The #MeToo Story I Didn't Know I Had

They touched me.

And after all of these years of me having suppressed the fact that your slithery, violating hands touched me, I have since really forgotten that they were even there to begin with. But that doesn't excuse the fact that they were here and there and there and there.

I played it along as a joke. And avoided you every chance I could, especially when you chased me around the classroom, even after our teacher told you to stop provoking me. I didn't have the power or the will to say stop then, so I went to some teachers and the administration and left out the part that you two harassed me the ways you had. But you had the power and imbibed mine, the Death Eaters you are.

Let's see where you'd be had you touched me further and in more vulnerable parts, the vulnerable parts I felt most insecure and dysphoric about. I wouldn't be so "kind." I wouldn't be so silent. Let's be real, the kindest thing I could have done to you two, though, was report your asses. Maybe you'd learn a lesson or two about respect and empathy.

I took it as childhood teasing, but when will we teach our children that even this boy-ish behavior is inappropriate? Otherwise, we'll perpetuate the habit, the idea that people can touch you and get away with it so long as they defend it as "teasing." And at age thirteen? Well, that should be known as inexcusable.

You didn't see what I did in the restroom after you publicly humiliated me, claiming to others not even behind my back that I was gay when instead I was realizing that I am, in fact, transgender. I cried. That's what I did in the restroom. I basically ran and exploded in quiet bursts of inhales and exhales so that the guys in there didn't think I was gay or hypo-masculine or whatever. After everyone left to their eighth period classes, I exited the restroom and walked into my eighth period class, which was right next door, and sat diagonally from you in silence and clearly in distress.

But that didn't stop you from insinuating certain things about me, moaning (and making kissy noises) to me, and invading my space by staring at me intensely with disgust and such hatred and grabbing me when our teachers weren't looking in our direction.

A year after the encounters, I shared a geometry test with one of you and we stayed until after school as I jeopardized our exam grade. What? Did you think I was going to help you out? You asked and joshed "What did I ever do to you?" as our teacher unknowingly and patiently attended to grading the other exams. You shifted and fidgeted in discomfort just being alone with me as we stared at the same difficult problems for minutes on end.

We thereon went to high school together and I saw you laugh and succeed and fail from afar. I didn't scoff; I just observed. Because that's what wallflowers do. I saw you like girls who didn't know about your ways, or if they did, they silenced themselves to your liking. I cringe at the thought that they changed you because you haven't changed and it'll take no time for your hands to forget the existence of consent.

I shiver sometimes when anyone also decides to touch me where you have. Although these memories have long been forgotten, goosebumps pose as a reminder that your skin invoked itself on me without my consent.

The injustices you have caused to me and undoubtedly others have made me more vocal and trust me, you don't want to hear what this woman can say when she uses her mouth (God forbid). I don't have to be silent, "gay," or a lady about it. Ladies speak. Ironically, you have taught me how to love myself when I just didn't at the time. And how I love is who I am, and who I am is a person who forgives and hopes. Take that for the grain of salt.

The story isn't long overdue. It's appropriately inappropriate and that's why we need to discuss why you're time's up, son.

Time is up and boy, you have no idea what we will do to you to make you realize this. When someone actually reports your ass, and you're blindsided because someone actually tells the truth and unapologetically and indubiously vocalizes your actions, you can watch me succeed from your prison cell. And we'll have faith in the recovery of your sons. 

XOXO

~Joss Lila Glenn (a.k.a. Funky Nurd)