1 week Ago By Ciara Bastow
I was eight years old when a boy pushed me over because I got in his way. / (min cost $ 0 ) or signup to continue reading I was 14 when a friend and I went to play at a park 100 meters away from her house. A group of boys we didn't know arrived and we thought about leaving.
We decided not to because we thought it would be fine, they could do what they want and we would stay out of their way. It only took 10 minutes before we were surrounded by boys we didn't know and had to run away. One of them chased us as their friends yelled, "grab their asses".
I was 15 when a boy tried to follow me home from school. I was 15 when I told that boy I wouldn't date him. I was 15 and labelled mean because he cried when I rejected him.
I was 16 when I learned my grandmother had survived a . I was 18 when a man I didn't know had a meltdown about not having a ticket for the bus and threw his water bottle at me - someone who was just waiting in line. I was 18 when I watched on hopelessly as my friend got into her first relationship with someone who treated her awfully.
I listened as she cried on the phone telling me all the terrible things he did to her. I was 19 when I cheered because she survived and got out of that relationship. I was 19 when I would walk back to my dorm at university pretending to be on the phone to a friend or my sister because I was scared a guy might attack me if I was alone.
I was 21 when I felt so sick I couldn't move. I had to cancel a date I made with a friend, he got.
