The crush...

...heard round' the world.

When I was 20 years old-I was sexually assaulted.

Yes, I started with this. The shock factor alone should keep you reading- and I need you to read this.

The story is this...

I got into a car with a guy. He took me out to the country. We were making out. He took it too far. When I said stop, he called me a cock-tease and pinned me to the seat and started to unzip his pants. He had my hands behind my head holding them.

You want the rest of the story, right? Or maybe you are recoiling at the imagery. Yes, it's real. It really happened, and I survived.
Here's the rub:
I did more than survive, I empowered myself.

Yeah. You read this right.

My incidence of sexual assault is one of victory-NOT victim.

The Kavanaugh appointment has been running wild on the book of face in the last two weeks and this week has been unbearable.
Here is MY judgment: Weak people play the victim. Weak people run to the press for publicity. Weak people play politics and let themselves be used by a batch of MEN who would probably do the same deed that Kavanaugh supposedly did, (or actually have already) to further an agenda. Weak people WAIT 30 years-even if their intentions were supposedly true and not placed there by a political agenda, to blow a whistle, or report an assault.
Weak people are weak, petty, untruthful, and sad.
Disgraceful.
Yes, disgraceful.
Disgraceful because they are actually using this as a ploy. Something that supposedly happened to you-that does actually happen to a lot of women and is sick and horrible.
Are you pissed off yet? Keep reading, ladies...I have a point.

The conclusion to my story is this:
When the guy pinned me down, he mistakenly assumed I was weak, and while squirming and yelling to break free, he left my knee unguarded. I jerked my knee up and grazed his boys. He stopped me. In doing so, he made the worst mistake of his life.

He let go of my hand. 

My opportunity was there.
I reached down quickly and grabbed his testicles and squeezed as hard as I could. Like juicing a lime.
I feel one give and turn to mush.
Disturbing?
Good.

He made a sound that I have never heard come from a human being.
We were 10 miles away from any hospital.
He had no shirt, no shoes on, and it was 45 degrees outside. It was early fall.
I left him there writhing in pain.
When I went back to the party we had left together and told my guy friends what happened, they went to where he was, lifted him up and told him to start walking. They made him walk 10 miles-no shoes, no shirt, 45 degrees to the nearest hospital with a crushed nut and an even more crushed psyche.
I went home. Showered. And high-fived myself in the mirror.
Fuck that guy.

I found out years later that they had to remove that testicle. When they asked him what happened, he said he fell on his bike bar while riding it and ruptured himself.
He knew his real story would land him in jail, and was dully embarrassed by what he did, and the fact that he was outsmarted, and overpowered by a "chick"
I don't know how he fared. But, from family sources-he went to college, did Bible study and became a preacher. He is married, but was never able to father a child himself. He adopted 2 boys. From the outside looking in, he leads a productive, happy, "God-fearing", life. He has never tried to contact me.
But, I guarantee what happened that night changed him. I also guarantee that he never touched a woman inappropriately again. No police were involved. No allegations. No wallowing. No playing the victim. 
I did what I needed to do myself. I told the guys at the party, and they doled out their own brand of justice. But-everytime that guy looks down at his genital area-he sees what's missing and has to remember what he did to me. And in turn.... 
What I did to him.
The fatal mistake he made-with no bicycle involved. 

I get that some women aren't as lucky, and there are high numbers of unreported rapes and even assaults-because if some weird sense of shame on the part of the woman/man being assaulted. (notice how I didn't use the word victim?) I HATE that word and the crutch it stands for.
Why in the holy hell would any person feel shame in the fact that they were raped or attacked? We can get into all of the ridiculous, covering, psycho-babble all damn day long-but your strength is fully yours. And it is also dependent on you.
Cowering, crying, and begging others by using your self pity and weakness is PATHETIC. Yep. I said it.
I'm just a big old meanie head.

Look. I do feel terrible for any person who suffers at the hand of another when it is undeserved. I don't condone rape, or any sexually motivated assault. As a matter of fact-it pisses me off.
But ladies, listen up...
You have been crying in the media circus for years-and a lot more recently that you want the power. You need the power. You want to rule the world!
Great! Let's do that shit.
But you cannot have your cake and eat it too.
You want to remain in the sidelines cheering the men along? OR do you want to run that ball in for the touchdown YOURSELF?

I'm a touchdown runner, myself. Screw your pom poms.

But, when I get leveled by the linebacker while running, I don't lay there and cry and then scream at the linebacker and throw a temper tantrum when he does. I also don't fucking wait 30 god-damned years and then go to the commish and file a complaint about it.
I get the ball AGAIN, and straight arm that fucker for the 50 yard reception into the end zone.
I took my power and used it to do something good, something productive, and something that looks a little like revenge. The best part:  I did this myself.
There were certainly no media folks, politicians, or #metoo reps carrying me there. I ran MYSELF.

You get the euphemism, right? 

Ladies, all of the Facebook posts against Kavanaugh are ridiculous. Your opinion matters very little in the church of the poisoned mind, and in the court of public opinion. It makes me cringe that you want to look like a victim yourself by spreading the rhetoric.
Because that's precisely what it IS.
And you should remember that.

You want to help? Stop posting memes and get your asses over to a woman's shelter and do some peer counseling. Run for office yourself and make it a priority to EMPOWER women-not put a victim spotlight on them.
Go to your local community center and teach self defense against assault.
OR...take your own lessons.
Learn how to kick ass, and quit sitting on it while posting memes on social media for some kind of misguided reaction you think will change things.
It doesn't trust me.

I can say all of this because what I told you above really happened to me.
I was sexually assaulted. (not raped) I was attacked.
It was 28 years ago.
I'm not cowering.
I do not have my hand on the button to call the police, call the media, or run out to the local chapter of #metoo to report it.
It happened to me.
I have never felt shame, remorse, or victimized.
I have not, for one second believed in anything except my own power in this circumstance.

And that is precisely what makes me rise above it.

Never wallow, darling. It's unbecoming.

Last thought...if you weren't there to witness it, and steadfast in the knowledge that she never reported it until this guy decided to be nominated to be a supreme Court justice-maybe you should just stay out of it.
If you don't like the guy for his political affiliations, or moves in his career, or what he has done professionally in his past-hate him for that. Oppose him for those things, but leave MY sexual assault out of it.
Yeah, I said MY.
Because it happened to me too.

I just have the common fucking sense to leave a hashtag out of it.

XOXO,
The crusher.