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- AnIn 2019 I was sexually assaulted by one of my exes. I remember after it happened in the drunken and spinning state I was in, but coherent enough to understand what had just transpired, I called one of my friends. I was crying and telling him how it was my fault and I let this happen, knowing full well it wasn't. I thought they were a close friend but instead they told me I wasn't raped. They told me because I opened that front door and let him in that it was my fault. I didn't ask to black out in a drunken haze and have that happen to me. I didn't ask for the last few shots to be forced into me before passing out. I opened the door but I didn't ask for what was done to me after. Someone I thought was a close friend said I was victimizing myself. He would later go on to call me "slut" and "whore" as a joke, like it didn't hurt my feelings. He would call that incident a "sex escapade." Constantly telling me it was my fault. What he didn't know is that I isolated myself for months after it had happened. Any physical contact with anyone even family members, a hug, you name it could send me into a full blown panic attack. And it wasn't just him but other friends of mine I thought I could tell. Friends. People that are supposed to support you, be there for you, love you, and care for you. About 4 of my friends completely invalidated what happened to me. Saying drunken consent was consent. "Drunk words are sober thoughts." Like I wanted that. I felt invalid. I felt like my body and emotions had been violated. My trust in any and everyone was gone. If I couldn't tell those who were closest to me, then I can't tell anyone else. It's not fair. I know what happened. I know what was done to me. Regardless of what anyone says, no one asks for something like that. Drunken consent is NOT consent. - Anonymous
I never liked going to school, not because I didn't like studying but because of all the bullying I had to put up with. It wasn't so bad in elementary grades, but got worse when I got to high school. I was always getting harassed by other girls about how I wore my school uniform. It was always the same group of girls preying on weaker ones. They were always making fun about wearing my skirt below my knees, not using make up and not dating boys. The bullying was clearly sexual and that's how got nicknamed "the virgin" I remember feeling mad because teachers knew what was going on and did nothing about it. They just viewed it as normal teenage behaviour and it was easier to turn a blind eye rather than dealing with it. What made it worse was knowing that their victims would never dare report them. I remember this girl asking me in the school yard if I was saving it for a blue prince, while flicking up my skirt to embarrass me in front of other students. I never told anyone that a few days later they sexually assaulted me in the school's stairway. I remember getting my panties pulled down and I was bent over the hand rail just for the fun of exposing my crotch in front of laughing boys. I felt so humiliated I just walked away and did nothing about it. I remember feeling so embarrassed I didn't even tell my parents. I thought of dropping out of school, but what excuse could I come up with to tell my parents. I was basically stuck between not daring to tell my parents, forced to go to school every day where everyone knew what happened and being called a slut. I convinced myself that I wasn't the only girl that had been sexually bullied in school and it was just a bad experience. What I never stop thinking is why nothing is been done about something that happens in so many schools.
I went to a party and kissed a boy. He never mentioned he had just broken up with his girlfriend.3/2/2021
I went to a party and kissed a boy. He never mentioned he had just broken up with his girlfriend. Two days later I go to town with him and my friends. His ex turns up with her friend, telling me how I’m such a slut because he kissed me and they attack me by punching me and throwing a drink at me in the middle of the street. I find it very unfair that I got attacked by some girl I never met. Now I wonder why I even liked the guy, and it makes me feel so low about myself that people want to hurt me because I’m a "slut."
I relate to you so much! When I was in 6th grade I was labeled the school “slut”. I was labeled this because I liked a boy who was in 8th grade and we started texting and I didn’t know know any better. I sent him nudes. I didn’t know he would show everyone. A month after that we stopped talking and people started laughing at me while I’d walk by or whenever I’d enter the cafeteria. All my girlfriends stopped talking to me. I was alone. People would yell things in the halls and classrooms. Thank you so much for making this project because now I know I’m not alone. -- Angie in Boston, MA
I remember everything perfectly. It was the beginning of my 6th grade school year. I was getting used to everything, and had moved far away from all my friends - we lost touch easily. At first, it was my classmates in Math. It was a whole group. I remember some names: Dominique, Serenity, Trey, and that's it. I got called skank, whore, slut, but then... he called me fat. I don't know why this one hit me so hard. It may have been from being so self-conscious of my weight. But from that moment on, I began my horrible path down the bulimic road. It's painful, and nobody should have to go through it. My second experience was in 7th grade, I was obsessed with the cello. And when I was practicing in the music room, Dominique walked in. He said he needed to talk to me. I probably looked like a demon, waiting to tear his throat out. At first, I was comfortable, a bit uneasy, but fine really. He said he was sorry for all the shit he did to me, and wanted to be friends. I accepted, because I needed that. I WANTED that. But later on, he attempted to sexually assault me. My parents were very quiet about sex and condoms, and what I should do - or how I would know. I knew a few things, but I hadn't been properly educated. He once pushed me into a stall and put his hands up my shirt and down my pants. From this point on, I was ashamed of myself. I BLAMED myself. I started cutting with my mom's sewing scissors or something - but they were very sharp. I told myself I deserved this and became very depressed. What truly helped me was Carson. (It's a girl.) She became my friend when no one else would be. She supported me, and comforted me. I love her so much :) And I got over my depression and bulimia. Please don't let anyone get you down, you're perfect and amazing in every way.
Hi, my name is Katherine, I am 15 and from Canada. I’d like to start by thanking you, Miss Lindin, for everything you are doing for us and for creating this ‘community’ for girls and sometimes even boys, like us, where we can share and understand each other’s experiences and learn for them, and to finally be able to speak about it. Before reading The UnSlut Project I had never really given a thought to the concept of slut shaming. I don’t think I had ever heard of it either. It made me think twice about what I said to others, especially girls, who are most affected by this. As our body changes we sometimes feel vulnerable or powerless towards what happens to us, and a lot of times our confidences decreases immensely and self-consciousness takes over our lives. I had never been a target for bullies. If you would’ve told me last year that I would get bullied I would not have believed you. I had the reputation of a person not to be messed with, but not in a bad way. I just did not let people screw with me or my life and I wasn’t shy to tell you if you did something wrong or if I disagreed with you and if you stepped over the line you would earn a very polite version of go to hell, I do not need people like you in my life. I was very proud of that reputation. Last February, I had my first boyfriend ever. I had never been kissed and the most intimate thing I had ever done with a boy was hold hands… in kindergarten. I did have a couple of friends that were boys though and they were a funny bunch. Back to the point, I had my first boyfriend, and he was wonderful. Very romantic and funny and kind. I think I really did love him. The only thing I did not like was that he smoked pot. Don’t get me wrong I’m not against it; it’s just that I’d rather he did not smoke. The first weeks were wonderful. We shared half of our second semester classes, which is how we met, so we spent almost all day together. Now fast forward to the middle of March. I was leaving on a trip to Scotland and then England, which I had signed up for the year before with a few of my friends. 40 students were selected to go, accompanied by 5 teachers and we were to leave 2 days before March break and come back 2 days before school started again. The trip was to last 9 days. Before I left, I went to say goodbye to my boyfriend, let’s call him Alex, and left for the airport. He promised me he would Skype with me every night and every morning, which he did. The trip was wonderful, it had been my dream to go since I loved and still love English history. But although I was living my dream all I could think about was my boyfriend at home, whom I missed a whole lot. Boy, was I happy to come home. I saw him at school that Monday and I couldn’t have been happier. Only that happiness did not last. The next day I learned that the day before I came back he had slept with some other girl, whom everyone considered the school whore. Honestly, I had talked to her a few times and she was really nice. Only she was very open about what she liked in bed, but who cares. Anyways I learned from my friends, who had been told by the girl in question that I had been cheated on. I was heartbroken and I felt sick. Alex wasn’t saying anything and I couldn’t believe it. I felt like my whole world came crashing down on me faster than I could get cover. The next day, I heard tons of people whispering about what happened and some people even came to me and told me to not worry because ‘they were on my side’. What did that mean? There were sides? The whole situation went out of control and very soon the girl Alex had slept with started getting bullied. ‘Slut’. ‘Whore’. ‘Bitch’. You name it they were all thrown her way. People made it their duty to hate on her in revenge for what had been done to me. I did not like it and honestly, she had and still has the right to do whatever the hell she wants with her body and even if she went and f**cked with a thousand men that wouldn’t have been anybody’s goddamn business. After about a week, of which that girl was absent for half because of the situation, she changed schools because the bullies were too much. Now she is happy and she has a girlfriend and they’re really cute together. I haven’t had the guts to talk to her and apologize for what happened, but that doesn’t matter now. She is happy. The bullying might have stopped there for her, but it only started for me. I tried to remain friends with my ex; that’s what we were before dating and it was good. At the end of March I met my current boyfriend and we started dating at the end of April. Alex got a girlfriend too. Everything was fine and we still talked until the end of school. One teacher asked me on the last day if I knew how to reach him so he could come by and do some make-up project so he wouldn’t fail his English class. When I texted him he started calling me a dumb bitch and annoying and other things which kinda hurt. He’d never really talked to me that way before. My boyfriend, Ben, saw that I was upset about it and asked Alex why he did this. That’s when Alex started saying I was a whore and a slut and a bunch of other mean things. He threatened to beat us up, me and Ben, if he ever saw us in town. The whole summer went by with no word of them which we were really happy about. Until school started this September. The first incident was when Alex’s girlfriend, Mary, tried to push him into me in the hall. I didn’t think much of it; it was just some stupid thing. Then on the second day as they walked past my locker I heard them say: ‘Oh, look! There’s the ugly fat bitch.’ For the rest of the week every time I happened to cross them in the hall, which is very easy because our school is shaped like a square, the called out insults at me. ‘Bitch’. ‘Fat f**k’. ‘Whore’. The next week I got an appointment with the principal. She told me she would talk about it with the educators, but they didn’t do anything. I told my parents and they said it was really not okay. That same night Alex texted me I was a ‘F**king bitch go check yourself at the veterinary’ or something like that. My parents then texted him and told him they would press charges. I don’t where you’re from, but here that kind of bullying is considered harassment and it is NOT okay! To this day they haven’t dared to talk to me. I know that probably some of you have gone through worse, but what happened to me still hurt. I just want to say that I love every one of you who wrote their story on here and have given me the courage to share mine. Thank you. Stay golden, my friends. - Katherine Roy
Okay, firstly: I am British and the school system is different over here: it's in years, like year 1 is 5-6, year 2 is 6-7, etc. Secondly: I was a child who was taught to be herself and 'myself' was someone who told on everyone about everything. There were 3 girls in my year group when I was 9, one was kind of my friend and the other was a girl (call her Sadey) whose home wasn't the most stable. Back then I blamed her but the environment she was living in can't have helped. My friend left to go to a private (paying) school while I was left with Sadey who was my 'friend' one day then the next she was something else entirely. People started to dislike me for constantly telling on them (fair enough) but when I was around 10 or 11, Sadey began to push me away completely. She began to spread rumours that I sold sex. At 11. People believed her and she told them I murdered people and that I would stop at nothing to get the best grades, then she turned my friends against me by telling them I talked behind their backs. Around the same time all of them mysteriously 'weren't allowed to play with me'. They began to call me 'morbid skank' and 'killer slut'. I told my mum but as I was always telling on people, she didn't believe me. Within the last few weeks of primary school I couldn't take it anymore and I felt like I needed her to believe me so I began to cut. I felt so guilty afterwards that I wouldn't sleep and I'd black out in class. Not once did anyone question Sadey as the cause, she hasn't been confronted. I hope her family life is better now, I hope she hasn't done this to anyone else. It was no ones fault, just that I had been selfish in the past and when I needed help nobody believed me. Now I go to the private school where my friend went, I've lost a lot of empathy but that girl had such a hard time at home it can't be her fault. It shouldn't be an excuse, talk to someone only when it's important and don't force yourself to do something like I did to make them believe. - Izzy B.
When I was 13 and going into 8th grade, I was losing a lot of friends and felt lonely, like no one really cared about me/wanted to hear what I had to say. Thinking it was a great idea and like I had no other option, I started hooking up with a lot of guys. Older guys. Older guys who took advantage of me and convinced me to give them blowjobs, handjobs, etc. Over the next year, the number of guys continued to grow, but I made a lot of new friends and even established a stable group of best friends that meant (and still mean) the entire world to me. Now, I'm going into 9th grade. I've hooked up with 23 guys, and the amount of times I've hooked up with people has amounted to 42. Over time, where I live, I've been labeled one of the biggest sluts who is easy and disgusting. This "sick" and "disgusting" reputation has followed me around for the last year, and while I try to earn respect, it never stops. I still continue to hook up with guys. I even lost my virginity and had sex with 2 other guys after that. Now it's just become a normal thing for me, almost comforting, because hooking up with people makes me feel close to someone, cherished, even if it's just for an hour or less. My reputation continues to follow me, and by now, I've just embraced it. Hooking up has become a normal habit for me now.
Towards the end of my senior year my friends and I started partying. We were just trying to have fun, most of us had never even drank before. It started out all fun and games, just making memories that could last forever. We all graduated together and partied even more, but enough background story. One night I ended up losing my virginity and it was exciting and sad altogether. So I told my mom and went and got on birth control. Well my best friend Jon and I had been fighting. He stopped talking to me. He and I being best friends since sophomore year, I took it hard. We'd almost dated a few months prior. Well I went out and slept with 3 more guys within 2 months, just trying to have fun. Well one night my friends and I were having a group call and out of nowhere Jon (my ex best friend) called me a whore on the phone, and I just hung up the phone. Just taking in the concept of someone I used to be so close to calling me something I never wanted to become hurt. I cried every day for a while. The rest of my friends never said anything. They didn't comfort me or say, "He didn't mean it" or "It's not true." They never said one thing to me for months. I felt betrayed and lost. I felt like every one of them thought I was a whore. He even tweeted about me that same night, calling me a whore and a slut. Telling me I probably couldn't even name all the guys I'd slept with or that I couldn't count them on my fingers. Every comment filled my heart with more and more sadness. And because this town is small everyone saw the comments being made on Twitter and everyone knows what happened. Rumors about me to this day still go around. People still ask about me or bring it up when I walk by and it's been a year. Ever since then when I hang out with my friends I feel like they still think I'm a whore and that they talk about me behind my back. Nothing is the same anymore. But your story and your project has filled me with happiness. To know that others have experienced similar things and that someone cares enough to start a project that helps other girls so they don't have to be alone like I was and is trying to change the way people define each other means so much. You, Emily, are my personal hero and you have forever impacted the way I think about myself as a person. Thank you for just being you and sharing your story with the world and starting this amazing project. Much love for The UnSlut Project and thank you for reading my story. - Shania
I'm from Raleigh, NC. Freshman year I was in marching band. I was the only girl in the saxophone section and it sucked. Fast-forward toward the end of first semester. I'm sitting on the floor in the band storage room minding my own business, when a boy named John walks up in front of me and starts Magic Mike air humping his junk in my face. Then another boy joined in. His name was Rasheed. While they were doing this I kept telling them to leave me alone. Then I tried to kick them away. One of them laughed when I stood up. John said, "She's not going to do anything." I was so upset I screamed at them as I got to the door. I grabbed my things and ran out to avoid the confused looks I was getting from the other students. When I got home I told my parents and my mom call both of their parents. John's mom told my mom that I was lying and that her son would never do that. She called back after calling other band kids and asking their side of the story, which were all her son's friends, so they lied for him. Then John's mom called back telling my mom what the other kids said. When my mom called Rasheed's mom, she didn't even question it and she confronted her son. The next day at school every single band student had found out John's version of the story and they were alienating, "slut" shaming, bullying, and calling me a liar. Some people even confronted me and called me these things to my face. They would text me repeatedly the same word, calling me "thirsty." Meanwhile John would send me overly sexual texts asking me to do things that were degrading and belittling.
Things only got worse as it progressed to sophomore year. My instrument was being tampered with almost bi-weekly, they stole my personal items like scarves and jackets that people knew I owned, or they'd destroy my stuff. The band director made an effort of saying going into sophomore year that he didn't care what was going on, but it wasn't going to happen during his band stuff. Though most of the time it felt like he was either making an example of me or trying to punish me. He blamed me for having a maggot in my mouthpiece... When I took it to a professional shop they looked at my case and instrument and told me it was impossible and that it had to have been tampered with. But the worst part happened when my test anxiety evolved. First my hands would shake or I'd get a nervous stomach. Soon after I started having anxiety/panic attacks, at least two every week. I remember each one I had. I remember at one point blaming myself, crying myself to sleep if I was lucky to get sleep, having nightmares every night without fail, insomnia, waking up with red, irritated, puffy eyes and thinking sometimes to myself that I wanted to disappear or be home schooled. Within that time I was diagnosed with anxiety and medicated. The summer going into junior year my mom and my principal, who was sick of hearing my name so often, managed to get me transferred to another school. The most shocking thing that happened was when I went through psychological re-evaluation (which is a common thing for kids with ADD/ADHD). The new doctor diagnosed me with anxiety, PTSD, and insomnia along with having trust issues. When I found out, I was the idiot, thinking, 'Oh my gosh, it was that bad on my mental health,' in an awestruck way. This upcoming year I will be a senior in high school and when I think back on those two years of torture it really shaped my final decision on what I want to do when I get older. Reading your diary had me thinking a lot of things. Mostly about how I would be in the other situation, and it kind of resurfaced memories. when I was younger, I was the opposite of you. I had previously lived in florida, where my life was not perfect, but good. I was tall, slightly more developed than my peers and a nice-ish person, so I might've had it good if I had actually stayed. Then, in 4th grade, I moved to Jamaica where I experienced a massive culture shift. whereas in America, everything about me from my huge eyes to my natural cheekbones were greatly admired, down there they were shunned. The other kids would constantly make fun of me, teasing me and picking at me. I used to cry at least one time a day. That's also when I first developed an interest in science and started making poisons for myself. In 5th grade, it got better and I started liking boys. But they were relentless in their scorn because they upheld their memory of the weird, sniveling girl they once knew. It was a small school so word travels fast and where as in your case, you were either lusted after or loathed, I was either scorned or shunned. The first suicide attempt of a girl who was, only years before, a happy ray of sunshine, took place this year. By 6th grade I started to make up rumors, telling the girls in my class that I had a boyfriend, even when I knew I didn't. It was obvious that they didn't believe me, but I kept up the charade. We all went off to high school in 7th grade. Over the summer, I made myself promise that the suicidal thoughts would stop. However, the lies got worse because more and more girls were becoming more outward with sexuality and dating, so I had to play the part. Some of my old classmates were in my class, unfortunately, and saw right through my lies. I guess what I'm trying to say is, while you had it bad, other people were dealing with the exact opposite in just as bad a situation. I used to think that all the girls who acted like Emily wrote in her diary were sluts and that's it, but reading it has helped me to understand. I have made some real friends in the process of getting to know the "sluts" in class, regardless of my mothers disdain for them.
I'm from the wonderful state of Wisconsin. I grew up in a town of around 2,000 people, and everybody knew everybody. Secrets were not kept very well here. I grew up around parents that were very accepting, and that was all I knew. Until I hit middle school. I went through puberty at a very early age, and I looked different. I had large breasts and I didn't understand why people would stare. To me they were just normal and nothing to look at. Upon entering 7th grade I began to get harassed and guys would ask me for sexual favors. When I would say no, they would spread rumors about how I was a whore and how I had STDs. This was really hard for me to cope with, so I began to cut myself to try to handle the pain. I would carve words such as 'slut', 'ugly' and 'useless' into my skin to try and survive the bullying. When it was the summer of 8th grade, I had found a boy who seemed interested in me. Much to my dismay, he was only interested in my body. The first day we hung out, he touched me in very inappropriate ways and talked me into having unprotected sex. I was too scared to say no so all I did was let him do what he wanted. The next day he told me I was a useless bitch and how I would never be loved. He then proceeded to tell all his friends what he did and I lost all my friends. His friends would contact me on social media and call me terrible names and tell me to kill myself. I went through a terrible patch of suicidal thought and began wondering what I did to be hated so much. Luckily, my parents found out and helped me pull myself together. Please, if you're ever feeling suicidal remember that somebody always loves you. There's always help and hope. - Liz Noeske
My story doesn't start in school. It doesn't start anywhere physical in fact. This was a form of cyber-bullying. Extreme cyber-bullying. Most say that cyber-bullying is easy to stop and it doesn't exist. Not this, because believe me, I tried. I was 12 when it started. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I became part of an online community and everyone was older than me. I lied about my age and said I was 15, I didn't want to be treated as a minority because of my age. As I kept the lie going I figured I'd have to act like a 15 year old girl would do, and I had a 15 year old sister, so I started watching her closely to see how she acts. I went to the extreme of going through her phone chats. I saw that she'd sent nude pictures of herself to her ex-boyfriend, and I was only trying to be like her. Someone asked me for a nude picture, and because I didn't want to be different, I sent it. I thought it'd be okay, I thought it would never come up again. Oh how wrong I was. The guy I had sent it to spread it, and someone that got hold of it had a very big grudge against me. He posted it for everyone to see. I wasn't bothered because it was only my butt, and you see them everyday, but I was labelled as "easy." I started to believe it. I started to believe I was easy.
I got into a long distance relationship with an 18 year old, he didn't know I was 12 at the time, he thought I was 15 almost 16. He asked to see a picture of my vagina. I sent it. When we broke up, he leaked the picture, and I didn't think that would still be haunting me, but I still get people coming up to me and quoting the caption (it was sent via snapchat). It really knocked my confidence, so I sent naked pictures of myself a lot, just to feel good about myself. It was a way of coping, it helped me stop cutting. It went too far one day. A boy found my sister's twitter account. He started threatening me and blackmailing me. I couldn't take it. He sent my sister a nude of me and I didn't take it well. That day I tried to kill myself. I couldn't face the fact that I was a "slut." That I sent pictures of myself when I was 12-13. I couldn't face it anymore. Everything had built up so I did it. I overdosed on painkillers. I'm still 13, it has been 2 months since I overdosed and I am getting better. I have psychiatric sessions every month and I'm on the waiting list for therapy. I also must say that Wattpad has helped me a lot too. It made me feel less lonely in a way. It makes me happy. I no longer think badly about myself. I no longer send naked pictures of myself to strangers. I no longer believe that I'm "easy." People change. And I'm glad I did. I live in Saudi Arabia. I am an Arab with Kenyan nationality which confuses most people since they believe all Africans are 'black'. I have seven sisters and an adopted brother. We were one happy family, although dad's relatives opposed dad's marriage to my mom since they despised my late grandmother. We were, in a way, bullied by them but dad never acknowledged it. My mom was always kind to them even when they accused her of cheating on my dad. We were never treated fairly. I joined school first in 2003. My elder sisters made sure to let people know not to mess with me and I was grateful, although I could stand up for myself. I wasn't bullied but I couldn't stand seeing my classmates bully a chubby kid in my class who wasn't exactly mentally stable (I don't know what he exactly suffered from). I tried to make them stop but almost half of the class was against me so it was futile attempt. He sat alone in the corner. One day, I was left alone in class with him so I tried befriending him, but he started panicking and put his arms around himself as if shielding himself from the hit. I was too scared to move since I was only 9. I tried to tell him I wouldn't hurt him but he suddenly unzipped his pants and let it fall. I couldn't take it anymore so I left him there. I never tried being his friend again, but I never stopped trying to make the bullying stop. A year later, he died in a car accident. I always felt sad that I couldn't be of much help to him.
I was also molested by my uncle. I didn't know what he was doing that time but it always scared me too much to tell anyone. I was also molested by a worker that dad hired in my home. Then, again, I was molested when I would go to the shop. I never said a thing and I know it was a stupid move but I was always scared of the outcome. After my sixth sister was born, dad started drinking. He came home drunk and yelled all night long. I went to school the next day acting. No one knew about it, and even thought I was in one happy family. I really enjoyed school because it made me escape my home, but dad got worse and locked us home sometimes, even during exams. When people asked we always gave them an excuse. One day dad hit my second elder sister but it ended badly for him, since my eldest sister and mom stopped him. My eldest sister hit him so bad that he crawled to his room and locked the door. I don't know how she got the strength to do so but I am not complaining, since she put a stop to him. Later we decided the best way to avoid him was to leave home and return when he was asleep. So we ended up doing just that. We couldn't go to the police since it is Saudi Arabia. I gained weight and friends started to bully me, but I immediately stood up for myself, not giving them a chance to get worse. I was known to act more mature than my age and I gave the impression of not to be messed with. Although I tried not to let their words affect me, it did ruin my self confidence. After few years I went to Kenya to study there. I got a boyfriend, he was really good. But dad found out and my relatives told him more lies and by the end he called me a slut whom mom never raised right. I broke up with him because I didn't want my family to involve him in our problems. My relatives lied all about what I do, so by the end I was called a slut by dad and he put all the blame on my mom. Although all that happened I had never disrespected anyone and always smiled at people, even though I was labelled as mannerless. I contacted my friend from Saudi Arabia, my former classmate was great guy to talk to. We became close. I told him almost everything about my life. Later dad decided it would be best to not let me or my sisters study since we were all sluts, according to him. So I was brought back to Saudi Arabia. He stopped drinking but he became worse. He took our phones and watched our every moves like a hawk (which he still does). I bought a secret phone and contacted my friends. I started liking the guy (former classmate) but did nothing since he had a girlfriend and she was also a friend of mine. When they broke up, I still never planned on acting on my feelings but it all ended when I started talking to my old crush. The guy I liked was jealous but didn't accept it and we fought. I decided to tell him how I felt to move on and when I did he simply answered 'I don't care.' Although it hurt I let it go and did what I always seem to do. Act like nothing is wrong and I wasn't hurting. Later he went and spread lies to his friends and again I got called a slut. I always get called hot and sexy but I never believe these words. I burst out laughing when I am told. I am not good at responding to compliments because deep down I never believed it. It sucks that after going through all that and seeming strong, funny, helpful, and sarcastic I still get betrayed by people I really trusted and I still keep caring. I don't know if I am crazy or not, I still haven't given up on being myself and helping others. It helps me feel like there are really good reasons to keep moving. - Lin Monet I was never called a slut or anything like that until I was in 6th grade. It all started when the boy I liked asked me out. At recess we would hang out with his friends and my friends. His friends wanted us to break up. They would say mean things to me like "You're such a slut", or "hey bitch", or "go f!ck yourself". Once one of his friends kicked me. My boyfriend would tell them to stop and try and punch them or something, and they would stop temporarily, but would just end up doing it again. My boyfriend stopped hanging out with one of his friends, I appreciated that, as that "friend" was the one who did most of the mean name calling. One day in class I was in a group with a guy I didn't like very much, but was fun to talk to. So when he said "move, girl", I said "move, boy", and he said "move, hot girl" and then started to look at my butt. I told him to stop but he didn't. He then tried to touch my butt, I slapped him on the hand but then he tried again. I again slapped him. When I wasn't looking or paying attention he succeeded in touching my butt. He eventually stopped. I didn't tell my teacher because it was embarrassing. I could barely tell my friends or my boyfriend. They all said it wasn't my fault, but for as some reason I felt bad. I plan on someday telling my parents but not before I enter 7th grade which will be this year. I don't know why I'm scared, I just am. I'm sorry if I wasted your time I just needed to get it out. Slut shaming and bullying is horrible. Don't do it, just be yourself.
When I was younger I felt like the only reason I ever got anybody's attention was because I was "active", (Obviously that's what was happening). No matter how promiscuous someone is, no means no. One night during freshman year my best friend and I had gotten drunk and walked to the high school to watch another friend of ours play volleyball. My phone had been vibrating off the hook with texts from my mom who was pissed I wasn't at home babysitting like I was supposed to be. Eventually I turned to my best friend and told her I needed to go home before I got in huge trouble, and since she wanted to stay and watch, I started to walk home. A little down the street I got a text from this guy I had been crushing on for YEARS. He said he was driving by and asked if I needed a ride home. I said yes. Mostly for my sake, I try not to remember how that night went down, and I ALWAYS remind myself how stupid it was to invite him over. But I honestly did just want to hang out with him. He was a popular guy, and I thought maybe if I could hang with him, I could hang with the others. Except he had other plans. And I spent the next week in the counsellors office, missing all my classes and talking to a certain police officer (I never got to thank him, I certainly would have). But I didn't want to have sex with him, and even though I can't remember everything that happened, I do remember saying no. And I do remember trying to push him off me. And it shouldn't matter that I invited him into my home, because I said no. A few weeks later I found out I was not the only girl it had happened to, and because I came out and told, so did a few others. About the same time as his trial (he was found guilty on all counts) a friend of his messaged me and told me that I was just an ugly slut who got mad when he didn't want anything more than sex. My inbox was bombarded with messages from his friends calling me all sorts of things. So when I showed the police officer, he told me to ignore it, because I knew it wasn't true, and they knew it wasn't true but were in denial. But I still carved 'ugly' into my thigh because that's the only part that stuck with me. And every couple of months I still go over it with a razor because it feels right. Though it's been almost 6 years, I see him around town and I'm instantly taken back to that 13 year old year and I can't help but feel helpless and weak.
I'm 25 years old, and I've been with the same guy for over a decade (our 11th anniversary is in four days, May 28th). Despite the fact that I've been with the same guy since I was fourteen years old and have never been with anyone else, I still get called a slut on a regular basis. Men hit on me, shout sex obscenities at me, demand my phone number, ask me how much I charge, motorboat me, pinch my ass, cajole me to break up with my boyfriend so I can fuck them instead, and then call ME a slut when I say 'no'. People look at how large my breasts are and call me a whore, and tell me that obviously I must be looking for sexual attention and fishing for compliments, or else I would cover up more. Complete strangers feel entitled to asking me personal details about myself (What's my bra size? Do I have breast implants? How many women have I been with? Will I have a threesome with him and his girlfriend? Do I wear thongs? What color are my panties? Do I prefer my boyfriend to cum on my face, tits or ass? What's my favorite position?), and then get offended and accuse me of asking for it just by existing. I've lost count at this point of the number of men who have sent me unwanted dick pics or told me that I look horny, look like a slut, look like I enjoy anal sex, or obviously want their sexual attention just based on the structure of my face, or my profile picture on Facebook. As I type this there is a guy messaging me on Facebook who has been spamming sexual comments at me for half an hour, but then had the audacity to tell me that if I don't want to receive such comments from him, then I should stop wearing tank tops/bathing suits/skirts/shorts/dresses and just wear turtlenecks and pants everywhere. I'm so sick of it. I just want to be able to wear a tank top and shorts in the summer without getting harassed. I want to go to a pool party without men motor boating me. I want to log onto Facebook without having dick pics spammed at me. I want to turn on my cell phone without men threatening to call the cops on my boyfriend unless I give them nude pictures of myself. I want to go on the Internet or play a game online without men calling me a slut and telling me to suck their dick and make them a sandwich. But that's not going to happen in my lifetime. - Holly Hayes
When I was 13 I moved from Massachusetts to New Hampshire and for some reason it was made very clear from day one that I was unwelcome by everyone, especially the girls. Suddenly boys started noticing me and they would ask me out, which had never happened before because I was always known as the "bookworm" and for some reason the term "freak" started circulating the school. I was fighting off girls everyday for no reason and one got pissed when I won the fight and said, "It doesn't matter, everyone knows you are a stupid slut anyway." I never understood why she said that because at that point I had never even been kissed by a boy and she didn't know me anyway. That is when the boys started asking me out and I didn't put two and two together until later. It started getting to the point where I was having to fight off being groped in the hallway and three girls at once (because I had no trouble with two, thanks to my father teaching me how to fight, but that is also when I got myself into martial arts). It got so bad with the slut remarks that I went to my counselor and told her I was very depressed and couldn't take much more. Unbeknownst to me right across the way was another school, but it looked like a house, and it was a boys' school but it did have one other girl in it, and I guess it was supposed to be for the kids who had trouble in school for one reason or another. The other girl and I became best friends on day 1 and still are to this day. Unfortunately we had a few friends die for different reasons and one of them was a suicide. The person who had killed himself actually lived with me for a little while and my parents to help him out, because him and his parents were not getting along. They were like my dad and considered the school a failure and both referred to it as a school for "sweat hogs". A few days after he killed himself and after the funeral a bunch of us got together at his parents house and had a party in his honor. Let's just say his dad didn't care we were underage and we did drink and smoke at the time. There was a boy there I didn't know very well but I always had a crush on, but he was with one of the girls who had bullied me beyond belief when I was at my regular high school. He motioned for me to sit on his lap and before I did I asked him, "What about Ellen?" and he had told me they had broken up and I told him thank goodness and did sit on his lap. That night we all told stories about our friend and try to remember the good times and the whole time he was stroking my hair and a few times when tears came to my eyes he wiped them away so gently and I guess I just got swept up in it all. I hadn't even thought about a ride home and because I had been drinking and smoking I did not want to call my parents and he offered me a ride home. To be honest I wasn't really ready to go home, especially when he offered for us to sit and talk at this very romantic spot that everyone went to when they wanted to chat or do other things. We talked for a little while and he was holding my hand and stroking my face and I guess I got caught up in the attention because things were not great at my home, and anyway we made love in the car. I thought it was special and I waited for him to call me but I knew there would be another party celebrating our friend the next day at his girlfriend's house and I knew he would be there. We were all having fun, there was loud music and we were drinking... again... and I remember looking for him all night waiting for him to show up. All of a sudden the room went quiet because someone had turned off the music. I turned my head like everyone else did to see why and it was Ellen! I just remember my heart sinking because she was the one who had started the "slut" rumor and she had tried to fight me and when she lost she would bring another girl with her and then another girl until I couldn't fight so many. She would trap me in the ladies room and call me a whore when I was at the other high school, amongst other things, and to be honest I only had a few friends at this party and the rest of them I did not know and there must have been at least 50 people there. Suddenly my eyes caught the boy I was with the other night standing on the stairs, but he was looking down at the ground. Then she started talking to me so everyone's heads whipped around and were staring at me. I will never forget what she said to this day. I should probably mention that I made the mistake of telling my best friend's friend what had happened with him and I just had a feeling it was a bad idea. It turns out she was Ellen's best friend. Ellen began with, "I heard you are telling everyone that you fucked my boyfriend." Believe me that is not how I worded it to the girl and my best friend, who had been there, since it was her house, since if you have been paying attention there was a reason why it was very special to me. She continued on with the words, "Why on earth would he waste his time with an ugly, disgusting, repulsive, scumbag tramp and slut like you when he has someone like me?" I remember turning to look over at him my eyes pleading for something to come out of his mouth in my defense, and he was still looking at the floor. My best friend was somewhere else in the house or I know she would have said something, so I was pretty much on my own with all these people staring at me and I felt like I had been used, and with everything she had called me I felt like nothing and a fool. Then my eyes caught the girl who I had told and she had a smirk on her face. I couldn't take it because I was so humiliated in front of so many people. I ran up the stairs into the main level of the house and found the master bathroom. I looked through the cabinet for any kind of pills I could take because I knew this girl's mother was on things and I found a bottle of something that said "Take one each night for sleep." From my estimate the bottle was almost full. I took the bottle and put it in my pocket and went into the kitchen and drank as many beers as I could fit into my stomach as fast as I could. I went looking for my best friend but I could not find her. I then began looking through the kitchen drawers for a sharp knife and I saw the kitchen block and grabbed a big knife from there. I went back into the master bathroom and with the beer that was in my hand I took the bottle of pills and began running the cold water in the sink and a slit both my wrists. I then went through the other door that went straight into the girl who owned the house's parents' bedroom and I crawled under their bed. Darkness came pretty quickly and I do remember thinking, thank goodness this will all be over. When I came to in the hospital the doctor told me he had no idea how I had survived. I guess my friend went looking for me and found one of my feet sticking out from under the bed. When she told someone they all panicked and I guess instead of calling 911 they threw me into the back of someone's truck and dumped me on my parents' lawn and took off. They would not let my friend call 911 so she went into the back of the truck and when they dumped me on the lawn she jumped out and began punching and kicking my parents' door and pointed to me on the lawn. I guess the only thing that really saved me was that I didn't manage to cut into my wrists deep enough, so they bled very slowly, but the doctors still said they did not understand how I lived between the pills and the alcohol and my wrists, because they drove right past the hospital to dump me on my parents' lawn. The doctor told me I must have had a guardian angel and at the time I remember laughing and thinking that if I had I would have died. I was in the hospital for a long time between healing and the psychiatric part of it but to this day it still hurts. No one said anything when I went back to my new school but the people who were there, there was only a few of them at the party and those were the ones that were my friends. I just remember to this day the names she called me and all the things she did to me and more than anything that when I looked over to plead with him to help me, he couldn't even look at me or anyone else in the eye. I am sharing this because I regret not being stronger to this day and I don't want this to ever happen to anyone else. I also hope if anything like this does happen to someone else that they don't make the same mistake I did and they do what I should have done and stand up for themselves right when it all starts like I tried to do when I was at the regular high school. When it became too much I feel a little bit like I ran away from the problem when I switched schools but that did help me because there was only 38 of us in the school and none of them treated me like that. I let them call me names and I let it circulate that I was a slut when I wasn't and now, I would have found a way to be a smart ass and own it even if it wasn't true, just to make them shocked and have to figure out something else to call me or leave me alone. I can't say for sure that would have worked or if anything would have worked, and I can't say I don't feel like I ran away when I changed schools but I can say I gave her too much power by doing what I did that night and I bet to this day she doesn't even remember any of it or even me, but I can say I remember her name and I will never forget it. I let the word "slut" make me do one of the most stupid things in my life and I let that simple little word wreck me for a long time. All it is is a word and even if it had been true I should have never let it have the power that it did and neither should anyone else. Thank you for listening to anyone who has read this to the end. - Calissta
I was in sixth grade when I first questioned my sexuality. I wasn't exactly in a safe place to do so, though, because I live in the Bible Belt, which means that I see a lot of "Pray the Gay away" and "Marriage=wife+husband" stickers on cars. So my friend also questioned if she was straight or not, and we constantly looked up different terms and sexualities that could apply to us, and soon found out that we were bisexual. Over time, I developed the biggest crush on her, and nearly a day after I told her about my feelings, she said that she thought she was straight. Of course I was a little heartbroken - who wouldn't be?! - but I knew that I had to accept her like she accepted me. And I thought she was my friend, honestly, I mean, she wouldn't tell anyone, right? Wrong. The next year (I told her in May), the beginning of seventh grade, I came back to people chanting "BISLUT!" at me in the hallway and "WHORE" and "SELFISH BISEXUAL" written on anonymous notes, which annually appeared in my locker. I had nearly no friends. All of them were either afraid of me falling in love with them or they didn't want to be around the "whore" or "slut". Over time, I thought I'd get used to it… but I didn't. The name calling went on and on and it never was normal. So I picked up a blade. I would cut nearly everyday, and try my best to hide it from the people who didn't want me doing it. I didn't tell anyone. Months passed, and I fell into depression worse than ever. My mother gave me my pills every single day, and carefully watched me. But I felt like living wasn't worth it. And then, I swallowed fifteen sleeping pills. I would've died right then if my mother hadn't walked in on me to give me my antidepressant, and worried, she took to me to the hospital. Okay, so if you have a failed suicide attempt and you're taken to the hospital because you have a very small chance of living, you probably will end up in a psych ward, which is what happened to me. I was in there for two weeks, and I made amazing friends. I dealt with my sexuality, and I learned that just because I'm attracted to both doesn't mean I'm a "slut". (No one is.) Now, let me say this. Mental hospitals really aren't that scary. They're very plain and dull but not scary. The nurses aren't mean and the patients aren't going to murder you in your sleep. You're safe there. Trust me. I met a really nice lesbian who was in there because of her grandparents' emotional abuse towards her, which led her to self-harm. I met a girl who suffered from a bipolar disorder who also was bisexual. Over all, there was just a lot of amazing people. And the next year when I went to a different school, I was welcomed for my sexuality, and even had a girlfriend, which was my first openly gay relationship. What I'm trying to say is be yourself. There's no one more beautiful. - Sarah
Let me start by divulging my age. I am 60 soon to be 61. I saw your story on The Doctors and it struck a chord. I suffered from the damages of the "slut" label while growing up in a southern California resort town, with little supervision, really no supervision. I was pinned down on the beach and groped by boys multiple times; I was 12. My crime was developing too fast, and my other crime was befriending a severely psychologically damaged, obviously sexually abused 12 yr old girl who was gang raped by older boys or as it was called pull the train. I was actually on a boat with her and my 12 yr old boyfriend when it happened. I panicked and one of the older boys took the two of us back to shore but left my friend behind. I have know idea how many times this scenario played out but it was many. What a sad creature with the dead look in her eyes. It was rumored she committed suicide. This event as well as the sexual abuse inflicted upon me by my father from age 6 to 9 shaped my self image and my behavior. I've never really recovered and have had many disastrous relationships but now at this age I am finally free, I don't need sex, I don't want sex, I'm free to never tolerate abusive behaviors that I used to tolerate because I was searching for love in all the wrong places. Now after raising five children and just starting grad school in marriage and family counseling, I'm not only taking control of my own life but reaching out in the hopes of making a difference in women's lives who have been there and are struggling to get back into life again. Being labeled a slut in middle school when girls are at their most vulnerable is a devastating thing to happen, even more so in today's digital world. I hope my story puts a different perspective on the topic. This is not a new phenomenon. - Allison Greer
When I was in high school I was called a slut because I told my boyfriend at the time "no." That Monday, I was a "slut" and had slept with the entire football team. I was a virgin at the time. A guy I went to school with found out where I lived and broke into my house and raped me when I was 15 years old. After that, I would carve the word "slut" into my arm. My family also calls me a slut because I want to wear short skirts, swim suits, or shorts. I try to laugh it off but it is impossible. I have such self esteem issues it's not funny. I cut myself because my own family calls me a slut and a whore. They have gone so far as to ask what corner I was working. I am 21 years old with a son and I am still getting called a slut. - Candace Stoneking
I am no stranger to the word "slut". People have called me it before when the word never bothered me, not knowing what it meant. My sister has called me a slut before and causally blames "sluts" for everyday problems. But the reason why I am writing this isn't about me, but about people making "silly" jokes about this term. In 7th grade I had already been dealing with problems of my own, making me shy, henceforth nobody listening to me. Which I thought was fine in the beginning. It was only whispers from the guys across the room so I thought it would blow over. Boy was I wrong! Only a little time passed before this boy (who shall remain nameless) decided to push me over the fence, and into the water below when he told a good friend of mine as he pointed to a girl wearing a skirt, "If she wears a short skirt, she is asking for it!" That sentence will forever be in my memory as the day I started to take it all seriously. I tried to speak up from that day on about everything that happened, but as always I am the the shy one, the one nobody listens to so I am never heard at all. There was one thing I could have done and I suggest to anyone reading this, tell an adult and make sure they are aware of everything going on. Once I told my teacher the kids who made the jokes got in trouble and I was moved from the boy that made the comment's class. I am now making friends and I am feeling better about who I am. - Raven
It started freshman year of high school. I was fourteen at the time and like most fourteen year olds I was a little bit naive. So when a boy in my class started talking to me and wanted to hang out and maybe fool around a little bit, I thought it seemed like a great idea. In my mind fooling around meant kissing and maybe him going under my shirt. To him it meant something completely different. He also persuaded me to send him nude pictures. We ended up hanging out and it escalated quickly. He told me I should give him oral sex (he didn't call it that), and when I said "no, I've never done that before and I'm not ready to do that" he thought what he wanted was more important than what I wanted. He guided me to the ground (as I was saying no), put me on my knees and pushed my head on to his penis and held it there. I couldn't breathe. I started to cry, he told me I was horrible at it. Then he pushed me against the wall as he fingered me while I cried and said no. It was incredibly painful. A few days later people at my small high school found out we had "hooked up". Overnight I had become the school slut. People were coming up to me in the hallways, freshman through seniors alike, saying how much of a slut I was, or that they heard I had done this, that, and the other thing, and if I could do it for them too. Horrible rumors were spread about me. It wasn't just at school either---it continued online even after the school day was over. Before I knew it kids from other local schools were saying things as well. Guys would start talking to me and I thought they liked me...after a few friendly texts back and forth, they stopped trying and flat out said "so are you gonna send me a picture of your tits now or what?" This happened over and over again. It deflated my self esteem----and fourteen year old girls typically don't have the highest self esteem to begin with. I doubted my own self worth. I blamed myself constantly for what happened. How could I not when every single day I received comment after comment about how much of a slut I was and how no one will ever want me. The only reason guys talked to me was to get pictures. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and didn't have the energy to fight back or to try to prove any of them wrong. They believed what they wanted to believe anyway, so I didn't see how I could change that. Why would they want to believe what actually happened when the story they heard was way more interesting and scandalous. I started sending guys pictures whenever they asked.
I didn't really hook up with another guy until two years later. I was extremely uncomfortable and didn't have enough self confidence to say no to things that I didn't want to happen. The first guy didn't listen so why would this guy? I wasn't into what we were doing. I wasn't even mentally in the room. My mind was somewhere else. It was an out of body experience. I was watching him hold my head forward as he put his penis in my mouth, and as he fingered me while he had his hand tightly around my throat. The the next time I hung out with a guy, at 16, I thought we were friends. I didn't think he was ONLY after me for sexual things. But once again I was proved wrong. We had texted about some things we wanted to do to each other, but we had also texted a lot about non sexual things. So when we hung out he expected we were going to do what we talked about, and when I said I realized I wasn't comfortable with it and I really did not want to do it, he told me "sluts can't change their minds." He pushed me on the bed, took his pants off and took my clothes off. I kept saying no and trying to change the subject. He put a condom on, told me I would like it. I protested a few more times, started crying and then just laid there like a dead fish staring blankly at the ceiling while he went inside me. I didn't move my body at all. This frustrated him and he put his hand under me and started to move my body into his. He finished and threw my clothes at me. I left as quickly as I could. A year or so later I met a guy and we started dating. It was a real relationship. A month or two in I told him a little about my past and he still wanted to be with me. Eventually I told him everything, and that was the first time I STARTED to see that it wasn't my fault what happened to me. I still was not ready to face it all though. Things were great with him. We fell in love and were in a relationship for three years, mutually ending things when we realized we were on two completely different paths. But there was a major problem in our relationship, although we both tried our best to pretend it wasn't there and that we could overcome it: anything related to sex. Sometimes I was completely okay with things and 100 percent into it. Other times I wasn't but I never said no. I didn't know how to say no. I didn't think I deserved to say no. So it became a constant fight because he could tell when I wasn't into it. He told me I needed to say no if I didn't want to do something. So I started to...and I felt empowered for the first time. So I started saying no more than I was saying yes. At the time I didn't really understand why I was doing that...but upon further self reflection and maturity...I now know that I was so deeply uncomfortable and squeamish about anything related to sex, that it was easier for me to avoid it altogether. I didn't want to pretend that I was enjoying something and I was tired of feeling uncomfortable. It was extremely frustrating for me to be turned on and to want to enjoy being intimate with my boyfriend, but somehow I always ended up going back to being fourteen and being the school slut. Certain things were better than others, and I preferred to do things to him rather than risk having him do something to me and losing any sense of control. It wasn't until shortly before our break up this past year that I started to understand and was emotionally ready to reflect on what happened to me. I realized that I was sexually assaulted, that it was not my fault, and that even though I didn't physically fight them off of me and after a while I stopped saying "no", I never said or SHOWED any signs of saying yes. Crying, turning away, passively lying there, not kissing them back, not looking at them, not helping in any way.....those all say no. They had no right to do the things they did to me. The things they did and the backlash I received all four years of high school and occasionally still today--- it all deeply affected me and my life. I still feel shame talking about or doing anything related to sex. I'm still afraid thats the only reason a guy is talking to me. I'm scared to show that I'm interested in something sexual because I don't want people to think I'm a "slut". My reputation was destroyed because of things I did not even want to happen. I have recently started working through this with a counselor and it has helped immensely. But I'm still constantly afraid I'm going to be uncomfortable in sexual situations for the rest of my life. I am just starting to talk to guys again after my break up, I spent the past 5 months focusing completely on myself and finally confronting the trauma I experienced. And as far as I have come in the past 5 months, I know I still have a great deal of work to do to get to the point where this is truly a part of my past and not a part of my everyday thoughts. To those boys who took my innocence and made my first sexual encounters deeply traumatizing and to the hundreds of people who made comments about how much of a dirty slut I was; I want you to know I forgive you. Even though you probably have no idea what you did wrong (gotta love rape culture), I forgive you. And I want you to know that you didn't BREAK me. You cracked a few pieces of me, but you never broke me. And you never will. I am a million times stronger because of the horrible things you did to me. I am a kind, compassionate, genuine, smart, considerate beautiful person. You can't ever take those things away from me. You never did, and you sure as hell never will. I was a happy 12 year old. I was overweight and I loved myself. I had everything - adoring parents, a great hobby, and a sustainable allowance for everything I could have asked for. He was not a bad person. I knew it. His mother had cancer and passed away, and he didn't have a penny on him to eat. We were friends, we liked teasing one another, we hung out... until one day, he asked me to meet him at the lift lobby. He said something about giving me a gift and wanting to show me something, and I thought nothing of it. What would a twelve year old child do with me anyway? I could take care of myself, or so I thought. I thought nothing of it. I left my classroom curious about what his gift could be. I wish I had suspected something was amiss. The boy who barely had fifty cents for a plate of noodles wanted to buy me a gift. I did meet him, and he said a string of horrible things that all fade into the words "whore" and "prostitute" and then he touched me. My confidence was shattered. I went home and showered until my skin was raw, and I felt dirty. It was as if I got a layer of grime on my skin and a sticker on my forehead that screamed "dirty" or "prostitute". I believed every single one of his words. I told my mother a few days later and I remember her laughing about it with my dad. I did not understand what was going on, and I thought that it was all just a phase I was going through. The next day at school people called me a slut. My friends left. My team turned on me. People said I had sex with him for cash. The teachers who knew warned me against saying anything, intimidating me into silence and hoping that things would blow over, but the scars are still open and have been for a while. I am suicidal. I then got depression, anorexia and insomnia. I left the school for a new one and the lies followed. My relationships with my parents are in the gutter. I've been depressed and anorexic for three years and things are not looking up. I've been touched so many times in my new school I've lost count. This has been going on for three years and I am on my last legs, and it is not going to stop soon. Please share my story so people understand the horrible consequences of slut shaming. - Katrina North Note to the Katrina: You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please call 1-800-273-8255. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily.
Sexual bullying and slut shaming can happen to anyone. During the middle of my college/university experience a little over twenty years ago, I somehow caught the attention of a sorority girl in one of my classes at a small private college. I was still socially awkward at that time, and her rather energetic nature and interest made me a little nervous. I blurted out, "Don't have an orgasm, now!" after a nerve-wracking conversation one day, which I realize now was totally inappropriate. But I was totally unprepared for the onslaught of revenge from her sorority sisters. I was sexually harassed repeatedly by e-mail, telephone, and even in person. This continued even when the campus police got involved. It didn't stop until I left the school. Thankfully, that experience didn't follow me to university, but, I remember walking across the street when a convertible pulled up and a young woman leaned out and said, "Yeah, baby. Shake it!" For some reason, that triggered memories of being mercilessly teased in middle school by boys that thought I wiggled my buttocks too much when I walked. Even though I doubt her comment was homophobic like theirs were, I still felt like an objectified piece of meat. I know that men in our society are encouraged to welcome sexual attention. Yet how can it be welcomed when it's unwanted and degrading? I think most guys know the difference, and no amount of swagger (or retaliatory insult) covers up the hurt. It's not cool, and it's not "studly". It's abusive. A quick thanks to my friends at the No More Shame Project/Trauma Recovery University, who've given me courage to heal from childhood abuse, including sexual abuse. Survivors can be vulnerable to this sort of bullying. Please use my real name; I've come far enough that I don't need to be ashamed anymore. - Jonathan Pratt
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