Being Female is Being in Pain

I wish it was not so terrifying to be a woman. I wish that I could walk anywhere, at any time. I wish I could go for runs on crisp nights through glorious forests, instead of looking outside from my window like a caged animal.

I wish taking a women’s gender and sexuality studies class did not weigh so heavily on my soul, but it does simply because it is the most real class I have ever taken in my life. It makes all of the falsehoods melt away and leaves me raw, angry.

I wish I could go on a date with out the fear in the back of my mind that he will rape me. I wish I felt safe.

Most men do not know what it is like to never truly feel safe.

I wish I could go to a party, drink and be merry with out fearing for my safety and living in paranoia. I wish that if I ever did slip up one night, let my guard down and a preadator took advantage, that I would not have to then be metaphorically raped in court when I am questioned and it is insinuated that I, the victim, am the cause of my own rape. That I should not be so skanky, should have known better, should have not tried to live a normal life but I should instead be in my tower, locked away and virginal, attending my studies and waiting for my one true love, my prince. That, essentially, I should be dead inside.

That I should sell my soul simply because this culture teaches women to protect themself from potential rape rather than teaching men simply not to rape and what rape really is. That they skirt the subject. That they do not say or enforce the rule “just do not have sex with a woman with alcohol in her system”. That would make it all so simple. They do not say that it is the perpatrators fault if he rapes someone. The victim is completely, one hundred percent free of blame and entitled to all anger she or he feels. That if I walked naked, alone through a dark alley in high heels and he raped me, it is his fault. He should have never laid a hand on me. I am completely free of blame because no one ever asks to be raped.