Let it Go.

*Trigger warning: sexual assault

Today I saw my arch-nemesis. 

Then I realised how silly it is that I refer to her as my arch-nemesis. 

Because I'm 25. And it was 9 years ago. 

And then I started ruminating on my biggest problem - I can't let go. 

This is no sudden revelation for me, that I dwell on situations long passed. I think about how I handled them, and I wish I'd done it differently. How I could have backed down in that argument, stood up for myself in others. Standing up for myself is the reaction I most frequently wish I'd had, though today I was pleased that my reflexes are so honed that if anyone remotely beeps, whistles or catcalls me, my middle finger responds. That's about all the acknowledgement they deserve. Let's see if it reaches their brains, which clearly don't live where the sun shines otherwise it'd get more oxygen and act in less misogynistic way. New theory? 

For those of you who don't know the story, my arch-nemesis is a girl from my form group in high school, who was also in my Drama class. She was behind in her coursework, and asked me for help. I had already handed mine in, so I sent her one of my essays to guide her.

She copied it. We were called in by our Drama department. She cried. She denied it. They told her to rewrite it. They told us that we were lucky that they were not going to go to the full extent of their powers: reporting us to the exam board. Because that exam board could then disqualify us from our Drama examination. And any other exams we took with them. And then could report this to the other exam boards, who could then disqualify us from all the exams we were taking with them. 

In short, we could have ended up with no GCSE's. 

I never forgave her. I barely spoke to her ever again, although she came to my 16th birthday party because she was dating a friend of mine. 

In fact, we actually share being dumped by him. 

The last time I spoke to her, the summer of 2005, she told me she wanted to smash my face in. 

Now, years later, does she still want to? I highly doubt it. 

I'm not going to stick around and ask her though, so I did a quick whirl round and found another way to the M&S changing rooms. 

When I was 16/17 I had a blog in which I weaved an elaborate story of this girl having a baby with a horse. She was really into horses and her ex (he was then still my friend) had had a cryptic phone call from her from which we deduced (read: came to a conclusion with no actual evidence) she was pregnant. 

So I made up this ridiculous periodical of the Horse-baby saga.

It was juvenile. And pathetic. And simply an example of my imagination. 

And it's very probably lost in time. Somewhere on the internet.

Anyway. So this girl is my arch-nemesis because she almost ruined my life. Not having an GCSE's  would have ruined my life because I am no Richard Branson. OK maybe not ruined, just substantially damaged.

But what's done is done, and I'm going to stop calling her my arch-nemesis. 

I'm letting go.

But is letting go of my assault going to be as easy?

I'm still mistrustful of men to an extent. I still wonder if they have an agenda, because he must have done. He spent all night getting me drunk. Insisted on walking me home. Insisted on staying. 

Feminism as a movement has helped me get so far. Teaching me that it wasn't my fault. It's all his. He is the only person to blame. 

Which is why when someone denies that feminism is a movement for positive social and political change; when MRA's spread misogynistic language; when the media objectifies women and when people use sexist language - "you run like a girl", "don't be a pussy", "grow some balls" - like it's totally normal to demean one gender; I take it very, very personally.

Saying we don't need feminism, or there isn't a problem with sexism to me is like saying I am overreacting to what was a very serious and quite traumatic experience, that actually still haunts me. And it makes me so angry on behalf of EVERYONE. Everyone that doesn't have a voice. Every victim that is silenced the world over. All of us that have experienced sexual violence. The one woman killed every week by a current or former intimate partner (and not just in the UK). Any young girl having her genitals cut or being married off before she's even hit puberty. Every man who is ridiculed for wearing pink, or being the sole child-carer. Any man who feels he cannot tell people about being a victim of rape or domestic violence, because if it isn't enough of a taboo to be a woman and suffer it, men are often left feeling even more isolated. Every transgender person who is still called by their old name, and referred to as "he" when she is a "she". Or "she" when he is a "he".

So I take it very personally because by saying we don't need feminism is like feeling that fist hit my face all over again.

When you tell me that we don't need feminism, to me you are accepting that I stared into Aamir's eyes as I tried to fight him off, and his fist found my eye socket. It fitted perfectly. Twice. And that is ok. Because that kind of stuff just happens. And I probably had it coming.

I refuse to accept that. I refuse to accept that domestic and sexual violence happens; that rape and assault against all genders but especially against women happens and is questioned about what they were wearing or what they'd had to drink; that harassment and being underpaid are part of our working life; that we can't "have it all" but men's ability to "have it all" is never questioned. I refuse to accept all of those, and more.

That's why I will never let feminism go. How can I possibly let go of a movement that wants equality?

But what I will let go of?

The hold that Aamir has on me. The way his punch made me not trust men. The way his punch gives me flashbacks and makes me anxious. The way I have never worn those pyjama bottoms since, even though I still have them because they are really nice. But I am letting go of the negative emotions and experience that they remind me of. 

I am trying to let go of the hold that he has on me. 

But I am keeping hold of the strength that has been born out of that black eye.

I am never letting go of that strength.