The Long Walk Home

I hate that because I'm a woman, there are things I ought not to do.
I hate that I shouldn't walk home alone because there is a chance I could encounter a dangerously forward male with ill intentions.
I've been conditioned to think that because I am a woman, I am weak and helpless to defend myself.

I hate that.

I hate feeling like this rare occurrence is not so rare.
Vulnerable is one of my least favorite flavors of fear.

I don't like calling someone to walk me home. If someone I know is around, sure, I'll walk with them. But I don't like making someone go out of their way to do something I have done by myself thousands of times (even though I know, most likely none of my friends would mind).

I'm stubborn, I know.

I just don't want to be scared of the world.

I am not naive enough to think bad things don't happen, or to think that it couldn't happen to me. I just don't like feeling like it will happen to me. Every.Night.

I guess this post has no real resolution. Except for the fact that I will continue to: rarely be on campus at night, walk with my head held high and buy some pepper spray.

I still don't like the sound of that. Because I've heard so many guys (and my Mom) tell me not to walk home alone after dark, I want to do it more. Just to show them I can do it. That I'm tough enough. It's a stupid reason, but it's my reason.

Take that, invisible male demons. Another successful walk home. I didn't even run.

image via deviantart

{And I hate that Southwest Airlines took away my pepper spray. So I forgot to put it in my checked luggage, it could have come in handy if the guy sitting next to me was planning on hi-jacking the plane. But they threw.it.away. Now, if that should ever happen, I'll have to settle for a ballpoint tracheotomy a la Red Eye. }