LETS GEAUXXXX, i’m excited to announce that I was accepted into Twitch’s Women’s, Black, AND Pride Guilds 💕
Thank you so much for the opportunity, im EXCITEDDD & can’t wait to get to know & learn from all of the other amazing people in these spaces 🥹
As Dreamcon is approaching in a couple months, I sincerely want people to have a great experience. However, leave the egos, horniness, and misinformation away from the event itself. And most importantly, you niggas coming there to fight like last year.
i dated a guy who had a female best friend and i genuinely tried to be mature about it. i’m not the jealous type, so at first i didn’t mind, but then i noticed she was always there. if i called him, she was around. if we went on dates, she was blowing up his phone. anytime he posted me, she’d leave those weird little “lol okay” comments like my relationship was a joke. so i finally asked him straight up, “why does she hate me?” and he said, “she doesn’t hate you, she’s just protective.” protective of what exactly? a man she’s not even dating? then one day he casually tells me, “she said you’re controlling,” and that’s when it clicked, she wasn’t just watching us, she was discussing me like i was the enemy. he tried to downplay it with “it’s not like that,” but i didn’t argue, beg, or compete. i just smiled and said, “okay… date her then.” two months later he posted them on vacation together, and i didn’t even feel heartbreak, just proud that i trusted my instincts before they embarrassed me.
“I don’t understand why women don’t just report it if it really happened.”
When I was 19, I reported mine. I had bruises. Hospital photos. Text messages of him apologizing the next morning. My friends drove me to the station because I could barely stop shaking. I thought evidence would make it simple. I thought truth would be enough.
Months later, I was the one on trial. His lawyer printed my Instagram photos and held them up in court. Asked why I wore crop tops. Asked why I drank that night. Asked why I didn’t scream louder. He replayed my police interview and pointed out every time I hesitated, every time I cried, every time my timeline wasn’t perfectly linear. “If it was traumatic,” he said, “why can’t she remember clearly?”
Sitting there while strangers debated my pain like it was a group project felt like being stripped again. My messages were projected on a screen. My body was described in detail. My character was picked apart like that was the real crime.
He walked out on bail. I walked out with panic attacks.
That’s why some women don’t report. Because even with bruises. Even with screenshots. Even when you do everything “right.” You still have to survive the assault twice, once in private, and once in public, just to maybe be believed.
I had a friend who used to call me at 4am crying about her boyfriend. I’d wake up, listen, let her vent, and then go back to sleep, more than once. One night I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d return the favor and called her at 4am. She answered and told me she was sleeping, & I should call back tomorrow. Moral of the story: always remember that energy you give isn’t always going to be reciprocated—set your boundaries, even with “friends.”