Ghomeshied. (possible triggers)

I don’t want to write about Ghomeshi. I don't know him. I don't care to. I don't want to capitalize on others' pain or be called a bandwagon jumper. I don’t want to write about trigger warnings and abuse and manipulation, and anger at the system. I don’t want to write about how the women involved are being judged on their post-assault actions. So many are doing that much better than I could – read this, by Jane Eaton Hamilton and this, on The Nib, and this, by Anne Kingston.However.When all of this first came out in the news, someone close to me - someone I considered a friend, said to me:I want to Ghomeshi you.What does that even mean? What kind of person says that?I don’t want to write about irredeemable people.I want to write about writing. About character creation, and the fun parts that come once the first draft is done. I want to create a character that is irredeemable and yet completely believable and engaging.“No one will believe a character who is so unrelenting in his cruelty.” Larry Hill, on the male character in my novel.I would. I believe in him. But real life isn't a novel.I don’t want to write about that time I became a victim. That’s for my fiction, not my non-fiction. Fiction is where I write about women who are challenged, women who overcome, women who win.I want to Ghomeshi you.What does this mean, exactly? Is it, as it was for me, what comes after winning an award, and starts as a quiet conversation on a stranger’s couch about what makes a man hit a woman? Those age-old questions - it about sex? Power?I don’t want to write about lights out, crushing weight, hair yanked back (girls like that, he said). I don’t want to write about being trapped, tasting carpet fibre and not being able to get away. I don’t want to write about hitting the floor so hard, stars explode. I don’t want to write about hiding tears and being kind. Don't rock the boat. Voices Carry. Indeed.I want to write about music, sharing space, the broken E key on the piano. I want to write about birds and rivers and ravines. Beethoven.“Block.” “That’s not normal.” “You can’t continue like this.” Friends. Counsellors.I want to Ghomeshi you.What does that mean? Does it mean getting hit without permission? Does it mean being played by someone in a position of power? Does it mean having to remember every single moment in case in the future, someone - a woman, a police officer - sits in judgment on the choices that were made back then?I don’t want to write about how Lucy de Coutere and Jane Doe are being crushed under an onslaught of “how could they”ers and “if it were me” ers for how they reacted after they "allegedly" went through such harrowing and frightening episodes.I want to write about what I learned about human nature over the past two years. I want to write about how sometimes, in real life, some things are irredeemable, and I've learned that’s okay. I want to write that it’s not easy to walk away when you’ve been hurt. I want to write that above all, changing the narrative becomes all-consuming.I want to Ghomeshi you.“That never happened. I never said that.”Maybe here’s what Ghomeshied means: Entitlement to take what you want without permission. Consistently. Repeatedly. It means no consent. It means entitlement to change another's experience, to negate it. It means the judgment of friends and family who don’t understand the compulsion to re-set what happened. One minute, happy, smiling, enjoying, the next, recovering from a literal punch to the face, or a metaphorical kick in the teeth, or words so cruel, you can’t believe they didn’t change the colour of the air between you. It means rules, but his rules. It means not counting.How “Ghomeshi” became a verb, an action, that night, I don’t know. But I know that for me, it’s not just the moment of impact – physical, emotional - but the trial a woman is put on after. Why did you stay? Why did you help him? Why did you accept apologies until they never came anymore? Why did you email/write/see him?I don’t know if it’s the same for Lucy and Jane. They are front and centre for what so many have gone through. I appreciate them. They are doing what I've been so afraid to do. They are my heroes.I know that in our society, women are revered, and women are vilified, sometimes in the same breath. We are raised to be people-pleasers, helpers, kind. I did all of the things I was supposed to do, and it didn’t change the ending. In fact, being Ghomeshied reinforced every bad thing I ever believed about myself. That’s what kept me there. Here. I want a chance to change that ending, to adjust the narrative so that I am strong and good and right. So that the power rests with me.That’s what I see when I see talk of sending bikini pictures. A woman taking back her power, power that was taken from her.That's what I see when I see a woman trying to get in touch in Banff. Fear that she will run into him, and wanting to show that she isn’t scared of him. That she has control.I have metaphorically sent bikini pics: apologies, texts pretending everything was cool, offered so much. I've made so many coffee dates to ease tensions.Why?Because I wanted this story to end well. I wanted to be the hero – someone rational and kind and supportive. A giver. Someone who made a difference. Someone who counted.It’s not ended well."You will not stop sinking until you cut the anchor that's dragging you down." Counsellor.I know that I don’t want to face the truth. For a long time, I was not the writer of this story. I was barely a character. I was merely a talking head, a posable figure - too old and fat to be a Barbie, but like her, expected to sit where I'm put, not talk, not opine. Just smile. Be good.I am dictating the narrative now, as best I can.I don't want to write about it and admit to people how broken I was. This goes beyond setting aside cruel words and shoves, and the manipulation. I don't want to write about how far I went again and again to be good. To be perfect.And self-worth and self-care. I don't want to write that part. I want to hide under a blanket and just let time heal. I don't want to write about these things. But who else doesn't? Who else is keeping quiet? Who else isn't telling?I want to write it as fiction, maybe so I can deny reality. So I can change it enough that something that has been so unbelievable, is believable. Saleable. Salient.I know I am opening myself up. I am in an incredibly scary and vulnerable place. But as my friend just said to me when I said I was terrified to post: "the very fact you're afraid is why you must post it."Ghomeshied.With all the women speaking out about this, I hope the meaning of that verb changes. I hope women use it to say - this created a necessary dialogue. This opened doors. The outcome of the trial is the least important part of this. Just as when the story first broke, women are telling their truths. I want to be part of that strength.And then maybe being Gomeshied will mean women standing up for themselves and speaking out. Together.Resources:http://www.sacredheartcalgary.ca/ministries/fire-in-the-rose/http://www.calgary.ca/cps/Pages/Community-programs-and-resources/Crime-prevention/Domestic-violence-FAQs.aspxhttp://www.distresscentre.com/get-help/faq/