CH Revealed – Secrets of a Slut Shamed Non-Slut
I never thought I’d be thought of as the school slut. I have to admit I was guilty of assuming that when someone got called a slut that they somehow deserved the title. Now it has happened to me. No one can really imagine how horrible it is to be called a slut. As bad as you think it might be, I assure you it’s probably about a million times worse.
It all went down for me on the first day of school junior year. Well it was my first day. I had appendicitis over the summer and had missed the first week. But nevertheless, that morning I was excited. For the first time in recent memory my mom had actually let me buy the outfit I really wanted, I was more than halfway toward being a senior and I was determined that THIS was going to be my year. As I walked down the halls though, something was strange. It seemed like people were pointing at me and snickering. The people I knew weren’t really saying “hi”. Then it happened, as I left class right before lunch a voice yells “whore” down the hallway. Could they be talking to me? Why? At that point I honestly didn’t know.
I don’t have tons of friends, I’m not one of those girls that people follow around and try to imitate, but I had a small group that I hung out with and this year we were going to take over. But as I approach our usual spot near the stairs I notice they are avoiding me, really not talking to me, or even looking at me. “K” turns to me with a look I’ve never seen before and says in the meanest voice possible “you really don’t think you’re going to hang out with us do you?” At this point I’m stuck on stupid. I can’t move, I can’t talk. I wonder if she’s joking, but the way she and three other members of my (I guess former) group are looking at me I know they’re not. I find my voice and try to ask what’s wrong, but they act like I’m not even there, so I walk away.
All I can think is what in the world happened. I had broken my phone before I went to the hospital. Recuperation at my grandmas had meant no internet so I had been out of touch. I hustled to the media center dying to get my hands on a computer. I log into Facebook to check my page and then I see it … a string of posts, calling me all sorts of names, guys I don’t even know claiming to have done things with me and worst of all my supposed friend K seeming to lead it all. I track back to see when this had all happened. It had started the day I went to the hospital, and then I knew. I had had a crush on “S” for most of 10th grade and when he started acting interested in me over the summer I was excited. The day before I ended up doubled over in pain from appendicitis, I had let “S” come over to my house when my mom wasn’t home, but then his friend “D” came too. Their plan was that we all hook up, but I said no. I didn’t like his friend, but even if I did, K liked D and there was no way I would do anything with the guy she liked. I was embarrassed, I thought S really liked me and I swore I wouldn’t say anything to anybody if they didn’t either. I was prepared to take the humiliation of that day to my grave but apparently either S or D or both had told the whole school we had done stuff and now everyone thought I was a whore. K believed I would get with her guy and everyone else just hated me for my perceived sluttiness. I cried and wished immediately I could just die, the horrible part was that it seemed like the whole school felt I deserved to.
The year I thought might be my best quickly became my worst. K and my ex friends did everything they could to turn as many people as possible against me. A day didn’t go by without at least one person calling me a whore or a slut in the hallways, or as I waited for the bus or in a whisper as I passed their desk in class. During class was halfway ok, but lunch was brutal. With no one to talk to and nowhere to be I spent most of my lunch periods trying to discover new hiding places where I could disappear. S and D refused to undo the lie, both gaining a new status from it. I stopped posting or even signing in to facebook because every time I did someone would decide to post something about me or tell me to stay away from their man. I accidentally left my backpack in class once and when I got it back someone had written “Die stupid b*%@#” on it with a sharpie. I used to love school but now I hated it. I finally asked my mom if I could transfer or even be homeschooled but she wouldn’t let me.
I hate to say it but I really started to identify with those kids you hear about on the news who just finally thought it might be better to hang themselves. The guys that didn’t lie and say we had already done stuff would ask me to do stuff like I wasn’t supposed to say no and on a certain level I started to believe that maybe what everyone thought about me was true. Maybe I should just be the whore everyone thought I already was; maybe then they’d leave me alone. I didn’t see a way out of my situation and I didn’t feel like I was strong enough to survive either.
I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me if three things hadn’t come to save me. The first was an unexpected friend. “A” was a senior, homecoming queen and one of those girls that was popular because she wasn’t afraid of anybody and never apologized for being herself. By some miracle she adopted me. They say the enemy of your enemy is your friend and “A” had never been the biggest fan of “K”. “You know, they’re all just jealous of you right?” she said as she caught me trying to stuff my vandalized backpack into my gym locker. I couldn’t imagine that anyone in the world would want to be me at that moment. But after that “A” gave me a form of acceptance. I didn’t become part of the in crowd or anything, but I developed a clique of people who weren’t afraid to talk to me and the incidents of me being called names lessened a little. The second thing was that my teacher had recommended me for an internship program and they accepted me. The internship allowed me to leave campus early several days a week, giving me additional relief from the torture but it also gave me something to feel good about. I finally had an area of my life where I was thought of as smart, helpful and valuable instead of as a worthless whore. And the third thing was the junior/senior powderpuff football game. Because of my relationship with “A” I ended up playing with the seniors (she insisted and everyone listened). I played well and walked away with a new name and reputation that I didn’t mind so much … “bad a$$”.
I would like to say this was like the movies and afterward all was good and I was never referred to as a slut again, that I could roam the halls freely and be accepted into any group, but it’s not a movie and despite my small victories, the rumors lingered, though they were a lot less intense. I can’t say I loved school again, but I didn’t hate it as much either. I also learned that saying stuff like “Did you see what she was wearing?”, “Does she know she looks like a _____” or “she’s such a slut, she’s been with like every dude” isn’t fair, isn’t cool and needs to stop. You could think it’s true and be totally wrong, or even if it is true no one deserves to be treated like I was.
From the February 2012 issue of Celebrity High Magazine! For the full issue Click Here
