I Didn’t Know I Was A Piece of Plastic


I’ve realized that I have just been paid lip service all my life. I’ve been told how “equal” I am so many times that I just never questioned it, even when contrary information was staring me in the face. When Snoop Dogg said “We don’t love them hos,” I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about me. After all, my grade four teacher told me that men and women were equal, and that the women’s rights movement had prevailed and that I could be and do whatever it is I wanted when I grew up. I believed it, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. Snoop was obviously referring to those girls over there, not me.

It took being raped – treated like a commoditized object – for me to really see that, in our supposedly enlightened culture, to some men, most certainly to this man who premeditatively raped me, that I am just a piece of plastic. What right did I have as a woman to trust that this guy wouldn’t choose to knock me unconscious and rape me? Apparently none. Perhaps to him I am the evil temptress upon whom he can place all the blame for his actions, so he might be free to flail around in life, hurting people “uncontrollably,” and always being able to say “she made me.

He was taught that he has a right to my body, which he could easily possess with a little social manipulation and rohypnol, to bend it and break it like a plastic Barbie doll, to use it and abuse it and then throw it away when he’s done. He may have even hi-fived his friends the next day and talked about how “good he hit it,” how good it was for him to have sex with a limp, unconscious body. I’ll bet it made him feel powerful. I feel sorry for him. I doubt I was the first woman he’s raped.

And well meaning people still ask me what I was wearing when it happened.

~ “He did not care upon what terms he satisfied his passion. He had even a mad, melodramatic idea to drug her.” – W. Somerset Maugham


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