I’m angry…

Updated: Oct 2


I’m angry that I can’t put my headphones in when I’m on my own.

I’m angry that I have to lock my car doors the minute they close, even in the daylight.


I’m angry that I have to look down when I get heckled in the street because it’s safer to not defend myself.


I’m angry that I have to pretend to call my dad and make it clear “he’s waiting for me just around the corner”.

I’m angry that at 24 years old, my 18 year old brother has to accompany me round the corner shop at night.


I’m angry that I can’t go to a club or a pub or a bar, without someone I don’t know touching me.


I’m angry that I have to give a fake phone number because no actually doesn’t mean no.


I’m angry that I have to cover the top of my drink with my hand to make sure nothing is dropped into it.


I’m angry that when I’m in a taxi alone, I have to take my heels off so I’m ready to run.


I’m angry that I have to know to aim for the nose, the groin, the stomach and to use my elbows or knees if I can’t use the palm of my hand.


I’m angry that when me and my friends part ways at night, we don’t know that we’ll see each other again until we see the text that “I’m home safe”.


I’m angry that I have to plan in my head which item in my bag would be the best weapon… my keys, my deodorant, my ring.


I’m angry that the safety net my parents always taught me of looking for a police officer when all else fails now fills me with dread.


I’m angry that I can’t open Twitter or watch the news or read the articles in full because the anxiety is all consuming.


I’m angry that some people don’t understand the gravity of the situation and still use phrases like ‘it’s not all men’.