At my first job, I overheard my coworkers talking about a proposition from their boss:  sleep with me and I’ll give you a raise.  We were disgusted because he was old, ugly and married with kids.  We were children, too, and we didn’t yet understand how horrific it was that a grown-up could abuse his power like that.  But after that break room conversation, I didn’t get off so easy with just a proposition–I was assaulted twice by other supervisors at the same job.  I didn’t report it to the company.  I told my parents and a couple of close friends–I was shamed iinstead of supported.  So I moved on and tried to be “normal.”

Harrassment continued at many jobs, but took different forms.  I was talked down to, talked over.  My ideas were stolen and reproduced as theirs.  My every move was questioned–theirs wasn’t.  I was passed over for projects I asked for and they were given to “someone better.”  I was excluded from meetings and heard about them afterwards.  I was paid less money.  I was threatened with firing.  I was forced to quit because they didn’t like me–I didn’t fit in, I wasn’t one of them.  I left again and again in silence and didn’t complain.

I leave every shelter and walk into the night on guard.  I put my keys between my fingers, edges sticking out, Wolverine-style.  I walk quickly, looking over my shoulder and wary of anyone coming towards me.  I often cross the street with a purpose, so I don’t look weak.

Home isn’t safe either.  As a child, I’ve been abused by my parents, and their friends.  As an adult, I’ve been abused by my spouse.  No one protected me.  No one intervened.  No one seemed to care–they had their own problems; it wasn’t their business.  I considered suicide.  I considered several self-abuse options.  Now, I’m a broken thing, held together with tape and glue and spit.

Listen to me, don’t just wait to speak.  Look at me–my face, not my body parts.  See me and hear me and try to understand.  If you don’t understand, then just be kind and respectful like we were all taught in kindergarten.  Don’t ignore me or shove past me because I’m quiet, hesistant and thoughtful.  Don’t make me shout to be heard.  Don’t judge me because I’m not like you.  Every day, it’s a fight for me to get up and find a purpose.  Every day, I have to fight against the powers that keep me from being what I am meant to be.  For many of us, daily life is not a game, but a horror show.