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Hi, my name is Leigh.

I am a freelance writer of personal essays, poetry, and fiction living in Los Angeles. I also publish on Medium.com.

Remembering Anita

Remembering Anita

Boston Globe: Associated Press/File

Boston Globe: Associated Press/File

I feel quietly livid. I was born the year Anita Hill testified before the Supreme Court Judiciary Committee, but I didn’t become a member of the #MeToo movement until last year. Before May 28th, 2017, I was that girl in humble and slightly guilty support of all those who were coming forward with stories of buried trauma and self-righteous confusion. I felt for them, but I knew that I couldn’t understand what they had gone through-what they are still going through. Then I became one of them. It happened like most women say it does. Someone I knew, someone I was getting to know, a little too much to drink, or maybe I was drugged, couldn’t get the test soon enough to prove it, discouraged from building a case, discouraged from obtaining evidence, discouraged from getting loud…I will probably never get justice. Anita Hill will probably never get justice. Dr. Christine Blasey Ford may never get justice. Despite the multitude of indiscretions leveled against our President, despite the ceremonial takedowns of many Hollywood executives, despite record turnouts in primary elections for socialist, feminist hopefuls such as Alexandria Ocasio Cortez, the systemic rape culture that always favors the bodies of men over the bodies of women seems to be prevailing.

This is why I am angry: my copper IUD (the one that I removed with my own hands. Because it would cost me $400 to have it removed at Planned Parenthood. Because I don’t have health insurance and I work a minimum wage job. Because it was causing me to double over in pain that 800mg of Ibuprofen wouldn’t numb. Because I was soaking through four or more super-sized tampons in four hours. Because the only reason it prevented pregnancy is because it was flooding my body with copper, and irritating the lining of my uterus) is the ONLY reason I did not have my rapist’s child.

There is a man being nominated for the Supreme Court of the United States, once again, who has been accused of rape, sexual assault, misconduct, harassment, take your pick. Which one makes you most UN-comfortable? At this point, it matters less if he did it, because we know he did. If not this particular instance, then some other, throughout his lengthy litigious career. We all know he will be the deciding vote on whether or not Roe v. Wade gets overturned during our lifetime, and his avoidance and vagueness on the subject have been less than inspiring. What matters to me is how we treat this woman. How we honor her “accusations.” Whether or not she gets her justice, this time. So far, she has been met with lengthy denial, death threats, enough home visits to cause her family to vacate for fear of their own safety, and a hasty deadline offered with false sympathies backed by cocky fear.

I am trying to be curious in my anger; trying to see the long game ahead of me. I will follow the media outlets that warn of the consequences for House Conservatives come the general elections this fall. I will believe in the power of my vote and my words to sway the course of history. This time.

Most of all, I feel heartbroken and honored by Anita’s life-altering courage some thirty years ago. She paid for our crown with blood and tears, humiliation and slander, and a complete and forever loss of her previous identity. She bought and paid for it. It’s time we started wearing it. For Dr. Blasey, and for the multitude of others yet to come.

Can We Ever Truly Be Equal? And Do We Even Want To Be?

Can We Ever Truly Be Equal? And Do We Even Want To Be?

The Moral Of The Story:

The Moral Of The Story: