I don’t know how coherent this is going to be, but I wanna share my thinks.
Junot Días published an essay recently coming out as a sexual assault survivor. He explained how his inability to process and cope with his trauma resulted in terrible behavior in relationships, largely constant cheating.
There’s now a growing group of women that don’t appreciate how Días’ toxicity is being given free pass because it’s rooted in trauma. To paraphrase something I saw going around, women’s pain is acceptable when it contributes to a man’s growth.
They want to know, why aren’t we asking these women how they’re doing?
I’ve been a Junot Días’ girlfriend, more than once. I have been intimate with incredibly broken humans, people who need serious therapy and instead turn to toxic masculinity to get them through their intense traumas. These people have been hot—cold, these people have cheated on me, these people have sexually assaulted me.
My pain was not acceptable to foster their growth. In fact, I don’t know that they’ve grown at all.
But, my pain was acceptable to foster MY growth. Because there is a trauma, a damage, a need for self-repair that is also present when you make yourself vulnerable to a Junot Días. It is a step above Días: Knowing you’re fucked up, knowing your life is impacted by the shit you’ve been through, but being defined by it and needing more of it around you.
Please don’t misinterpret my point. I’m not saying that victims are equally culpable to the damages done to them by perpetrators.
I’m saying that victim is a flat characterization of a person, a two-dimensional idea that takes away from people that they are students of life. Every broken person that did some fucked up shit to me, was someone I should not have trusted with my mental, emotional, or physical safety or well being in the first place.
It doesn’t make me at fault. It means I was unaware of myself. And maybe paradoxically, I needed to be endangered in order to know what the danger looked like. Then accepting that I couldn’t keep subjecting myself to danger, changing my standards, giving myself what I sought from others, evolved me into the kind of person that has a life now filled with amazing, worthy people.
If these people wrote essays about what their trauma made them into, if I was reduced to a sentence about a group of wreckage.
Personally? I would not be upset about being small. These people had beautiful sides to themselves, they too were not 2D ideas of victims or monsters. They deserve the ability to move on, just like I do. I would be elated at the maturity it requires to put your demons into words, to hold yourself accountable.
I would be elated for the future lovers who don’t have to hurt, who don’t have those lessons to learn anymore.
That’s all I have right now.
—melony ppenosyne
Flommist Melony Ppenosyne is a writer and weird artist type. In the last year alone, she’s traveled to Virginia as a competing poet, co-written a play on mental illness that is presently being produced, and crafted a published essay checking the privilege and scope of art galleries. Copyright © 2018 Melony Ppenosyne. Pictured: Fortunato Depero, Il ciclista attraversa la città (cropped and rephotographed), 1945, from.
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