Dear Dr. J,

Dear Dr. J,

On May 2nd, when I would have walked for graduation, finally finishing my four-year journey that had very little to do with school, my grandparents berated me telling me I need to have children. Me a 22-year-old with no job, little prospect of one, having already planned an unstable life as a writer, who is moving in with his dad until he can afford rent again, and best of all single. After that, I thought a lot. And there is much I feel the need to say, yet very little idea of where to begin. So naturally I thought of you. As I’ve said many times in our talks and emails and I’ll say many times over again, you have made a serious impact on my life. You as a person, you as a professor, and having been in your ‘Reading Feminism’ class.

During quarantine a group of my friends and I have been playing Dungeons and Dragons over Zoom chats almost daily. Three of us are girls and two are guys. The three girls have all been sexually assaulted or manipulated by the same guy, who was once a very dear friend of mine. The prospect of that alone was difficult to deal with, not to mention having been in a serious romantic relationship with someone who had been sexually abused for 6 years growing up and brutally raped a month before we met. Every now and then we don’t play D&D and just talk instead. May 1st was one of those days, which only added to my many thoughts of late. It is hard, for I feel even they, even Rachel, who I am still very close with, would not understand.

One thing we spoke on that night was how it would affect their relationships going forward in life. Oh, how I understand. And as they all know I am an ally, and I support them in whatever they do and love them all dearly, I do not think they get just how much I understand. I’ve thought about dating again, just in general. The prospect is ludicrous. Especially right now, if it’s not right in front of me, or already important, I don’t really care. I mean how could I even? I feel like it would be too hard to be with anyone who didn’t understand. Mine’s not that bad, but still. Even Rachel, who truly knows me better than anyone, has no idea about so much. “Good ole’ Country Boy” the play I am writing. My song to the South. About how I love and hate it, how it has made me and destroyed me, and so many others, how it perpetuates rape and rape culture, and the music industry. In it I’ve put my cry. My me too. Which feels insignificant by comparison.

Why it’s coming up within me now, I’m not really sure. But I feel as though even if I do speak, if I do say something, it wouldn’t really be heard. How much of it did I cause? Was cause by the ideals engrained within me? Firstly, to be ashamed, to hide all sexuality or interest, to be told no one wanted it, that it would always be a bother to people, to go to being so open, so free. So slutty. In some relationships being forced or subtlety pressured into performing again and again, when nothing, no love, no satisfaction, no recognition was received. To what extent is that systematic pressure rape? Sexual abuse? Emotional abuse, certainly. But was it their fault? Did they know? Ignorance is no excuse. What have I done and don’t realize? What did I perpetuate?  Sometimes I have felt I had to be so open to sex, so much to pretend I did want it, so then I performed when I didn’t want to. But still, I did go through with it all.

Why do I quarrel with myself like this? I would NEVER do the same with any survivor. Perhaps because It’s easier to blame yourself. and to tell others not to do the same. Perhaps because I do not feel like I have survived anything, or there was anything to survive. None were violent. Manipulative, controlling, using, forceful. But not violent. Some were very forceful. Most were very pressured. How much of that pressure was from myself? It was from a polyamorous relationship counselor: “You can say no. It’s okay to not want sex.” That was the first time that was ever told to me. Crazy to think about. I never thought I’d find myself there, but there I was. I had heard it, said it a million times, but always with implications towards the girls. Not me. But I’m (you’re) a big, strong, capable, attractive man. I (you) shouldn’t have let someone take advantage of me (you).  I’m (you’re) not that kind of guy. It didn’t happen. I guess I have been that kind of guy. It did happen.

“You hear the numbers, one in five, and you never think that’d be you.” One of my friends said that to the others on May 1st.

“Yeah.” I said quietly, not knowing if any of them heard me. Knowing full well, none of them understood. One in thirty-three men was the last statistic I saw. You really don’t think it’d be you. Systematic pressure, relationship pressure, emotionally abusive manipulation from people you love and who claim to love you. Perhaps they did, and didn’t realize how they were using you. Being drunk as a skunk at a party, where you don’t know the venue, can’t find your friends, you just want to dance, and then you find yourself in the bathroom with some girl you don’t know holding your hand in her crotch where you have to rip yourself away from her to get her to let go.

My play, I’ve been writing it since before finals, is about how the south abuses men and creates rapists. How the music industry writes it off. How terrible it is and angry you are as a supporter and lover of a survivor. How it can ruin someone. Now it’s also my me too, which is more of a whisper or a whimper. “You can’t do that alone... I couldn’t...” “You too?” “Yeah.” That’s it. Three lines out of sixty-five pages full of nothing but truth.

I feel the need to speak, but I also feel like it would be pointless. Who would understand? I feel if I said anything, it wouldn’t help, rather just make me feel more alone. I do not know, if I am over it, or if I need to mourn. Momma might understand. Dad would listen. But there’s no telling. I don’t know why now it’s coming into understanding, why now it’s coming back into my memory. It’s been years. And I don’t know how I feel about it.

All this to say thank you and to express my appreciation, for you being you, for you just being there. I’m not sure I can really say how much it has meant to me and continues to mean to me. I promise to stay in touch on my progress with things, writing, acting, etc. and I will definitely see you in the fall when I get back to town.

All the best,