shit. i really fucked up.
what was i thinking?
i wasn't thinking.
what was i thinking?
i wasn't thinking.
i didn't mean to mess with her,
but i messed with her, intentionally.
but i messed with her, intentionally.
i wasn't thinking.
why wasn't i thinking?
why wasn't i thinking?
sometimes, it's just like i stop thinking.
my brain gets going too quick.
and i lose control.
my brain gets going too quick.
and i lose control.
but this really is my fault.
i can't blame it on anyone else.
i can't blame it on anyone else.
my mom says my whole life's going to be ruined.
i just want to apologize.
what can i do to make it right?
Context:
In high school, as a male-presenting student, I played a prank on a female classmate by sending a creepy email to her. It was intended as a joke, rooted in our shared love of horror films, but I quickly realized it was a very fucked up mistake. When I learned that it had affected her, that it had been reported to the school, and that there was consideration of involving the police, I immediately wrote an apology to both her and the school, taking full responsibility. She accepted the apology, and the issue was, to my understanding, resolved.
As a queer student who was not yet out as queer or transfeminine, this experience—which I take full accountability for—had a lasting impact on how I understood myself. I realized I needed to be far more careful with my actions, for one thing. But it also planted an early and very persistent belief in me that, in situations involving harassment or interpersonal harm, I was more likely to be the aggressor and the person at fault than the victim.
In the context of the many experiences I later had with sexual harassment and violence, this belief shaped how I interpreted what happened to me. I really struggled to see myself as a victim or someone deserving of care, because I had internalized the idea I was harmful.
If you're harmful, don't you deserve to be harmed?
another trust crisis #2 by Lyra McMahon