For the first time, people seem to be really listening to the horrible truth about rape and the American school system, so maybe it’s time for the world to hear a truth that’s been weighing on me for quite some time.
I decided to major in English because I thoroughly enjoy discussing fine literature with gay men and old people, and because really, what could be better than explaining why "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" is about a brothel as a homework assignment? Nothing. Nothing is better.
I got lucky, in a sense, that my struggle with agoraphobia and suicidal depression didn't hit its lowest point until my junior year at Emerson College in Boston, when I'd had time to cement friendships that would prove to be of invaluable assistance during that time.
It was just one of those things that I knew I'd regret not doing on my deathbed. (Now, if I live to reach grandma status, my grandkids will know I used to explain to people the pros and cons of all the different types of dildos!)
The response to a string of sexual assaults this weekend at Cornell University has been underwhelming, with some students suggesting that rape is an inevitable expression of socialized masculinity. Unfortunately, I can't say I'm all that surprised.