Everything I had recollected, details I’d fumbled to provide into that little black recorder, had been typed into transcripts. Reporters must have sifted through them, using my words to construct their own narrative for the public to pore over. I felt the walls of my life being torn down, the whole world crawling in. If words spoken softly at a rape clinic were projected over a megaphone, where was it safe for me to speak?
3/25 If there is a choice, we ALWAYS sacrifice women rather than make men uncomfortable
