Thoughts on Rape Culture

I know that the rape culture exists.  I see it in my friends who have been sexually abused.  I see it in the media.  I see it in the way society portrays women, and the way we treat victims and abusers alike.

I read stories from women who talk about how they spend time every day debating what to wear, so that they don’t dress too provocatively.  Or too dumpy.  Or too trashy, too old, too…whatever.  They fix their hair a certain way and do their make up a certain way, just to make sure they don’t give anyone the wrong impression.

I’ve never done that.

Sure, sometimes when I’m going out to the club or bar, I consider what I’m going to wear.  But my mind never, NEVER goes to, ‘I shouldn’t wear this because someone might think I’m a slut and rape me.’  It’s more, ‘Is this going to make me look extra super fat and ugly tonight?  Do I really care?’  The answer is usually no.

I wonder why my mind does this.  Is it because I’ve been raised somewhere where rape isn’t prevalent?  Or is it because as someone who is morbidly obese, I figure that no one would want to rape me anyway?

The more I think about it, the more it worries me a little.  When I was younger, I wasn’t cautious.  I rarely went out to the bar alone, but that’s because I’m shy.  These days, I generally make sure I have a sober babysitter, but there have been many conventions where I haven’t had that.  Several of them, I almost got myself in trouble.

At one event in 2006, shortly after a breakup that left me in a very bad place, I went to a convention.  I was dating someone new, but I was still pretty messed up over things.  I used the convention as an excuse to drink way too much.  I started drinking Wednesday evening when we rolled into Louisville, and I was still drunk when we left Sunday morning.  I joke about this con a lot, because it’s where I had my infamous evening of introducing myself to everyone in the ballroom where we were partying.  Multiple times.  Even people that I knew.  Like, people that I knew really well, from my home town.

Maybe not a shining moment in my life.

Anyway, Saturday night of the convention, was epic drunkness.  This was the evening of the Midori in a squirt bottle.  Near the end of the night, I was in pretty bad shape.  There was one point where…well, somehow, the conversation turned to my boobs (that’s normal, right?)  And before I knew it, two of the guys I was hanging out with were groping me and kissing me.  I didn’t really mind, mostly because I was drunk.  Way too drunk.  Especially with guys that I didn’t know at all.

Luckily, a dear, dear friend was in the ballroom as the sober coordinator on duty.  As soon as he saw what was going on, he gently pried the guys off me.  I was in that drunk state where I didn’t really care—I was drunk and depressed and lonely.  He found two guys who were sober-ish and reliable, and sent them to walk me back to my hotel room.  Good thing I had an escort…stairs were difficult in my state.

I don’t know if I would have done anything with these guys.  I might have, even though I was dating someone at the time.  I know that makes me a terrible person, but then again—I was a very different person seven years ago.

Anyway.  It was just something strange that came to my mind.  I know that I am too trusting.  It’s something that I need to be aware of, and something that I think I need to be more careful about.

I’m still likely not going to worry too much about what I’m wearing when I leave the house.  Usually it’s just yoga pants and a tanktop.

But it’s still something to think about.