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
Wow, is this embarrassing. I would like to stay anonymous. My story starts roughly two or three years ago. I was in a relationship at the time, I was 16. I had befriended a young man in my class, we'll call him J, and we clicked instantly. He was the one I went to for everything, he was my rock. Things got a little shaky between my boyfriend and I, so I turned to my friend J for help. Along with friendly advice, J began giving me countless compliments, building my self confidence. The compliments turned into innocent flirting, and that turned into me developing a huge crush on J. I knew my feelings for J did not outweigh those for my boyfriend, but he was giving me attention that I wasn't receiving in my relationship, and I liked it. J made me feel absolutely beautiful. Weeks passed and J had convinced me to send nude pictures of myself to him. I did, and I loved the attention he gave me for it. We flirted and talked back and forth for a while until I became incredibly sick with myself. I wanted to build the courage to tell my boyfriend about my unloyal actions. I cut things off with J, which led him to telling my boyfriend everything before I had the chance to. I was devastated. My boyfriend left, as expected. After my relationship had ended, almost everyone knew about my situation. My pictures were sent around school, and they spread like wildfire to adjoining cities. I lost all my friends, my boyfriend, and my ability to trust. Months later, I was at track practice after school when a teammate approached me with her phone. My pictures had been posted to Twitter. I couldn't believe it at first, but it was there, online, for everyone to see. I couldn't deny it, my face was in the pictures. Everyone at school mocked me. Anti-bullying rallies were scheduled, and I could not sit through them without having every students' eyes pinned on me. I went home and tried to kill myself. I attempted to overdose on any type of pill we had in the medicine cabinet. I ended up throwing everything up. I hated myself. I was so stupid, I couldn't even succeed at taking my own life. I am still mocked. People still whisper when I walk by. My name is slathered on bathroom walls, and every now and then, my nude pictures pop up on social media. When will it end?
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.
It was sixth grade. It was supposed to be the best year of elementary school, the last one, therefore the most fun. Not for me. I'm of Indian origin, and have a light brown complexion. And I don't know what I ever did, but this group of boys were terrible to me. Now that I look back I realize I only had three friends and I wasn't even that close with them, just their tag along buddy. So I never told them about my bullying. The leader of the few boys that bullied me, Jared, was considered very "popular" and whatever he said his friends agreed. I had never done anything to him, never bothered him, but for some reason he was under the impression that I had a crush on him. This wasn't the case at all, and every time I told him that it wasn't true he would say, "Yeah right, you know you want this." I was quite the ugly child, and nerdy too. With bright blue glasses that he made fun of, I resented him. They called me names like "Piece of ****" (the stars being my name, not the word shit, because of my skin and origin) and they would make jokes about me behind my back and in front of me, too. I remember one day I was wearing a tight T-shirt and we were working on school projects. I was already self-conscious, and as I asked for someone to pass the glue, they all ignored me. So I reached for it and it began. He said, "Put that away! No one wants to see your junk! Maybe you should wear a longer shirt or something," etc. etc. and he said it quite loudly so that the whole group heard and just stared at me sympathetically. I pathetically pleaded with them with my eyes for help but they didn't seem to get the message. One of them was his friend; he never made fun of me, but he didn't stand up for me either.
I remember another time, I had gotten close to another girl, let's call her Lacy. She was really nice and had started her period in class. She was on the verge of tears as she whispered to me to ask if I had any pads. I felt terrible because I didn't. She had to get up to ask another girl and I noticed she bled through. I told her to sit down but it was too late. One of Jared's friends, Andrew, saw and we knew him as the school gossip. By the end of the day everyone knew and she was in tears. They had been making fun of her and laughing at her throughout recess. I found her crying in the bathroom once school was over and we just sat and talked. Thankfully it all blew over for her, but she did move, and I miss her a lot. I'm now a freshman in high school. I made new friends. Jared never apologized but he left me alone toward the end of seventh grade. I know this isn't as bad as most people's stories, but I've never told anyone this before, and I'm glad to be a part of this project. 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.
When I was 11, I sent my first naked picture. I can't exactly remember why I didn't it, but it wasn't that bad. I sent it to someone that I had trusted, and he kept that trust - as far as I know. The bullying didn't start until 2014, when I was 12. I sent a picture of my "ass" to someone. I sent it because he'd shown me a picture of another girl, and I wanted to impress him. He respected me, but deep down I knew it would get into the wrong hands. I should've known not to trust somebody who sent me someone else's pictures. He sent it to someone who disliked me, and they posted it on my social media, which luckily wasn't linked to any of my family or school friends as it was just for "online friends." You'd think after that I would learn, right? I didn't. I met this guy online, we'll call him B, it was August 2014 and he was 18. I told him I was 16 because I didn't want him to judge me by my age, and I really liked him. We started to date and we really hit it off. After a month into the relationship we had a sexual conversation. I didn't mind. I told him I was turned on and masturbating, and he said "proof." I sent two pictures. Now I had sent three inappropriate pictures to strangers on the internet. B and I broke up; it was a bad break up. We had an argument and I couldn't take it anymore, so, and I quote, I told him to "go fuck a goat." This made him mad. He told me I didn't want to mess with him, but I did. He spread my pictures. Again, luckily, not getting to my family nor my school friends. I find myself repeating myself, but by now you'd think, "Ah she's learnt her lesson, she'll be fine." Oh no. God no. It hasn't even started yet. Since the pictures got spread, I started to lose respect for myself and my body everyday. Every time someone would say something insulting about the pictures, my self esteem would drop lower until I felt unwanted and unloved. People called me "easy" and "slut" and I started to believe it. By 2015, I'd sent more naked pictures than I can count. And I am not proud.
My 13th birthday was January 5th 2015, and my granddad had died 4 days before. I was going through a very hard time. I met another guy online, this time he was 20. We'll call him L. L helped me get through this time, but it was not long before he started asking for more than an innocent relationship. He started asking for pictures, he'd also ask for "Skype sex," which is when he masturbates on webcam, and so do I. I did it. Little did I know, L recorded it. He also saved every picture and video I sent him. He used it against me. I gave him my password to my Facebook account, and it was the same password for all of my other accounts. I was so stupid. He found a chat I'd had with a guy while we were dating and he overreacted. I can remember having to shower that night but I couldn't because L was threatening me. He wouldn't let me go and by then I was in tears. He told me to call him so I did. L told me he had my parents' contact details and that he would tell them all about their "precious little daughter." I knew these were empty threats but they still upset me. I couldn't stop crying and I begged L to stop. "I'll do anything, please." I remembering crying into my phone. He finally calmed down and I remember him saying something about loving him and I agreed. I was now in a long distance relationship I couldn't get out of. He had my passwords, he had my family (which I later found out to be not true, but I still was scared in case he really did), and he had naked pictures and videos of me. I broke up with him finally in the middle of February, and I met M. M helped me get away from L, but L warned me about M, telling me M was worse than him. I didn't listen. But I should've listened. M and I had a long distance relationship on and off for 3 months. He cheated on me and I broke up with him. He begged for me back and I forgave him, stupidly. A few weeks later I broke up with him again because we argued too much. He attempted being nice to me to get me back, and I think he realised this didn't work. He became really nasty. He had a picture of my boobs that he could use against me. He also had my sister's Twitter username. He told me I had to cut "M" into my wrist and take a picture of it and send it to him, otherwise he would send the nude to my sister. I did the self harm. M wanted more. He attempted to force me into having a relationship and I wasn't going to do that again. I decided I would rather die. So that's what I did. The next morning, after M had messaged my sister, I read the messages. She didn't believe the picture was me. I felt relieved. Yet I still couldn't face her and I still wanted to die. I overdosed on painkillers that day, 14th April 2015, the day I could've died. My sister found me when she came home from her study group. My mum was also home and I don't know what happened because I was unconscious and it's all a blur really. I had to spend 3 days in hospital, I had to be assessed without them asking for my consent, and I had to see a psychiatric doctor (who is lovely and I still see today), to discuss my treatment and also why I did it. I now am on the waiting list for therapy, I have a family that understands, I have really supportive friends that know a bit of what happened, and I can honestly say I'm becoming happier. I need to work on some things but I'm getting better. And I can also honestly say, no more nudes to random strangers online!!! Your diary entries really helped me, knowing that your younger brain worked the same way as mine once did, and still does at times. Thank you. - Holly The first time I was raped, it was when I lost my virginity. I was coerced into doing it with a guy who I thought was my best friend. He was no friend. He was manipulative and cruel. I was told that your first time always hurts, you always bleed. It did hurt, and I did bleed - for two days in fact. I know now that that is a lie. Your first time doesn't have to hurt. If it does, you are probably not ready and willing. You are scared. And I was scared. I didn't want to do it. Looking back, I so wish I had said no. The second time I was assaulted, a guy at a party pushed me to the ground and forced oral sex on me. My crime? I was wearing a bikini and "let" him forcibly touch me in a hot tub. The third time, I was in college. I needed stitches after this encounter. And that is all I will say. The fourth time, I was drugged and remember none of it. I feel blessed that this time, this time I was at least spared the shame of remembering. Each time it happened, I shut off. I checked out. I day dreamed while it happened and cried in the shower after it was over. I have always repressed these memories. I did anything I could to convince myself this was all my fault. And I punished myself for it. I starved myself. I cut myself. I burned myself. I suffered crippling anxiety, to the point where I would rip out my hair and nails. It was only when I started reading this blog, and taking classes on feminist theory, that I realized it was not me. I was not the problem. We live in a culture where men see us as objects, where they feel entitled to our bodies. I was not assaulted multiple times because I was a slut or a freak or anything else. I have been assaulted multiple times because our culture said that was okay. And it's time for that to end.
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 am going to share my story of bullying with you. I hate to say it, but in this story, I am the bully. This story starts back in daycare. In daycare I became friends with a kid named L. We were both the same age and we played a lot together. We had a great time with each other until we drifted apart and I started hanging out with other kids. When I got into grade school, I went to an after school program run by the daycare I went to as a toddler. I didn't see A that much anymore, but I met M. M was another girl like me. At the start, M and I hated each other... and I mean HATED. There were seriously times when we talked about killing each other. It was bad. As time went on, M and I started to like each other more and more. M and I found out that we were really alike and we became fast friends. Around this time I started to develop a crush on my friend from daycare, L. I think it was in Grade 4 when I really started to have a crush on L. I would think about him a lot, and I finally got the courage to ask him out (with M by my side). L said yes, and I was so happy. My relationship with L lasted a whopping 1 day. He was my first boyfriend, so I got over him pretty easily. I ended up dating one more guy before I started having feelings about L again. Now, flash forward 2 years to grade 6. I was still best friends with M, and I was starting to become really good friends with L too. I had told basically all of my secrets to M, so she knew that I was obsessed with L. Then one day, L asked M out. I was pretty upset when I found out that M said yes. M didn't even like L yet she was going out with him. With time, I became accepting of M and L's relationship. I told myself excuses like "they'll break up soon" and whatnot, but they didn't. The pair was inseparable. This relationship was lasting a lot longer than I thought it would, they were dating since the start of Grade 6 and it was now the middle of Grade 7. I decided I would do something that I told myself I would never do. I tried to split them up. I started to try to split them up by telling M how she could do so much better or by telling her that L would look at me or grab for my hand walking home. It didn't work. M would just brush off all of the comments saying that he was joking around. When this didn't work, I started to go further. I started to say that L had tried to kiss me on a snow day or that he would flirt with me walking home. Now M started to notice. The thing is, M was pretty much the perfect girlfriend and would talk it out with L. Nothing seemed to work. Then I got an idea, an awful idea - I would start to target M. I was ruthless with my rumour spreading. I would tell L that M called him stupid, even that she never liked him (which was partially true - M had developed feelings for him by now). At this point, I should have just stopped and apologized. I should have turned away and admitted defeat, but I didn't. I kept on going even though I knew that they had both clued into my scheme. Again, nothing was working. So in a last ditch attempt, I told L that M liked one of his friends more than him. This time L payed attention. L ended up breaking up with M and I was pretty happy. (I know I'm an awful person, I have come to terms with it by now.) But, just like our relationship in Grade 4, that decision only lasted a day. I am thankful that me being a bully stopped by the end of the school year. I am now in Grade 8. M and L did eventually split up, and now M is with another guy in our class. I know that this may not seem like a horrible act to some, but you have to understand that M was going through others bullying her as well. When I - one of her friends - bullied her, that gave another crop of a-holes like me an excuse to bully her as well. The names that I called M sometimes still come up today, more than a year after the bullying stopped. I hope that my story both prevents others from bullying, as well as sheds light on why people bully. I would like to apologize to everyone who has been bullied in any way, I am thankful for those who were strong enough to withstand it, and I feel the pain of those that couldn't. Thank you. Sincerely, Moira
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 From the very start I used to be with boys and was not fond of girls. I hated to chatter about boys all day so, I found a special place in this guy gang. I was the favourite one of the boys, which made other girls jealous. They started calling me as a hoe and start to spread rumors about my sexual life. I ignored all and moved forward in life. I was in 10th grade and was doing perfectly fine when one of my friends asked me out, he used to be the crush of my only girl friend. It was kinda weird to go out with this guy. My friend forced and convinced me that this guy is a gem of a person and as a result I went out with this guy. It was all good so we decided to continue our meetings. I started feeling the connection between us and then the day come when he asked for my nudes (nude pictures). I wasn't comfortable with this thing so I rejected, this thing continued for like 1 month. He started to threaten me that he would leave if I wouldn't provide him with nudes, it was kinda my best relationship and wanted to save that but nudes were not my thing. One afternoon, we were at my home and were just relaxing and we decided to take our relationship a step forward but all of a sudden he got a call from one of his friends and he left. After 4 days we broke up and I convinced myself that he wasn't the guy I deserve. He spread rumors in the whole school stating that he had my nudes, my friends started to boycott me, people stared at me and called me a hoe. But? As I was aware that karma leaves no one spare, he flunked 11th grade twice, he used to be my senior and now I am his senior. To all the girls who are reading this? You're beautiful and you don't need a guy to tell you that, just play safe. Choose a person wisely, not every person out there deserves your attention. - Mugdha Dhingra
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.
I've always been one to stand up for myself. I'm so thankful for a strong, proud, loving mother, who taught me to value myself, that my words and thoughts are valid, and that my body is my own. In elementary school, I first encountered sexual bullying. It wasn't being directed at me, but one of my best friends, who had developed large breasts at an early age (around 5th grade.) Boys and girls called her a "slut," and talked about her body freely. It got to the point that she was afraid to even go swimming with me without wearing a big, opaque t-shirt. I experienced bullying in different forms at the time, so while I identified with the pain bullying caused, I couldn't identify with the type of bullying she was experiencing. It wasn't until I was in 8th grade that I started to, sadly, understand what she'd gone through. Boys began thinking it was funny to "snap" a girl's bra clasps and straps. One boy, who I considered a friend, walked by me in the very crowded hallway one day, and pulled back on my bra, hard. I instantly became enraged, and slugged him in the arm. I felt so violated, not just because of the physical and sexual nature of the act, but because it violated the trust I had in him as a friend. I started to develop a reputation as someone not to be messed with, due to my confidence and ability to stand up for myself and other people. Most people thought I was much tougher than I actually was in school, and it's a little sad to think that the negative side of that kind of reputation may have caused some people not to want to get to know me, because they thought I was a "bitch." In high school, I experienced unwanted touch, like an ambush kiss in the hallway, and the occasional sexually explicit comment. For the most part, the incidents were mild. I think it's probably because I wasn't a very sexual person at a young age, and wasn't necessarily "girly"; I was more focused on school work and art than relationships, and didn't even begin wearing makeup or styling my hair until my junior year in high school. It was that year that I had the most disturbing experience with a classmate, a boy, in one of my classes. He was a goth kid, shy, smart, and nice to me. I wasn't attracted to him, but I enjoyed talking to him, so when he asked me to a dance, I said I'd go with him as a friend. We agreed to meet there, and we just hung out for most of the dance, since he didn't actually have any interest in dancing. After the dance was over, he tried to kiss me, but I moved away. He asked if I wanted to go out on a date with him, and I, politely as I could, said that I wasn't interested. The next week at school, a friend came running up to me saying that he was telling a group of people in the courtyard that I was a bitch for rejecting him, and that he was going to slit my throat. No one, to my knowledge, had ever threatened my life before, and this boy was so angry that I wouldn't kiss him or date him that he was telling everyone who would listen that he was going to kill me, and how. I remember putting on a brave face, and telling my friend that I wasn't afraid, but I was. I believed that this boy would hurt me if he got the chance. I even wished that I had allowed him to kiss me, so that he wouldn't be so angry. I honestly don't remember which adults I decided to tell about his threats, if any, but, thankfully, he never attempted to harm me. It was the first time I'd ever really rejected someone's advances, and I found out instantly how dangerous that can potentially be. It was a turning point for me, knowing how far some people are willing to go when they don't get what, or who, they want. Later in school, I would go on one date with another boy who I liked, but after going out, didn't want to pursue a relationship. I turned him down when he asked me out again, and he told people that I had "led him on," and called me some names. I would think that it was hurtful, but that it could be so much worse. - Chelsea Keesler
I am 55 years old now. This has been in my background forever and I have never shared this with anyone but my son's therapist. I was the baby of my family and the only girl. I grew up with my brothers and their friends talking about "those girls", the "sluts" who were easy and had sex. I was first molested by a friend of my oldest brother when I was 5. He fondled me and performed oral sex on me. I was too ashamed to say anything to anyone as only those "sluts" had sex. It happened again when I was 12 and this time it was by a friend of my middle brother. Again I thought I was to blame as only "sluts" had sex. I became very promiscuous and found out that I actually enjoyed sex. I always felt bad I didn't tell anyone because I worried about others that were molested by these guys. I have two children and when they would speak of young ladies and start to refer to them as sluts, I told them just because someone enjoyed sex and determined when and where they would have it did not make that individual a slut or loose or a whore. Both of them, a girl and a boy, knew it was a woman's right to call the shots in her sexual life.
Everyone believes them and that's it. Period. There's no asking me. My answer doesn't matter.10/23/2019
During my whole high school career I had tried to avoid being "that" girl. The girl who puts out easily,who everyone hates because of how many guys she talks to and for some reason people think she has slept with everyone. Going into my junior year of high school, I started to go out and become more social. The first week of the school year I had gone out and got a little bit drunk for the first time. One of the guys there came up and started talking to me and asked if I wanted to go to his car. At the time I didn't know that that meant he wanted to do other things so I agreed. While sitting in his car I started to get sleepy and close my eyes. All of a sudden I felt him get on top of me and start kissing me and touching me. I remember that I didn't really know what was going on because I wasn't completely sober. Fortunately, he did not force me into sexual intercourse. The Monday back after that weekend, a particular guy in my grade who was there at the party and who I think at the time liked me, told everyone what had happened between me and the other guy. I have never felt so ashamed of myself while walking to my other class while this guy and a group of other guys looked and even pointed at me. It was the worst feeling ever. After that time I had gone out with other guys and it was a one time kind of thing, but they had always encouraged the idea of us having sex. I was still a virgin and they knew that. Of course I would say no, and they wouldn't force me into anything, but after a couple of days, there would be talk that I did have sex with them. To me, it was incredibly unfair. I had tried so hard not to give them what they wanted but in the end it was their word over mine. I also felt slut shamed because I didn't do what they wanted me to do, and for that they said that I did do these things. After a while I finally found a guy that I respected and I felt he respected me. We weren't going out for a long time when I decided, at the age of 18, to have sex with him. It was something I chose to do. I knew we weren't in love but we respected each other and that was more important to me. Before having sex, I knew that he heard the rumours of me sleeping with other guys, but I had told him that I was a virgin because that was the truth. When having sex, I didn't really act like the stereotypical "virgin". I wasn't scared of the act and I felt ready for it. After that we stopped talking to each other and I had found out that he had said that he didn't believe I was a virgin, especially after us having sex. It was another moment where I couldn't believe what was going on. Because these other guys just say that I had sex with them, everyone believes them and that's it. Period. There's no asking me. My answer doesn't matter. I want this to stop because it is very unfair that I get blamed and I even feel bad for things that I didn't do! It is an unjust world where in this specific topic, the girls are to blame. - Daniella
Hello, I was a victim of rape when I was 19 and I was molested as a child. Growing up, I was happy go lucky. Then in high school, my junior year, I was so depressed and wanted to kill myself. I had a suicide attempt. I was talking to a guy I met online. Because I never met a guy in my small town that I liked. (I would never recommend meeting someone online, you don't know.) At the time, being 17, I was so lonely and I never felt worthy of a man's love. So I was always looking for it in the wrong places. Anyways, junior year was going great, I just won court warming princess at school and I was talking to a "great" guy. He kept asking me to take a picture without a shirt on. He kept threatening me that he would kill my family. Well I took one with my bra on. He sold it to a porn site, and he was not the age he said he was. I was cat fished. Sent me in a depressed spiral, I had so much anxiety. I wanted to disappear. I went to counseling after that and got help. Then when I was 19, I was going down a dangerous road. I met another guy on a dating site. He seemed harmless. So I thought. I went to his house, where I thought we were just going to watch a movie. Instead he violently raped me. I was so emotional and hurt physically and mentally. I went to the police 3 days later, and I didn't have enough evidence against the prick so they could not press charges. I felt like the legal system let me down. I got help though for that. I don't let rape define who I am. I am not a victim anymore, I am a survivor. I was called a lying slut by people after it happened. He told many people and so did my so called friends. No one ever deserves to get raped! I don't care what you do for work, what type of person you are, where you come from. NO means NO. I now let the negative people that called me those names out of my life. Through many months of counseling, I learned I am a strong women. And I could battle anything that comes my way. I am now in a healthy relationship and I turned my life around. I talk about what happened to me so people learn from my mistakes. And I explain about cyber bullying. I would love to talk to larger groups one day. No one is a slut. It's a disgusting, meaningless word. Until you walk a mile in someone's shoes, you can't judge them or give them a label. Everyone can battle what they have been through. - Survivor.Not.A.Victim.
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.
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