I got a reply to a comment on Whiskey’s post, in which the commenter feels sorry for my experiences (I mention that I’m a survivor both of domestic abuse and of sexual assault) and she hopes that I can one day come to find joy in dancing again.
Whiskey very wisely disabled comments on that post so I can’t reply there. And since I can’t Shut My Elfy Yap and let shit go…
Look, I appreciate the spirit in which your comment is meant, as much as I appreciate the spirit in which OBR is meant, but neither is what I need.
I DO feel joy about dancing. Time and place, is all. And, gah, please don’t feel sorry for me. I live my life day to day just like anyone else does, worrying about things like bills and taxes and the road conditions on the commute and if we’re out of milk or bread. I’m in a happy household with a loving partner and smart cat, I have nieces and nephews and joy and love and creative projects and hobbies and I do NOT want nor need pity. Please do not assume that just because I am not on board with this project, that it must mean that I’m too walking-wounded to want to play. I’m a survivor, not a victim.
As a matter of fact (no but srsly tho, Mist shut it), the assumptions made in the comment kind of piss me off. Don’t slap a ribbon on me. Go and provide the things I needed when I did need them: a place to go when my mother wanted to get out, a place to watch us kids while she tried to make arrangements and earn a paycheck. Money for that flight or bus ticket out of reach of her abuser. Someone to teach teenage me that no means no and it’s not up to me to say no in the right way or right number of ways for it to finally be heard. Someone to believe me when I said his advances weren’t welcome and I never want to see this person again. Someone to still be my friend and not automatically take his side and say I must have encouraged him somehow. Fuck dancing, fuck gooshy words. Go do that.