Dear Ron Paul and fans: “Honest rape?” Go fuck yourselves
TRIGGER WARNING: Blunt description of circumstances surrounding rape.
Three men drugged me in a hotel bar, then my friends let them take me back to my hotel room, where two of them used me as a living sex doll and one watched. They left no bruises and I didn’t even know what happened to me until after the drugs’ effects wore off.
It took me six months to piece together all of the fragments of memory.
So, go fuck yourselves with the implication of, “Dishonest rape,” motherfuckers.
Yes, I am actually shaking with rage and panic. I am okay.
It will be eight years on February 21st. I survived.
Beyond the implications of honest and dishonest rape, the fact of the matter is that Paul and the rest of his slime-sucking toad competitors in the Republican field of candidates think they get to determine what rape is, who owns a uterus (not the person whose body contains said uterus) and now I am going to spend half an hour calming and self-soothing because I went into work, (I was raped on a work trip) on the Monday morning after I was raped, and received a warning from my boss. Because my friends, who had let me, when I was already obviously ill ( I had vomited, and they knew it) go off with people we had just met, and someone had told another person we work with what their interpretation of things was, (I was obviously a slut) and I was reprimanded for being raped. (No, I didn’t ever say anything to my boss. I spent ten months just trying to survive and barely speaking outside of functional imperatives.)
Anybody who can’t understand how wrong it is that Ron Paul classes rape as honest and not-honest: I don’t want to know you.
What I can tell you is this: I was lucky enough in the fact that I didn’t contract an STD or become pregnant from my rapists. If I had been pregnant, I would have killed myself if forced to carry that fetus to term.
