Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture

by Roxane Gay

These days, I speak few words, and I certainly don’t have the vocabulary to dismantle what’s been forced on me by people called safe. I don’t have breath to say: No, I will not be grateful for my rights. I will stand with two feet on this earth and I will always say thank you when someone does something kind and sorry when I’ve done something wrong and never outside of that. And, yes, I am furious that I am pulled between poles of gratitude and apology—both of which are violent erasures. Thank goodness I wasn’t killed. I’m sorry I’m so inarticulate.