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I was raped when I was 15 years old by two boys from another high school. They roofied me. They not only vaginally raped me but anally, too. They bragged to all their friends that it was consensual.
I was unconscious. I remember waking up naked with my clothes thrown everywhere, feeling weird but not knowing what happened. When I got to school on the following Monday, I was "slut" shamed by everyone at my school. When asked, I denied everything. I continued to be "slut" shamed. I had no friends. I ate lunch by myself every day. I never reported the rape because that would have been admitting that I had sex. There was no sex education in my school to teach us what consent was. I didn’t realize what happened to me until I was 20 and learned about consent. Then I started having flashbacks to that night. My life has never been the same since I was raped. I have serious rage issues and I dream of murdering the men who did this to me. I went on to be abused by other men. I have a hard time trusting anyone. I have hardly ever made a female friend. "Slut" shaming ruins lives and sets rapists free. -- Anonymous I grew up in foster care, so when the time came to leave my abusive ex-husband, I was left with no resources or family support. I started dancing as a means to support myself, as my ex wasn’t paying child support and doing drugs with my bio parents; just to isolate me more. I was alone.
I was always apprehensive about meeting men from my job, but he insisted I could trust him since he knew my boss and played on the club's softball team. I was pretty burned out from being a single mom and took him up on his offer of Sunday night line dancing. Since I expected an older crowd I thought it would be safer. It’s almost like he knew, I had a feeling he couldn’t be trusted. He apparently paid the bartender's car payment for getting me drunk. I woke up the next morning in severe pain from the waist down. I couldn’t hold my urine and I was unable to go number two for 21 days because of the bruising and pain. He had raped me. The next day I called and asked, “WTH happened last night, I can’t even sit.” His response was, “you said you wanted it, who’s gonna believe you anyway, you’re the stripper with crack head parents, that was the tv that fell on you anyway.” I was shocked at the audacity and scared for some reason. Me and my therapist decided against reporting it as I was already suicidal and the public shaming I would have endured could have resulted in suicide. He was later fired from his tennis instructor job for being too aggressive with a married woman and busted for sleeping with a bunch of women and being inappropriate. He was shamed so badly for that, he has since moved away so I don’t have to worry about seeing him. This happened in June 2017 I still haven’t been out drinking and I live in constant fear of seeing him, not knowing what all he did to me that night. I don’t even want to imagine what all happened. I have guilt daily that I can’t report him. I fear he will hurt another woman, but I won’t survive what they will drag me though if I report him. I’ll always live with guilt now for not having the courage to speak out. -- Anonymous in Lafayette, Louisiana So I was 14 when I first had sex, and I thought it was amazing and the boy generally liked me. I hadn't realised the turning points e.g. he'd ask to be snuck in, get drunk, he'd smoke in front of me and never wanted to meet my mom. He blocked me on everything the night we did it and then I went to school. People turned and stared, yelled at me, called me a slut and showed me a video. I didn't know he had recorded it. I moved schools but that doesn't leave you, apparently. After, people continually asked for sex or nudes, all were answered NO. Then my mom started being off with me after she'd seen the video. I had explained what'd happened and she didn't believe me. Then at 15, I came back on snapchat and met someone that meant a lot to me. He didn't live in the same area as me but I'd met him before. He never asked for nudes, but at 15 you're exploring your body more. Masturbation is a fine thing and sometimes, I thought that I'd take photos, and I never sent them. I'd learnt my lesson on that 100%. About 8 weeks later my mom came in. Well, she had my phone, she knew I liked this boy and she'd seen my nudes. She then labeled me a slut and an embarrassment. I understand why she's angry but hearing those words from your mother isn't the nicest, I'll admit. I'm nearly 16 and that's actually the legal age to leave home if you wish and she said well in 7 months, you can f*ck off. -- Purdy
When I was 15, I lied to my parents and told them I was going to a party. At said party, I got extremely intoxicated and also had been smoking weed. I eventually blacked out and my best friend, for my safety, locked me in a bedroom in the basement to sleep since I was completely incoherent. A guy, who I was friends with, managed to pick the lock to that bedroom and began to rape me. I was too out of it to remember what was going on and to even try to stop it. I still don't remember a lot from that night, but I do remember the pain I felt from him forcing himself on me. It became extremely rough at one point as well, and I remember my head being slammed into the wall and another time slamming into the nightstand. Because everyone knew that I was sexually active at that point in my life, what came after that night was worse than the rape itself. Many people said that "she must've wanted it" and "a slut can't get raped, she'll always enjoy it." Some of this came from the people that I thought were my friends. I internalized a lot of what happened to me due to sexual bullying throughout high school and began to view myself as others were viewing me, a "slut." It has taken a major toll on my mental health and has led me into an emotionally abusive and manipulative relationship from 17 until I was 19. I also was never able to report anything that happened that night because my parents never knew I was there and I didn't want them to find out; I also just always believed that it was my fault for being too 'promiscuous' and getting too intoxicated. Thankfully, I have found a good relationship with a man that truly respects me for who I am and who I was. I am doing so much better now and have come to terms that, yes I do regret some things that I did, but there is no way to change it, so I choose to just accept it and keep it in the past. My sexuality does not define me as a person, and I will never let it define me again. -- Anonymous in Maryland
After holding on to my virginity for so long I finally felt university is the perfect time to have a serious relationship (involving sex). I met this guy named Ahmed (fictitious name) to whom I entrusted my heart and my virginity. Was it worth it? NO. He turned into a monster with none of the Prince Charming fantasies he promised to be to me.
I dated this Muslim guy named Ashraf (fictitious name) and though he was everything I ever wanted, his family kept calling me "kaffir" and all sorts of racist comments were constantly thrown at me by his parents and his siblings. I was so tormented by his family because of my race and my religion, I finally said enough is enough and rejected his marriage proposal. He kept saying he wanted to leave his family and everything behind. He wanted us to relocate to another country and start a life together, he emphasized how much he doesn't want to shatter my dreams and wanted to pay my tuition fees so I can pursue my Law studies at the country we'll relocate to (any country of my choice). I loved Ashraf, but his definition of what's right was different from mine. To me, anal sex isn't normal culturally and religiously, but he kept insisting we should do that while claiming he was ready to risk it all for me but I couldn't do something so small for him. Well, I moved on to Ahmed who cheated countless times and when I confronted him, he kept "slut" shaming me. It really broke me big time. My head had these questions clicking constantly, "Why did he call me a slut while I'm only sleeping with him?", "Why is he cheating?", "Isn't being a virgin good enough?". My break up with him left me feeling like trash. I forgave him but I never forgave myself. I resorted to over drinking, intense alcoholism and a lot of times after that incident, I cried myself to sleep and tried to kill myself countless times. I kept calling my mom telling her to pray for me but I couldn't say what was eating me inside. I was a walking corpse for a long time after the break up. But I learnt to move on. I look at myself right now and I still can't believe I survived that. Imagine how breaking it was. I moved on to Bruno (fictitious name), and if I was a judge of a Monster Award Ceremony I would have given him the trophy. I endured his drama, his fists, him violently pulling my hair, him pushing me towards walls, his uncontrollable anger and jealousy, his cheating... I could go on and on with a list of more brutal things he did to me. One night he so violently pushed me to his bed that I banged my head and almost died. That very night I wanted to leave and he came to me crying and apologizing for mistakenly thinking I didn't answer his texts while I did, but the network was bad. He was a lawyer and yes he taught me a lot about being a better law student, and taught me personally whatever I didn't understand. His intelligence attracted me but no thanks, there's no room for intelligent monsters in my heart. I'm glad I'm in the hands of an amazing man who despite our misunderstandings, sees the good in me, respects the wounds I've endured and is trying his best every single day not to salt the wounds of my past. He's a brown skinned angel, always well-scented, kind, smart, supportive and most of all understanding. -- Maria Silvanus in Tanzania I have seen multiple confessions on my school's confessions page victim-blaming and slut-shaming women who have been sexually assaulted. These attacks are often 'justified' by the 'promiscuous clothing' the victims wore. Seeing these posts has made me incredibly disappointed in the people writing these confessions and the people liking them (some of which are my friends).
When I was 14 I met a guy in my class that I ended up liking. A shared friend of ours told me that he wanted to hang out with me more and gave me his number. We talked for a while and we were planning on smoking weed together (my first time) and I suggested going to a park. He was insistent on going to my house, and eventually, I said okay. I was just so desperate to like him. I accidentally fell asleep and woke up to sixteen missed calls from him, but he angrily agreed to still meet. When he got to my house, he claimed that he already smoked an entire joint and told me to smoke the one he handed me. I had never gotten high before and trusted him when I smoked the entire thing. I had stolen some of my parent's liquor and I had my very first sip of alcohol. It was disgusting and I told him that I didn't want to have anymore but he kept egging me on. I don't recall how much I had, but I don't remember him having any. I heard my dad wake up and told him to leave and he did. I was completely crossed and remember flashes of him asking if he should come back and me saying yes. The next thing I remember is he and I making out and it tasting like a fucking microwave burrito. After that, all I remember is A LOT of pain *down there* and then him leaving when he accidentally turned a light on. He told all of his friends and random people that I didn't know that we had had sex. My parents eventually found out and blamed me for it. I know I shouldn't have invited a boy over when they didn't know, but the slut-shaming didn't cease for several months. I started wearing more revealing clothes as a way to try to change who I was. When I came here, I've had my FAIR share of hookups and my friends, the guys especially, have repeatedly teased me about this. I always thought that my school was an accepting place, and while I love a lot of the people I've met here, those comments really hurt. Those same friends like posts similar to the ones I mentioned above. To this day, I physically can't have penetrative sex and I can't help but feel broken, especially when I tell the guys that and see the reaction on their faces. I'm not sure if it has to do with that night, but I just wanted to say it sucks. It sucks that assault still happens and it sucks that women have to deal with derogatory comments and it sucks that people are more focused on "what she was wearing." I'm just tired. While being in this support group has helped me process the incident, I’d be lying if I said I’ve completely processed it. Part of me still blames myself and believes I should have known better. Between what that boy told everyone in school, my parent’s values, and the posts that I saw, I can't help but feel disgusted. -- Anonymous in Berkeley, California - QuinnIn elementary school this guy and I were kind of close. We had a love-hate relationship where half the time we’d flirt and half the time we’d fight. We were very physical with each other, but not in an inappropriate way. Stuff really heated up and the end of grade 8. We were never an official couple, never kissed or anything, but we definitely had a thing going on. Then we graduated and went to different high schools and our only interaction was him liking my pics on Instagram. Until summer after grade 10. I had lost a lot of weight (over 50 lbs) and posted about it on my birthday. He messaged me saying I looked great and happy birthday. I had missed him, and was overjoyed. We had a few brief conversations throughout the rest of the summer. One night as I was scrolling through Instagram, I noticed that a girl who had bullied me in elementary school who was also friends with him had posted a picture and he commented flame emojis on it. I was quite ticked, and decided to post my own picture and see what he’d do now that we were talking again. I posted it and watched as the likes came in. He commented “damn”. Then he texted me calling me baby girl and asked me to send nudes. I thought he was drunk and asked about it in the morning. Well, he wasn’t drunk and he said let’s just keep it between us. I was naive and thought he must really like me. After all, I’d known him for eight years. He had been the guy who stuck up for me when I was fat and ugly, the guy who always reminded people how smart and talented he thought I was. Surely if he wanted to see me naked he must really like me a lot. That day after school I took some cute semi naked pics to send to him. That night he asked for pics and I sent them to him. He liked them a lot and asked if I could send him a video. I said ya ok, and he asked what I was up for. I said anything, and he asked to see my “kitty” as he called it. I sent a couple videos of me touching myself and said he better send me something and he sent me a dick pic. It was a good pic but I would have at least liked a video in return. I kept sending though, because I was turned on and it was fun knowing that I got him off. We sent again the next couple nights, and then he asked me if he could confess something. This was it, I thought, he was going to profess his love. Was I ever wrong. Apparently he had also been talking to this other girl who had recently gone through a breakup, and he now felt guilty and wanted to go back to being friends. I was bummed, but was like ok, whatever. But then the next night he texted me wanting to do it again. So we did. Then we agreed to end it for good and I left Instagram for a bit. I got a new account and he followed me and I followed him and we’d talk and stuff and I still had a shred of hope left that he’d realize he should date me, but then he started harassing me for nudes. I keep saying no, because I don’t want to get hurt anymore, and he keeps harassing me. It sucks because I feel like sex is all he values me for. I also know if our previous classmates found out, I’d be the one blamed, because he was popular. I feel like I should be ashamed of what I did, but I don’t see what’s shameful about enjoying my sexuality. -- Quinn
I tried talking about it to a close friend, but they just blamed me for all that is happening.3/7/2021
I have experienced slut shaming so much, just because I've had three boyfriends and my nudes got leaked. I tried talking about it to a close friend, but they just blamed me for all that is happening. I turned to self-harming, but stopped a couple months ago and I have tried to take my own life away. And I don't know what to do. Why is this happening to me? - Alanis Dear Alanis: I'm following up on my email to make sure you've reached out to a parent or teacher for help. 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 check out the resources available to you at the link below. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
People need to know just how early this kind of behavior can start, and how devastating it can be.3/4/2021
What happened to me is not much compared to what so many go through, but I still think it is important to share. On my second day of kindergarten, a boy in the other class grabbed me and pulled me under the climber, saying his friend wanted to see me. Then his friend grabbed me and kissed me. I ran away and didn’t tell anyone, because my mother had told me I shouldn’t kiss boys and I was embarrassed even though it wasn’t my fault. Somehow the word got around school that I had kissed him under the climber, and everyone made fun of me for it for years, even though it was him who kissed me. I felt totally ashamed about it for years. Now I’m 18 and I’ve realized that A) it truly was not my fault what happened. B) there’s nothing shameful about kissing a boy if you both consent. C) if anyone should be ashamed, it’s him, for not only kissing me without consent but then making out like it was my idea. People need to know just how early this kind of behaviour can start, and how devastating it can be. For the record, he’s still the only guy I’ve ever kissed, cuz I’ve always been too scared to after. -- Ellie in London, Ontario
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
When I was 14 years old, a boy I trusted and cared for took advantage of me. We had drinks, then he brought me to his room, before getting touchy with me. He raped me. But because of the fact I was wearing shorts for pyjamas and had drinks with him, people blame me. Because I was able to walk to my best friend's house the next morning, what he did to me wasn't "bad". Because he was "creepy" and "weird", I should've known better. Everyone finds themselves able to blame me before they can even find themselves condemning him. That night, I feel like I lost a part of myself. I isolated myself and some friends dropped me because I was too depressed after what happened. But him? Even after I reported him to school, he's still top of the class, he's still dating girls, he's even assaulted some from what I've heard. He's friends with my ex-friends who know what he did to me. To this day I'm too scared to even speak about what happened because people might not believe me. People have so many misconceptions about rape, about what it's like, that the fact I didn't become pregnant, or that I didn't scream or fight back makes people think I wanted it. No. I said no, I told him no several times and he still forcefully penetrated me. The fact that I dissociated doesn't devalue what he did to me. It sickens me that the only people I can "breathe" around, who believe me and condemn him, are rape victims themselves. If all the stigma about rape and victim-blaming and rape culture was erased from our society, maybe others like me wouldn't go through what I did all those years ago. So god bless this project, society needs this more than it'll ever know.
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
Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, but I learned to not care.10/28/2019
It all started in middle school. 6 years ago I'll never forget. I was an antisocial nerd that just enjoyed video games and wrestling. I wasn't even sexually active. I only had one boyfriend but that relationship wasn't even serious. I was 13. I was in 7th grade. My story is probably one of the worst, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. So let's start off, shall we? I was bullied in the beginning of my 7th grade year for something completely unrelated to sex. I was bullied in my class because I was different. My uniform was nicely pressed and not trendy like the girls around me. They teased me because of how wide my pant legs were. They said I looked cheap. I was so depressed, everyday I had to brace myself for some more foolishness. Then another girl joined their little group. She went right along with them and she didn't even know me! Why am I saying this you ask? Because those same people "slut" shamed me and got the whole class to do the same. There was a kid in my class named Bobby (not his real name). He was mischievous. He always got in trouble at school. He thought that he was cool. One day I was in class and I bent over to pick up a book. He was gyrating behind me and I had no knowledge of it. The whole class called me a slut because they thought that I wanted him to do it but I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT HE WAS DOING IT! So the girl that I talked about earlier in the story, Alexia, was the first to shout out "Hoe" and the rest of the class followed through. It was a ritual for them to tease me daily. I didn't seem bothered but I was. Then my reputation was so tarnished that in April of 2010, a boy forced me to perform oral sex on him. His name was Johnathan. I didn't want to do it so he grabbed my hair and forced me. I struggled. He was then unsuccessful and threatened to tell everyone that I did it just because I didn't want to. On that day my life changed forever. Everybody including my big brother called me a slut. I tried to kill myself twice. Why you may ask? Because I told the guidance counselor and the teachers and they took no action! That was sexual harassment and it happened on school grounds. I was still a virgin. I wasn't promiscuous. I had no one to turn to. I looked in the mirror and said to myself that I can make it through it all. I went to school everyday. Slut was basically stamped on my forehead. So I wrote 4 books. These books were over exaggerated stories of how slutty I was. I made up fake sexual experiences since people wanted to believe it. I said that I fucked this guy and he didn't even exist (joke's on whoever believed it). I was entertaining the rumors basically because they wouldn't believe me if I denied it. In 8th grade those rumors stopped. Almost everyone that bullied me no longer went to that school. It was like a new life. I dated my long time friend (we lasted 3 1/2 years). Life got better. Until high school... In my senior year I broke up with my boyfriend that I dated since 8th grade. It was my choice actually. So since I was single I wanted to mess around so I slept with a long time friend that went to my school. He lied to me and told me that I could've trusted him and he wouldn't expose my business to everyone so I had sex with him. He told all of my ex's friends including my ex. My got into a new relationship and his girlfriend was spreading these rumors too, but she kind of added more to it. She said that I slept with all of his friends but it was only that one guy. I got into a fight with her over the rumors and ever since then, they ceased but I learned to never be ashamed of being sexual. Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, including my ex, but I learned to not care. I am me. I am not really promiscuous but I love sex. We as women shouldn't feel shame for wanting sex. I was even shamed before having sex! When I actually had sex I was in my mid teens (16, 17, 18) and it wasn't with a lot of people and even if it was, I still wouldn't feel shame. I don't feel guilty that I slept with him because it felt great. I just wish that I could've trusted him. Please don't kill yourself. Please don't feel ashamed! Sex is a part of nature and both sexes are welcome to engage in that activity! Unfortunately for me and where I live I couldn't freely fuck guys without being shamed. It's my vagina, I don't need permission from society to use it. I don't need permission from society about how many people I can use it with. As for my ex, I am not sure if he actually "slut" shamed me but he was disrespectful for even telling his new girlfriend about a lie and allowing her to shame me. He changed as a person. He was such a gentleman when we were dating. Now he's just a horrible person. Never allow your ex or anyone to shame you! - Lynn Joseph
Boys are expected to be "sexperts" from the start. Even if the boy and girl are both virgins, the boy is expected to magically know what he is doing. Many times I saw girls say a boy was bad in bed or had a small dick. This seemed as if it was meant to invalidate the sex as if it never happened. I'm specifically thinking of one girl in particular who did that multiple times in different social group, who, after seeing you speak on TV and having a think about it, I now think may have just been her avoiding being labeled a slut - i.e. How can I be a slut if I've never enjoyed any of it? Which seemed to work, looking back on it now. I know that one of the definitive reasons the boys "slut" shame is because they want all the girls to be virgins for the obvious reason. If a girl is a virgin, she has no experience to compare the boys' performance with, and thus is less likely to be critical (it's a giant emotional deal for boys). Even I felt more draw to girls with little sexual experience for that reason, while at the same time finding it counter productive that other boys would alienate the promiscuous girls, cause, they were the ones most likely to put out, which tends to be the aim of the game as a young teenage male (and teenage females from what I've been told since). As you were saying about girls "slut" shaming each other to draw attention away from themselves, I think the boys do the same to each other about performance and especially amount of experience. The boys call the girls sluts and the girls call the boys virgins. I just can't see how how sexually bullying against girls can be solved without equally tackling sexual bullying against boys as the two sides seem to feed into each other. If we could get rid of the stereotypes that girls are supposed to be chaste virgins and boys are supposed to be highly experienced sex gods, I think the bullying would just lose its reason and simply stop. I mean, if she is not ashamed to have sex, she has no reason to say "he's got a small dick", thus he has no reason to say "she is just loose", so her friends don't need to say... and so on all around the school. - Chris
You are not the slurs they throw at you. You are not their ignorance, nor their lack of tact.10/28/2019
My marriage ended for many reasons - judgment, condescension, lack of support, and emotional infidelity - but the reason why I finally loaded all of my possessions into boxes and stacked those boxes into my car was because I wanted to stand on my own as a 27 year old woman, to know what it was like to rely on myself instead of any man, and to explore the world on my own terms, instead of anyone else's. What kept running through my head as I drank and cried and said good-bye to my boy-cat (who'd be staying with my ex) was the line from the Sex and the City movie where Samantha says to Smith: "I'm gonna say the one thing you aren't supposed to say. I love you, but I love me more. I've been in a relationship with myself for 49 years and that's the one I need to work on." I may not be 49, but after dating guys back-to-back-to-back for 11 years, the relationship I need to work on is the one I have with myself. So in spite of how dearly I loved (and love) my husband, I let him make me a final Jack and ginger and give me a final kiss before driving east to my mother's place without music, without tears, without any semblance of even being alive. However, that didn't stop me from making a layover that night at a friend's house for seven rounds of sex. Call me a slut if you want to. It's been implied. Tell me that my decisions are fucked up. That's been said. Silently judge me for what I've done. You wouldn't be the first. That's the thing about divorce: once you decide to have one, everyone in your life decides that this deeply personal and heart-wrenching decision is their property, indeed, public property. If you're not constantly a mess, sobbing over love songs and choking down rom-coms with your Ben and Jerry's, you're not "doing it right." If you want to be single, but not celibate, you're the "cold hard bitch" that Jet sang about in the early aughts. There's something about divorce that's supposed to be completely destructive without being restorative. The recitation of vows and the putting on of a symbolically virginal dress are meant to become thorns in your side, rending your flesh every time you try to function as a normal human being. You aren't supposed to do much more than inhale your ex-spouse's clothing until their scent has evaporated. You aren't supposed to get out of your sweatpants. You aren't supposed to sleep. You aren't supposed to find comfort in the arms of someone else. And yet, in the beds of others, I have discovered that my body is beautiful, desirable. I used to listen to the protests of my ex when he told me that a spoonful of peanut butter was chock full of fat, that I should eat fewer carbohydrates, that I should do more yoga because he preferred my body when it was more toned. In the beds of others, I have been stroked, admired, smiled at, ravished. I have re-learned my worth, silly as it may seem, as a woman. Between the sheets of my lovers, there have been comforting cheek strokes from a friend with benefits and forehead kisses from a recent paramour, each a reminder that there will be love for me one day, that this is not the end. There have been drinks and dalliances and flirtations and fucks that reawaken my body to part of its purpose: to enjoy and be enjoyed. And in between, there is sweetness, caring, and compassion. On more than one occasion, there has even been breakfast. Having a sex life after divorce doesn't have to mean taking endless shots, approaching a black out, and falling into the arms of whoever happens to open them - along with your legs. You can choose partners you trust, decide the terms of your encounter ahead of time, and find yourself comfortably awakening in someone else's bed, completely naked, completely blissful, and completely at ease. There will be pain and tears and empty nights that somehow fill with the darknesses of doubt, loneliness, and scratching, aching slashes at your self-worth. But there will also be evenings where you can search out the part of yourself that is capable of happiness, enjoyment, and worthiness - with friends, perhaps, or at work, but sometimes that fulfillment will come in the arms of another, and it is nothing to be ashamed of. No matter if they call you selfish, or heartless, or stupid, or fucked up, your sexuality is your own to use for whatever purpose you choose. You are not the slurs they throw at you. You are not their ignorance, nor their lack of tact. You are a divorcee, the master of your destiny, and you answer to no one - save yourself. - Liz Lazzara
My story starts after many years of irregular periods and doctors saying I will need help getting pregnant. After about 6 months of dating my boyfriend I found out I was pregnant. We shared the news with only the closest of friends and family. Obviously someone found out from outside the circle that must have been jealous, because this is where the shaming really begins. Now I am a 34 going on 35 year old woman and this happened about 2 1/2 yrs ago. My boyfriend and I are still together and living with each other. Whoever started this got pictures off of my Facebook, even one that was with a friend of mine who is a teacher (female), and posted them to a disgusting and terrible website. The website is named thedirty.com, one I had never even heard of cause there is no reason for me to. Posted a nasty story about me and my pregnancy with a "random" guy and several pictures of me and my friend on a holiday. Now there's no pictures of me out there that are even close to being distasteful, so this anonymous person, who is a coward, looks like an idiot because the pictures were actually nice and tasteful. Yet the website still let this person post this story and pictures and there was nothing and I mean nothing I could do about it. Because my photos are not copyrighted anyone can put them anywhere, I guess. After even contacting the website, they said there's nothing they can do about taking down the pictures or even the story and for me to "not be dirty." I wish that there was anything I could do to take this website and its proprietor down because this man is making millions on another person's shaming and doesn't care about the lives of the people his website is hurting. After being contacted by several people saying they saw this about me, my anxiety was through the roof and whether or not it caused it, I unfortunately suffered a miscarriage. I know that everything that was written in the story was not even close to the truth and the people that know me know that. I didn't even try to give this person the luxury of responding and defending myself because that would only make matters worse. So I guess after a couple years of not looking at the website and what was being said about me, I know it didn't go away but it's still in my past and on the Internet and that's the scariest of things. I'm afraid of trying for a new job because if my future employer googles my name, this website pops up and that's shameful each and every time I think about it. This will possibly keep me from future endeavors and I would love help finding the person who started this about me and get justice for myself and all the others who have been shamed on this website. I would love to be able to take down the owner of the site, get answers and keep him from ever making another penny from it!
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.
This all happened when I was 17 and was a senior in high school. It was about a month into my senior year when all of the "popular" seniors got together and threw a Senior Party. Me and my 3 best friends all attended this party together. There was, of course, A LOT of alcohol. Everyone there had been drinking. Me and one of the girls decided to go off on our own and hang out. We drank a little (not too much, we were by no means drunk). Some at the guys at the party were hitting on us and we even flirted back a little here and there. The boys kept asking us to do things to them and were being really pushy. Eventually me and her went to my car to go call my mom and ask her to pick us up since we had been drinking and didn't need to drive. There were 5 other guys that went out to their car, which was right behind mine. We didn't even associate with them at all. When we looked for my phone in the car we realized that it wasn't in there. About an hour after trying to find my phone my mom and dad showed up and they were really angry at me. They took me home and called the other girls' parents to come and get them too. Apparently one of the people at the party called my mom and told her that we were super drunk and that we were sleeping with all kinds of guys. (Which by no means was true. We hadn't even kissed anyone!) I explained to my mom that none of this was true and that all of those kids were just bullies because they were so "popular". She believed me and supported me 100%. The next day at school as soon as I walked in I saw all of the stares and whispering. I even saw a couple of guys making really inappropriate gestures toward me. When I saw my friend that I was at the party with, I ran up to her and she was crying. She explained to me what all of the people were saying about us. Calling us sluts, hoes, whores, and everything else in the book. They said that we had a train run on us by 5 different guys at one time... I was horrified. We ran straight into the bathroom and cried together. When we got out of the bathroom we saw our other 2 best friends that we attended the party with and they looked at us like we were completely crazy and made a big scene about how they didn't want to be seen associating with the biggest sluts in school. I was so upset that I called my mom and told her what was going on, she was so angry she came up to the school. All of those boys that were telling people that we did things to them denied it to the principal. I never wanted to go to school again. I started skipping class just to avoid all of them. Things eventually got a little better for the two of us.. Our friends apologized and even started sticking up for us, along with a few other people. I met a guy that treated me like a queen. He helped me get through all of that and always stood up for me even though he didn't know me very well at the time. He knew about all of the rumors but he still gave me a chance and never listened to anything disgusting anyone ever said about me. 4 years later, he and I are married and have a beautiful son! - Brooke
What really horrifies me, as an an adult and as a parent myself now, is the adults in my story.10/28/2019
Middle school is hell. It’s strange to look back from an adult perspective. I’ve tried to explain those years and what they meant to me – what they did to me – to my husband, but I don’t think he really gets it. To be fair, any one thing I describe doesn’t sound that bad. But I remember the whole picture – a little too clearly. And what really horrifies me, as an adult and as a parent myself now, is the adults in my story. The kids in my story were just that, kids. They didn’t have fully developed personalities, and they didn’t act in a vacuum. Somewhere, some adults – mostly unseen by me – informed their behavior. And adults that I did see enabled it. I think I’ve always been a bit of a loner. My mom was always telling me to get my nose out of a book and socialize more. But I don’t remember feeling bullied or picked on until about 4th grade. That was a bad year all around. I was the new kid in a new school. That was the year I got glasses. That was the year I got chicken pox. That was the year that I started to develop. It was a bad combo, and I know that I was teased a lot. What I mainly remember was being called “chicken lady” for the remainder of the year after the chicken pox episode. 5th grade was another new school. That was, I think, the first year that I was aware of anything relating to sex. I had to wear a bra every day by then. I had hair on my legs, but I was too young to shave, so I was teased about that. Some of the girls in my class – the girls that were still skinny and flat-chested and smooth and cute – started “dating” some of the boys, but I never did. I just wanted to be left alone. I think we all learned more about sex than was probably appropriate that year. Our teacher talked about it a lot. I remember him sharing a story about a girl masturbating with a Coke bottle in the bathroom. When I was in high school, I happened to be watching the news, and I saw the familiar face of my 5th grade teacher – in a story about his trial for molesting students. I was not molested, nor did I have any knowledge of this happening to anyone else in my class, but I have to say that I wasn’t as surprised to see that story as I should have been. I remember thinking that it explained why he wanted to spend so much time talking to 10 year olds about sex. At any rate, by the time 6th grade started, I was not only a loner, I was used to being picked on. I still wasn’t prepared for what the next three years or so would be like, though.
I stuck out like a sore thumb, or at least I felt like I did. I hit puberty so much earlier than the other girls. I had a good D-cup by 6th grade, and I towered over almost everyone else too (I should have enjoyed that more – I think it was my last good growth spurt. Today I’m a fairly short adult. But at the time, I was tall for my age.) Tall and boobular might have been OK, but I was also pudgy. Not fat – I certainly felt fat, and was sometimes called fat, but pictures from the time don’t lie. I was not fat. I just wasn’t a size 0. I had acne. My hair was uncontrollably greasy. My (single) mother was supporting us with a number of waitressing jobs while in school completing her nursing degree, so we were pretty poor. That meant I had ugly glasses frames from the Lions Club bin and thrift store clothes that never fit quite right, especially because I was just so top heavy. I also carried a violin and a stack of novels everywhere I went. I was not “popular crowd” material. I wasn’t even friend material… I really don’t remember having any that year. To the best of my recollection, it all started with the bus. I was the only 6th grader at my bus stop, and the 8th grade boys took the opportunity to torment me. They would blow a whistle and ask, “did you hear that?” If I responded in the affirmative, they would crack up, shouting “it’s a DOG whistle.” (Of course, if I responded in the negative, they’d say, “yes you did” before moving on to the punch line. And if I stared straight ahead and ignored them, they’d just hurl taunts in my direction.) Whoever said ignoring bullies was the best way to deal with them clearly never met this group of 8th graders. They made up a song about my boobs (sung to the tune of Henry the Eighth) and belted it at top volume to and from the school. They made up nicknames for me – “silicone girl” – and they followed me through the next three years (creative, weren’t they?). Plenty of girls laughed right along with them. I would hunch in my seat, as close to the window as I could get, and some 8th grade boy would plop down next to me, sling his arm over my shoulders, and reach down and grab my breast. Over and over again. They grabbed me once after I got off the bus, one of them holding my arms while the others grabbed my breasts. I told the bus driver the next day, and she told me to run home next time instead of walking. I did, and they chased me. I outran them, but the memory of that chase is still crystal clear to me. That bus driver – she heard those songs, she heard their “jokes”, she saw them touch me. And she never said a word, other than telling me to run when I complained to her. Not one word. This was around the time I started getting “sick.” I would feel nauseous or headachy in the morning, and the malady would magically pass after I’d missed the school bus. It also started taking me a really long time to get dressed after gym – my last class of the day. Somehow I missed the afternoon bus a lot, too. My mom was mad, but my grandparents – bless them – drove from their home two towns away to pick me up or drop me off whenever I needed them. Eventually, I stopped even trying to take the bus. One of my grandparents just came and picked me up at home in the morning and at school in the afternoon. I never talked about what happened on the bus, but I suspect they knew that something was wrong. Unlike my very busy mother, they had the time and energy to be observant. I’ve never stopped being grateful for the reprieve they gave me. By about midway through 6th grade, I’d given up the bus for good. Unfortunately, the harassment followed me into the school. By 7th grade, the boys in my grade would “accidentally” bump into me in the halls, in order to grope my chest. That was actually the least of my worries at the time, though, because some of the girls had gotten in on the action too. It was a girl that first called me “slut”. A small group of girls, actually – it felt like the whole school, at the time, but it was really a handful of students that were doing anything, and another, slightly larger handful that watched them. Everyone else either didn’t notice or ignored what was going on. And it was a decently sized school, so there were plenty of people outside my immediate classmates that had no clue who any of us were. But It really felt like the whole world, at the time. Especially once the girls got into it. They repeated the nicknames the boys gave me – “bra stuffer” and “silicone girl” and added “slut” and “whore” for good measure. They told each other – loud enough for me to hear, naturally – made-up stories about how I tried to have sex with their boyfriends, or the male teachers, or the janitor. Sometimes the story would be that I had sex with whoever, sometimes the male in the story would turn me down for being “too nasty”. (Not only was I a virgin at this point, I had never even held hands with a boy. I didn’t date, kiss, or so much as have a male friend until I was 15.) They said I stuffed my bra for attention, or I got implants over the summer for attention. And my breasts just kept getting bigger, which was no help. I hated them. I fantasized about cutting them off. Remember the health classes, where they split up the boys and girls, and talk to the girls about periods and hand out tampons and pads? I got a bunch of pads and tampons hurled at me in the locker room, Carrie-style (though mercifully, without the chanting) after gym the day of that little event. A few days after that, one of the girls who seemed to hate me the most threw rocks at me in the hallway. At that point, I went to the guidance counselor and spilled everything. She called in the girl in question, who denied it and accused me of lying. I cried, she stared at me stony-faced, and the counselor dismissed her. Then she lectured me about how I needed to grow a “thicker skin”. She told me that everyone wasn’t going to like me, and that I needed to get over it. She said she couldn’t do anything for me, and that I should “stop being so emotional and grow up.” Then she sent me back to class. I never went to her again. I think I only went to one other teacher after that. So many of them had seen and heard things – they had to have! – and said nothing. The orchestra teacher was standing right behind the boy in that class who joked that I was “so big, she makes the mountains jealous” but she said nothing. The science teacher sat at her desk when I got up to give an oral report on George Washington Carver and couldn’t get more than halfway through it because of the boys throwing paper, hissing “slut” and laughing. She said nothing. (I didn’t give another oral report after that until 10th grade. I took Fs rather than stand in front of the class.) The reading teacher saw “[my name] is a SLUT!!!” scrawled on a desk in her classroom – she called me out of another class to ask me if I wrote it, and kept me there, asking me over and over again, until I started crying in front of the class she had in there at the time. Why would I have written that? But after the meeting with the guidance counselor, I went to my history teacher and ask if I could move my seat away from the girl who had thrown the rocks. He was strict – no one messed around in his class, so I don’t know if he heard or saw anything. He was the type of teacher who kept his ears and eyes open, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew what was happening. He asked me why I wanted to move my seat, but I couldn’t imagine explaining everything to a man, especially after the meeting with the guidance counselor. I think I just said, “because she hates me”. I remember he looked at me for the longest time before finally giving permission for me to move. That was the most help I got from any teacher in that school during those three years. That was the year I started cutting. I had had a ganglion cyst removed from my wrist in the 6th grade, but the surgery apparently didn’t get it all, and it would pop back up from time to time. So I had a wrist brace for my left wrist. When I wanted to cut, I did it on my left wrist and covered it with the brace, making the excuse that the cyst was bothering me. I did that throughout the 8th grade too. I remember contemplating suicide. I couldn’t see any other way out of the harassment. I felt like it would never end. And then – it did. Middle school ended. The high school was bigger, more crowded, and full of older girls who looked more grown up than I did. Most of the girls in my grade had finally hit puberty by 9th grade – after that, I think the flat-chested girls got picked on more. I made a few friends in 9th, and while I was still mostly a loner, and I there were still a few girls who said mean things whenever they could (including one who walked up to me and slapped me in the face in the middle of a class – another time when a teacher was in the room, and had to have seen it, but did absolutely nothing) but for the most part, I was just left alone. Which was fine by me. And then in 10th grade, things changed basically overnight. I didn’t change, not really – I was a tiny bit taller, I had less baby fat, and I got contacts (that was a big thing) – but I don’t really think it was that. My few friends broadened into a group of tight friends, including some boys. Guys started asking me out (seriously, not just to laugh in my face) and the harassment ceased entirely. It was just over. If 6th-8th grades were the worst years of my life, 10th-12th were absolutely the best. I was never one of the “popular” kids, but suddenly I had at least a little respect for being smart, people thought I was pretty, and no one called me a slut. Slut-shaming did happen, I’m sad to say, but not to me. And the girls I knew – some of whom were friends of mine – who dealt with "slut" shaming in our later teenage years were some of the first women that I ever heard say things like, “If boys can enjoy sex, why can’t we? Why are we sluts while they get to be players? We’re allowed to enjoy sex too.” They fought back against the shaming and the double standards. They were brave, and they embodied sex-positivity before I ever actually heard that phrase. With that attitude floating around, I think we all felt a bit more empowered. Two more things. One: you may be wondering why I never told my mom what I was dealing with. With time, and distance, and an adult perspective, I truly wish that I had. In instances not related to bullying, when someone was unfair to me, my mother always defended me. Had she known the kind of hell I was going through, I have no doubts – now – that she would have raised hell. She’d have pulled me out, if that was what it took, but she probably would have taken some teachers and parents with her. But at the time, I had two thoughts on the matter. One was that my mom was already busy and stressed with work and school and single parenting, and I didn’t want to put any more stress on her. And two was that my mother – my petite, thin, beautiful, outgoing mother – was the social butterfly that I never would or could be. She was the life of every party, everyone loved her, and I felt she didn’t understand my introversion and bookworminess as it was. I thought that she’d be ashamed of me. I couldn’t imagine telling her that her daughter was not just a shy little mouse, she was actually a reviled freak at school. I had the awful feeling that she might agree that I deserved what I was getting. I want to reiterate that my mother is not a terrible person or a bad mother, and I know NOW that she’d have helped me. But I wasn’t thinking like an adult then. I was thinking like the traumatized child that I was. And it didn’t help that every adult that I DID try to talk to brushed me off or threw me to the wolves. I would advise girls who have a safe, non-abusive parent to tell that parent about bullying, even if you're afraid they won't understand. They may surprise you. Two: I want girls out there to know that it does get better. I’ve wanted so much to reach back in time and tell some of the girls whose suicides have made headlines that if they could just have held out a little longer, things will get better. That's an important message. But – without taking away from that hopeful message – I want bullies out there to know that just because things can get better, doesn’t mean that you’re not causing permanent harm. I am 35 years old and a married mother of 3. I look nothing like what I did in middle school, but when I close my eyes and try to picture myself, what I see is the 7th grade me with the greasy hair and bad glasses. I need to look in the mirror to reassure myself that I’m not her anymore. In my 20s, I had a panic attack while working at a summer camp when I was put in charge of a group of 11 year old boys. I had to remind myself daily that I was an adult now, and that they couldn’t hurt me. I don’t remember ever not hating my breasts – I still do, even now. I probably always will. And that word “slut” stayed in my head for years, and it affected decisions I made about my sexual behavior, even when I knew better. It affected relationships, it affected my ability to enjoy sex, it affected my self-esteem. For years. Even though I knew that it shouldn’t. People don’t just “get over” protracted periods of bullying. It stays with you. It changes your life. And bullies become this ugly scar on your life. You should think about whether or not you want to be remembered as someone’s ugly scar in 20 years before you decide to tease and taunt and spread rumors call names. 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. I hope that this helps someone out there, because I always feel so alone in this personal struggle.10/24/2019
When I was 17 I sent nude pictures and a video of myself touching myself to a boy I was mad about. At first I had no idea that he had kept these videos, we were on good terms and still talking. It wasn't until I started saying no to his requests that he started blackmailing me. And that's when he showed the pictures/videos to all the boys and girls in my school year and below. I literally hated my life. I could feel the whispers in the halls, read the tweets and even some people said it to my face, 'What did you expect? You were a slut.' Oh I'm sorry, but what was sent, was sent in trust. And lets not forget his constant begging and all the videos and pictures I received. People don't realise how much the word 'slut' hurts. Girls harm/kill themselves over things like this! I only really realized the other day why I sent these things in the first place: he was giving me attention. And me, lacking in confidence, jumped at the chance to please him. It's over a year later, and I still think about this boy everyday, probably because its still brought up on social media and at social occasions. He has since apologized but that still doesn't help the cloud of worry that hangs over my head. I'm hoping that someday this will be a distant memory and lesson. I also hope that this helps someone out there, because I always feel so alone in this personal struggle. I try to be positive about this situation. If it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't have realized how strong I am.
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