ever wanted in a partner, but then you see something out of the corner of your eye. She hides it well I didn’t see it at first.

As you grow closer the conversations get deeper, the things from your past that you don’t like to tell just anyone. Little steps at first, that time you got beaten up or how you got so bullied at school that you’d automatically start to cry as those cunts walked towards you in the corridor. Then you start to hear her story and wonder what in the hell you have to be upset about. The story of his hands round her neck, the words and the degradation he inflicted. Things that left invisible scars that have formed into barriers and walls and all of a sudden you see them way too clearly.

You then see that ghost out of the corner of your eye. That something you didn’t notice until now, except now you see it everywhere. Hiding from windows in case he can see through them, because if he sees he'll try and stop you. He’ll try and pull her away again. He’s still choking her. I hold up my hands to her and hope that she doesn’t see them as a threat but that what I’m offering is my strength to help carry her, carry her away from him, out of harms way. Now I see it everywhere.

I saw it coming. Each text from him when she’d shut me out for the rest of the evening. Every time he’d turn up, supposedly at random demanding they talk about something that was already dead and gone. Yeah I saw it coming. 

We decide to cool it but stay close. The difference now is that I’m terrified of everything I say. What if that delayed text from her is because I just said something he used to use against her and now I remind her of him? And now I feel like that ghost. I want to spend time in her company but get afraid to ask, what if  I’m now putting on the pressure, exerting the control? It tears me apart, I want to find him and show him just how much pain he’s causing her. I want him to see. I want it to be my hands on his throat.

I’m not that person though, I don’t use threats or violence to get what I want, to force someone to love me, to make them feel that they are not allowed to leave. That’s not fair. It’s not right. I want somebody to love me because I give them strength, because I make them laugh. Because I make them feel safe. I try to show her those things and she starts to see them. Then the ghost appears and those few tiny steps are removed and we’re forced back several paces. This hurts. It shouldn’t feel like this but I don't know how to change it. I’m not sure if I can. 

My self doubt turns to guilt as it’s her who is supposed to be hurting. I bury the guilt as I don’t want to show her any weaknesses not now, not when she needs to see strength. The strength I am offering, the shoulder she wants in the dark, the ear she needs when the pain unfolds. I want to be the only rock that stands in her ocean where she can go and feel completely safe and free.

I know I can be that rock if she’d let me. I know I’d love her more than any other man if she’d let me. I know this might never happen and I know that if it’s over because of him that this will hurt more than anything I’ve ever known. I know I’ll always resent him and resentment is something I’ve chosen to give up. I know that his ghost still remains but don’t know how much longer I can. Is it a sign of weakness or strength if I choose to let her go?

I want her to be happy. I want her to be free. I want what is best for her. 

If I could turn back time to before it all happened and stop it I would, even with the knowledge if I did we would probably never meet.

I’ll stay for now because deep down I know that she’s worth it. The question is how long can I stay while his ghost remains?

Things That Can Fuck Off

Haven't done one of these for a while and am feeling a bit grumpy after having an asthma attack last night so here goes.

Updated list of things that can fuck off.

Motivational posts. Seriously. Fuck off. 
'No one can love you till you love yourself'... Fuck you very much. Thank you for making people who feel unloved now believe it is their fault. Like they haven't got enough to deal with for fucks sake.

'No one can make you feel bad without your consent'... Are you fucking kidding me? Four words. Manipulation, coercion, fuck and off.

'You don't need money, only your dreams...' (usually said by people with enough money to follow their dreams)...Yeah, if your dreams are to be homeless.

Here is my motivational slogan: TRY NOT TO BE A DICK

Patriarchy.

A given really. Post patriarchy (which, by the way, is when I shall be post feminist) I will have so much more leisure time as men will either believe what women say on face value, or GOOGLE THEIR OWN SHIT.

Gender norms. 

Not just talking about who puts furniture together and does the car maintenance, but workplace shit too. 

Two actual conversations I had with women yesterday.

Her: My daughter loves medicine, I think she could be a nurse.
Me: Why not a surgeon?
Her: ....

Me: The out of hours doctor will be giving you a call back.
Her: What time will he ring?
Me: THEY will ring as soon as possible.

I try, but it is an uphill battle sometimes.

The Ursula Titchnor part of the current The Archers domestic abuse storyline.
Rob is a wanker. A total, irredeemable wanker. Some of have known this since day one. Before the post coital salad, before the little miss giggly comment, waaaaaay before the low cut dress incident. We knew and we have spent the last two and a half years trying to point it out to all and sundry (menz) using such hashtags as #dietitchynobdie and #titchynobmustdie.

Then along comes his fucked up mother and comments about his childhood being a nightmare and suddenly there is a sigh of relief from said menz that there is now a woman to pin it on. Forgetting that Titchynob's dad is still in the picture and Ursula may well be conditioned over the years too, they rush to say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I fucking know it doesn't (had to deal with my own Ursula for years) but for fucks sake, there was an editorial decision to be made here and cutting, coercive, bullying, manipulative, abusive rapist Rob Titchenor any slack at all was the wrong one.

Asthma

Fucking wanker. Breathing is essential. Fucksake.

Gypsy shit

Yeah, it is beautiful, yeah it is pretty and flowing and romantic and does nothing to represent or better the lives of the Roma people who have lived in poverty and persecution. And it would seem that Roma is the new Irish too. Seems if you want to be cool that you claim to have Roma heritage. People who actually do have Roma heritage and are sharing their stories are being erased when you do this. Stop.

Anyone, ANYONE who says 'men suffer abuse too'.

If your response to a conversation about women being abused is to derail a conversation about women being abused then actually fuck head, I don't want to hear from you. Ditto all lives matter wankers. 

Double standards on photos of women

So, if I take a sexy looking selfie then I am vain but if a man photographs me slumped lazily over a car with my mouth half open to sell a product that's fine. Right. Gotcha. Fuck off.

Tights.

Whoever invented them. Whoever designed them. Whoever decided to size them in a way that means if you have long legs they hang off you and if you get them to fit your width you spend all day hoiking them up. Seriously, fuck off. 

Prescription Charges.
I spent £16.40 so I don't die today. Though that isn't much of a price for my continued life, I cannot see for the life of me why I have to pay to breathe.

On that note, time for more steroids and inhalers.

Till next time.

On Why I Run

I started running this week.

I signed up to run a 5k event in October too.

Those who know me in real life have been shocked, impressed and slightly suspicious as to who this body snatcher is inhabiting their friend.

I didn't do running. I wouldn't run for a bus. I wouldn't run for anything really. Not that I was lazy, though I was dreadfully unfit of course, but I just didn't do running.

Now I get up at 6am and go for a half an hour run with the aid of the Couch 2 5k programme.

Yep. You heard right. 6am. SIX. In the AM.

Those who know me in real life are again wondering if body snatchers like to get up early.

Believe me, nobody is more surprised about this than me.

But I am addicted. On rest days I am restless, waiting for the next time I get to put my trainers on and go for it.

So what caused the change?

I nearly died. I had pneumonia and nearly died. I ended up on death's door at Bristol Royal Infirmary with double pneumonia and asthma so severe I nearly died.

Do you know what that's like? To feel your life draining away because you can't get a breath? To know that unless you fight, I mean LITERALLY, fight for your life that everything you love is gone forever? Do you know how it feels to actually nearly give into the temptation to just let go? To just let yourself slip away and no longer be?

It's fucking scary.

So when I got out of hospital I stopped smoking, I started eating healthily and started walking more.

Then I got the urge to run.

I heard that exercise is good for depression. I think that if you manage to get out of bed with depression that you are already winning, but I have to say that on the days when I run I am happy. Really happy.

Knackered. But happy.

When I am out there I get strange looks sometimes. I could do with a sports bra to keep my jelly belly still to be honest as it slows me down a bit. I get honked at by van drivers, I get giggled at by dog walkers, this mad, beetroot coloured, sweating, panting woman who is trying to just run for one more minute. Just one more. Come on Deeva, you can do this. You can run for another minute...

There is also that sweet moment when the woman on your running app tells you RUN just as the bass drops on Flux Pavillion's Bass Cannon in your ears and that makes you feel invincible.

I go out really early and sometimes I worry about that. I am vulnerable to attack, to fat shaming, to the perception that if anything were to happen to me that I was asking for it (I wear VERY short shorts).

But I don't even care. I run.

And this is why I run.

At 6am the world belongs to me. I don't have to look good. I don't have to smell good. I just have to run.

I don't have to be polite to people I don't like. I don't have to be anyone at all. I just have to run.

I am not in competition with anyone. I am good enough. I am the best that I can be. I don't have to worry that anyone is judging me. I just have to run.

The wind is in my hair. I can hear my blood. I can feel the road through my feet. Water tastes like nectar. My breath is ragged then smooth. It is vital. I am alive. I am me. I am alive, alone, doing something that is just for me and nature is running with me, though me.

I am exhilarated. I am addicted to that exhilaration. I am a goddess.

I run.

On The NUS Banning Cross Dressing Sisters

I am furious today. I am furious at this article and it is going to show in this post.

It is going to be sweary and it is going to be raw and it is going to use shocking transphobic language to make points against transphobia.

You have been warned. If you are still reading, buckle up. It is going to be a bumpy ride.

Now.

Imagine being a woman who most of the world considers 'born a man'. Or a 'chick with a dick'.

Now imagine that you have braved going out in a dress, You have taken a long time getting ready and though you are nervous, you are in an environment that is more welcoming than those times you hid at the back of the bus or took a train hours later than you could have just to miss rush hour and the inevitable stares of people who think you are a freak and are playing a barely mirth suppressed game of Guess The Gender.

This is where people come to be educated and you are starting to feel at home here. So you go out in your dress and your carefully done make up. You may pass, you may not, but for this moment you feel good and it doesn't matter.

Hold that thought. Hold that feeling of feeling as good about yourself as you get.

Got it? Good.

Now imagine a bunch of rugby players crash past you wearing lurid dresses, bad make up, worse wigs and full facial hair.

Wow are you not going to feel good about yourself. Damn, you are not going to feel safe because this is what they think you are. This is what they think you look like. They think your gender identity is a vulgar, ugly joke. They think you are a man in a dress. A chick with a dick.

And bless their stupid fucking misogynist stockings they think they are being enlightened. Not for them the fear of being called gay! They are comfortable in their sexuality (until they 'accidentally' get off with a trans woman, 'realise' then beat the shit out of her) and wearing a dress proves it.

(And in the weirdest bit of whatabouttery I have EVER seen it is rugby players that the article sticks up for. Not the women of NUS conference who are trying to include all women and non binary people. WTAF?)

Now you are hiding again. A woman that no one protects. One that is more likely to commit suicide. One that is more likely to self harm. One that doesn't want to leave the house because everyone is looking.

So, what should we do about it?

A good start is to highlight the issue and make sure that women and men are aware that their actions might hurt others to the point of causing them actual harm. To try to take steps to make sure that a man wearing a dress as a drag act is not seen as a funny thing but as art. To try to take steps to make sure that trans women are not scared. To try to take steps to make sure that University is a safe space.

And that is exactly what Women's NUS conference was doing. And rather than applaud that (either by clapping or using jazz hands, and seriously it really isn't that big a deal why they went to it, if it helped delegates feel more comfortable about being present or speaking, wave those digits!) they have been ridiculed and lambasted by their elders and 'betters' about the contents of the motions.

For fuck's sake grow up.

That they will no longer say sisters as it excludes non binary people is a good thing and goes a long way further than anyone else has done to encourage safe spaces and rather than have a go at them for it the rest of the movement, both trade union and feminists should be embarrassed about it.

'BUT THEY ARE STUDENTS, WHY ARE THEY NOT DEBATING EDUCATION STUFF?' I hear some cry.

They have shown us right up by daring to question how education is accessed. They have dared to question the status quo. They have dared to insist that all people get an equal shot at it. That EVERYONE gets to participate.

If this isn't Education 101 I don't know what is.

I keep hearing that the young people are our future. They just blew this trope out of the water and showed us that they are not waiting, that the future is now and they can't be bothered to wait for the rest of us to put it through 1000 committees before we make a decision.

They may not be able to enforce it on campus but they can sure as hell make sure that it is talked about and seen as a bad thing, It also means that they will be able to more easily challenge behaviours and language in their own and other people's meetings. PCS has policy on abortion, does this mean that they can enforce it on everyone? No. But does that mean they shouldn't have the policy? No. We know how this works. We steer the conversation by having these policies and you know this.

Good fucking on them I say. They give me hope. They are actually walking the walk.

And I will wave my jazz hands for them all day every day.

Deeva xxx

ps. If What about the rugby players is what you are using to put women down then hand in your feminist card. Really. Do it now. You fucking irrellevance.

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.

On Pride and Patriotism

Been thinking a LOT recently. This will not be news to anyone who has read my 100 odd previous posts.

Today it has been mostly about patriotism and pride.

I just don't get it.

I am British. I was born here because my parents had sex here and my bio mum gave birth to me here.

Am I proud to be British? Erm, no.

I find it very difficult to engage in patriotism or pride in my country or whatever. Chiefly because I don't believe in borders. I know them to be a thing, this isn't like not believing in God, I just don't think we need them or should have them. I honestly think they have caused more trouble than they're worth.

With patriotism comes an over inflated idea of worth and entitlement. It leads to wanting to extend your borders and we all know what that leads to.

So, no, I am not proud to be British. All that means to me is colonialism and theft and murder. Not ever gonna be proud of those things. Ick.

I am a CIS woman.

Am I proud of that? Erm, no.

This is nothing I had any control over. When I was born I was assigned female and that feels right. It was genetics what done it M'Lud and I wouldn't change it. So my gender isn't anything to be inherently proud of unless you buy into the idea that being able to bear children makes you somehow superior which I don't. If you identify as a woman then that is good enough to me and I am not about to buy into a hierarchy of who is the 'better' woman. Patriarchy does that very well all by itself thank you, it needs no help from me. Also, babies are nice (I had three of them as it happens) but the biological equivalent of having a shit after you have eaten isn't actually anything to be proud of in itself.

Actually, if you look at it objectively then being a woman is a disadvantage. Patriarchy, pro lifers, lower wages, beauty standards, violence, fear.

Total pain in the arse in fact.

I am bisexual. Am I proud of that? Erm, no.

See above. Nothing I can control. Just my sexuality. Plus going down that road leads to things like Straight Pride and fuck that noise.

So, not proud of my gender, having given birth, the country I was born in, my sexuality.

Sounds a bit shit no?

Well no.

Because there are things that I can be proud of. Lots and lots of them. For instance:

I am proud that I fight for equality. I am proud that I am a feminist. I am proud that I take no shit.

I am proud that my children are decent human beings. I am proud that they can be who they are without worry that I will ever desert them for it.

I am proud that my no borders stance means that I will never hate someone, even in a 'jokey' way because they come from a different country to me.

I am proud of my LGBT activism. I may not be able to control my sexuality but I sure as hell can fight to make sure I and others are not killed for it.

I am proud of my creativity. My crochet and knitting. This blog.

And I am proud that I survive. That I thrive. That I am alive.

I am proud that I am able to have deep relationships and casual acquaintances. I am proud that I have come far enough to know the difference.

I am proud that I fight. For equality. For safety. Against prejudice in every form.

I am proud of me.

Hope you are proud of you too.

Deeva xxx

On Why PCS MUST Not Be Neutral On The Right To Choose

It's back. It is bloody back. The motion that made my blood boil enough for me to write about it here in 2011 is back.

This time it is A78 but it is nearly identical in text and again wants PCS to disaffiliate from Abortion Rights and go to a position of neutrality on the subject of a woman's right to choose.

Oh hell no.

Not on my watch!

I wrote before about why I was against this. Briefly:

• I am not very good at being patronised. This motion pats me on the head and says 'don't worry dear, we're not going to pressure you to be anti abortion just to have no opinion on it at all'. NOPE.

• Disaffiliation to Abortion Rights would deny Equality, Choice and support to those who need help. 

• Any call for a return to neutrality is an invidious thing that may well be the thin end of a slippery slope. Want to discuss a domestic abuse policy? Sorry, bit to close to interfering with deeply held beliefs on women being chattel. Want to debate paternity leave for familial adopters? Equal marriage? Sorry, would love to but there are a few people who have deeply held beliefs about it. So we can't.

• Despite of all the hard work being done by PCS to have a union beauracracy that it more representative of its membership, most of the delegations will be men.I WILL not let a group of men decide for me whether or not my Trade Union will have a neutral stance on what is essentially a women's issue.

I REFUSE to let men decide on what is a women's issue.

I REFUSE to be fobbed off with a position of neutrality.

You know what neutrality means in practice?

Neutrality means that when someone asks me what my union thinks about a fundamental freedom I would have to say "nothing". It's a cop out designed to silence all of us engaging on a crucial topic and worse  taking us back 50 years where women who have abortions are silenced so bringing about a sense of shame which is wholly unwarranted. (not being sarcastic here).*

Neutrality means I cannot go and spend my saturday shouting at anti choicers in the name of my union.

Neutrality means abandoning women. It is not conducive to any trade union I want to say I belong to.

Neutrality means abandoning women. Worth saying that twice I think.

Neutrality means that the motion A92 calling for equal abortion rights in Northern Ireland will fall.

Neutrality means abandoning women. I don't think we can say that enough.



*Credit to M. Bosman for that paragraph. Sometimes someone just sums it up better than you could.

On PCS Sex Worker Policy UPDATED

Are you a PCS member?

Remember Resolution A27 from Conference? The one that asked us to consult about a sex worker policy?

You know, the one where I thundered that a worker was a worker was a worker?

Well, here is my Branch response to the 5 questions the consultation paper asked. Massive thanks to Dr Ana Lopes from UWE Bristol for her help with this.

Now that I have the full consultation paper here I am reproducing the whole repsonse document, INCLUDING all that we thought wrong with the paper in the first place.

I would be very grateful if you could get your Branches to respond too. The response needs to go to equality@pcs.org.uk by 18th October

1. Branch Response to SW policy paper.
   
   Consultation Document on A27, a response
   
   The document has been obviously had a good amount of work invested in it.  Unfortunately in an effort to not offend anyone from either side of the argument on this it patently fails to address and confront the deeper issues.  There are time and again an implied gender bias across the document that this is only a women’s issue, it applies only to those who were born a woman and not those who have transitioned from one gender to another and that any woman who chooses to be a SW can only be doing so under duress from an influencing male.  This is seen in information presented in support and opposition of the view of whether or not there should be a policy.  (capital P below means page)
   
   P5 implied gender bias, it implies with some of the language used (particularly in para 2) that it is only women (and women who are of an age to consent) that this impacts.  It also implies by omission that this is only a heterosexual issue (although later does address that sexual orientation identity and practise may not be the same, but does not expand on this or explain why men may have sex with men but identify as heterosexual etc).  It would be beneficial that in future work like this that because of an unconscious bias of many readers, that they should specifically state that SW are not limited to women, who were women at birth but that it is an issue for women, men, this who are or have transitioned gender, who are heterosexual, homosexual and any SO in between.
   Paragraph 3 on P5 coyly avoid any strong language in regard to illegal trafficking of people and that this is effectively slavery and could/should/must be viewed differently from and not confused with those who have freely consented to participate as a SW
   
   P8 you should define LGBT and not assume that everyone understands what is meant by it, even amongst PCS branches.  It is important to not confuse sexual orientation (LGB) with gender transition, change or non-binary status that may be considered by the individual to place them within the Trans community (T).  This paragraph garbles the situation.
   
   P9 ‘men enter sex work for different reasons’ from who?  ‘Come from different backgrounds’ from who?  ‘Have different life experiences’ from who?  ‘Not all male sex workers have support needs’ but all women do?  Why is there such an explicit gender bias?  Is this evidenced??
   
   P10 information presented seems to seek to confuse not inform any decision, is this actually relevant at this point?  Is there information missing to lead into and clarify this information?
   
   P11 4th question, seems to be very one sided in presentation.  What is the GMB experience of organising SW?  What are GMB Sisters experience of organising with SW?  Why is it not here?
   
   P12-14 Seems to be situation and fact and an absence of consideration that SW are people and this section feels like SW are objects not people, I’m sure that this is an unintended consequence in presenting the evidence without any emotional bias.
   
   P15 second bullet point;- ‘yet women, trans, male…’ Trans what?  Trans it vans???  Those who have undergone or are undergoing gender transition are people not objects.  This and every other use of ‘trans’ must be in future modified to acknowledge that they are people by simply saying ‘trans people’ (or in specific cases ‘trans woman’ or ‘trans man’).  It implies an unconscious bias against LGBT people that Trans and LGB SW are to be objectified and dehumanised (same at 6th bullet point).  There may be an implied unconscious bias here to demonstrate the argument against SW and that they are exploited people, but if your argument is thus, please be explicit.
   
   Now to the questions 
   
   Is sex work a trade union issue?
   
   Yes. Sex work has been hotly debated within feminism of the 1st and 2nd waves – therefore, it became seen as largely a feminist, gender issue. However, sex worker voices have changed the picture and reclaimed the labour character of their activity.
   
   Sex workers themselves have demanded union representation and membership as a basic labour right. 
   
   Sex work isn’t unique in the way that they face exploitation, violence and or abuse. There are plenty of industries that face these but already have trade union representation and protection. 
   
   There are many similarities between sex work and other work. It is work and therefore a trade union issue. This is also about equality and equality should be the cornerstone of every trade union.
   
   Health and safety being one of the other cornerstones must be relevant to sex work, especially regarding HIV/AIDS. Trade unions have an important role to play here.
   
   Should sex workers be considered as workers and have employment rights?
   
   If we accept as above that sex work is a trade union issue then yes, sex workers should be considered workers. Dismissing the whole industry as abuse is patronising and denies the lived experience of sex workers who chose to be in the industry. Situations where people are forced into commercial sexual activities should be dealt with as abuses and are already covered by law. Not making a distinction between forced and consensual sex work means that resources that should be channelled to prevent and deal with real abuses are being wasted. 
   
   Abuses faced by sex workers are the same abuses that are faced by other vulnerable workers in low status jobs in the informal economy and yet we wouldn’t question whether cleaners, bar staff etc are actually workers and ‘deserve’ employment rights. 
   
   The title is in the name. Sex workers. And workers should have employment rights.
   
   Should trade unions organise sex workers?
   
   
   Yes. In fact there are already unions that do organise these workers. GMB and Unite have sex worker branches. There is also the International Sex Workers Union (ISWU). Also unions organise already in Argentina, Germany, the Netherlands and Greece.
   
   There is a temptation to make judgement calls on the type of sex work. It isn’t all about prostitution, it includes chat lines, sauna, pornography, massage parlours, the list is endless. It could even include being an Ann Summers representative. 
   
   The temptation is to decide that certain sex work is more acceptable than other types. I have heard that we can support people working on chat lines but not those working in rape porn. This is naivety at work and a lack of understanding about separating the work from the worker. No one would say that we shouldn’t organise traffic wardens or tax officers as they recognise that while they may loathe the work they do that there are workers attached to the work and these workers need the unions. 
   
   A worker is a worker is a worker. And workers need to be unionised.
   
   
   Should PCS support the criminalisation of purchasers and/or providers of sexual services?
   
   In short, no. Criminalising purchasers (clients) would only move the problems to other areas and push sex workers to more isolated areas making them even more vulnerable. The Swedish model where they criminalised everything shows that this would be the case. Sex workers would be even harder to reach by support services. As the demand went up and the supply became less prices would rise. Sex workers would lose time to negotiate safe sex and assess the client. The police get tip offs about abuse and bad practice from purchasers and they would be far less likely to come forward with information about trafficking etc if they were further criminalised. 
   
   Criminalisation will only deter the ‘nice’ clients, not the nasty ones. This becomes a health and safety in the workplace issue as the nasty ones are less likely to use condoms and are more likely to be abusive and put sex workers in physical danger.
   The same kind of danger that seeing sex work as ‘wrong’, ‘bad’ or dirty puts sex workers in. There is a feeling that sex workers need ‘rescuing’ from their lives. Where this will be the case when sex workers are being abused, as already mentioned, those cases should be dealt with under the law on abuse (Offenses Against a Person Act 1981) and should not be informing the debate on whether or not a person who willingly undertakes sex work should be persuaded because of moral judgements not to do so. 
   
   Nor is it just austerity that ‘forces’ people into sex work. Anecdotally there are plenty who don’t go into sex work to pay the bills but to go on holiday, festivals etc. We must get away from the moral judgements and see this as work. Criminalisation will not end sex work. It is called the oldest profession for a reason and is a growing industry. 
   
   We have to protect and not demonise the workers.
   
   Should PCS develop a policy regarding the treatment by the employer of members with secondary or prior work in the sex industry?
   
   Yes. This is trade unionism 101. It should always be that we protect and support workers. Unsure as we are about whether it needs a separate policy, sex work should not be seen as bringing the department into disrepute and all other conduct and discipline policies should cover this aspect of other work.
   
   We already have policy that says that members have to get permission to do other work outside the department. Members engaged in sex work may well fall foul of this. Hence it is vital that PCS has policy on sex work and sex workers so that we may properly protect and support our members that take part in it.
   
   

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.

On Sex As Affection And Validation In Abusive Relationships

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR ABUSE AND RAPE

Had this post running round my head for the last couple of hours and for once I wasn't sure whether or not to write it.

It's gonna be a whole heap of personal.

So I did what any rational, sane internet addict would do and asked Twitter if I should. They said yes, and who am I to go against the will of the Twitterverse?

So here it is. My thoughts, for what they are worth, on sex and abuse.

I have never been shy about talking about the abuse I have survived. I talked about the violence, and the rape, and the emotional as well as physical scars I have. But I survived. I survived able to have a healthy relationship with my friends, my family and especially The Lovely. That I am able to do this is a real victory for me.

So, what does this have to do with sex?

I like sex. I love it and have quite a high sex drive. I enjoy a wonderful sex life and I'm proud that I can after all the abuse I have been through. I have no body issues any more and spend 99% of my time feeling like a sassy, sexy goddess. I'm a regular fucking horndog. Yay me!

It occurred to me today though that my attitude to sex hasn't always been quite so healthy.

When I was in abusive relationships I was being put down. I was fat, ugly, stupid, pathetic.

And I wanted sex. I wasn't horny, I just needed that validation that I was worthwhile. If he was having sex with me it meant that I wasn't as bad as he was saying. There had to be something good about me or he wouldn't want to have sex with me right?

I was being beaten. At one point, one of the abusers thought it would be funny to punch me as hard as he could between my legs. So hard that my pelvic bone was bruised enough that I couldn't wear underwear for three weeks.

And he still wanted sex with me. I get now it was to cause as much pain to me as possible, but in my fucked up way I felt GRATEFUL that he would want to have sex with me, someone who obviously wasn't enjoying it because of the pain. So I cried silently and tried to pretend I liked it.

And I was raped. Continually. But sometimes, (not every time, most of the time I don't even remember what I was feeling, and definitely not during) afterwards, when I was cleaning up blood and putting ice packs on the various parts of my body that were in agony, even that in some proper fucked up way felt like validation.

He had me that dependent on him that he had me convinced that he wouldn't do it if he didn't love me so much.

And that made me feel better somehow. Like I wasn't worthless and useless and fat and ugly. I could cry for how fucked up I was. For how every family relationship where I internalised being unfeminine and unbeautiful and stupid and just plain worthless had led to this point.

And you know what? I needed comfort after his attacks. Anyone would need comfort after being attacked. He had me so isolated from anyone who would or could help me or comfort me, that it had to be him I turned to for that comfort. And there were never any cuddles. So that meant sex.

Like I say, I'm much better these days. Sex is a healthy, enjoyable thing for me. I have no inhibitions and it is ALWAYS on my terms.

But sometimes, just sometimes, after a row or if I'm feeling hormonal or something I find myself wanting sex without the accompanying horn. For affection. For validation. Because there is still a part of me who internalised not being good enough and that will never completely leave.

So always be good to your children and never put them down. They internalise and normalise that shit and it makes them easier prey for abusers.

And when you see someone in an abusive relationship who isn't leaving and seems to still be having a sex life, try not to judge. Try to give some empathy and let them know they can talk to you.

It might save their life.

It certainly saved mine.