catharsis

It's the everyday indignities of being a woman, right?

There's more than one kind of harassment, you know - sexual being one of the objective-worst, and most pervasive, and the one finally somewhat being brought out to the light - but that's not the only way that there is to take a once bright soul and dim it.

There's the guy who walked into a Dallas diner, sat down at a booth diagonal from me and a female friend, and pulled out his penis. I forget about him, usually, though, compared to the man who became my friend, then became emotionally abusive to the point that I am still scared of what he could do to my career today. That abuse wasn't about sex, or if it was, I was too naive. It was because I was powerless, because I was desperate, because I've been lonely my whole life. He wasn't even the first emotional abuser - because that's most of the abuse I've experienced. Emotional beat-downs, feeling like I have to buy friendships because I'm not worthy of anything otherwise.

There was the truck full of drunk guys on Baylor's campus who cat-called me as I was walking to my car late one night. I'd gone to my sorority little's dorm to borrow her shower, as my apartment's water was off, and so I was dressed quite alluringly in: A giant sorority tee-shirt, a pair of marching-band sweatpants, slide-on Chuck Taylors, with my hair in a beach towel on my head. Those guys somehow recede in my mind, though, compared to the man in the pressbox who would not stop poking me, who laughed at my protestations, who said I was being over-sensitive when I got angry, who made me feel ashamed and worried that my reaction would keep me from covering this sport I love.

I'm lucky, you know? Objectively, the worst thing that has happened to me is probably the guy in high school who, as I was walking to Calculus, came up and draped his arm around me, taller enough than 5'3" me that his hand dangled near where you'd think it would. I slapped him, the only time I acted out in high school close to a teacher and didn't get written up for it. He didn't get written up for it, either, of course. I didn't even remember this had happened until someone told a similar story on Twitter, and then it came rushing back.

I've also had some disgusting comments left in anonymous chat interfaces, emails to any email address questioning my abilities and my worth, accusations of sleeping with no less than five different people to get information, rather than believe that I know what I talk about.

We've all been pitted against ourselves, here. I've been made to feel worthless by the fact that I don't get cat calls. My friends have been made to feel worthless by the fact that they are constantly seen as nothing more than pieces of meat.

I'm not sure what I'm looking to accomplish by this. Some kind of catharsis, maybe. Some kind of peace.