Acts of Desperation

by Megan Nolan

What would you choose? Either you can be famous for being a shrill prop in a great man’s work, a victim sacrificed to the gods of art, or you can nod along and applaud. You can have a seat at the big boys’ table for being such a good sport. So, go ahead: ha ha ha.

The act of unwanted sex was not what angered me most, but rather the tedious reminder that men can often do whatever they want and that some of them will.

Mam seemed always to be anticipating disaster in a way that seemed unnatural and pointless for a person in their later life, and still anxiously dieted with the vehemence and optimism of a teenager.

I am self-conscious and defensive before her. I hate that she can see what weight I have gained. I hate to listen to what she is or isn’t eating any more, what she is doing at the gym. I hate that hearing those things feels like a dare to me, or an invitation to raise the stakes.

It seemed to sum up all the ways in which men could take you without your permission and turn you into something you had never been, which had nothing to do with you.

‘You always think your pain is the most painful. You always think it’s uniquely awful.’

Every moment of shame, of desperation – do you really think anyone could love you still?

I hate them less afterwards, because I’ve made myself as pathetic as they are.

Someone who needs you, even just a little – who needs you to like or love them – seeing their weakness is disturbing and repellent. It’s ugly but it’s true.