Well, that was.. something.

I am writing this here, because my handwriting sucks and this experience is important, worth more than a line in my diary and deserves to be out there in the wild for discussion, should that happen.

Tonight, I was rehearsing a sketch, playing Minister So-And-So, and it was about Bill 18, the so-called anti-bullying bill here in Manitoba.

The Minister is being bullied by another person in the sketch, and rehearsing, I had a horrible flashback to a Grade 10 experience where I was assaulted by a group of boys two years older than me. 

That experience was horrible, even though I was not physically injured and that finally made me fearful enough that I went to the principal and told someone about the months of verbal abuse I had endured.  I told the principal I didn't want those three students to not ever talk to me again.  And they didn't.  It was a delicious three months of peace, and then they graduated.

That was in 1988.  I didn't tell my mom about it until some time in 2010.  We cried.  I cry now thinking about how I was so ashamed of this that I didn't tell my mom then.

So, tonight, we are rehearsing, and I'm playing the bullied party, and the bully (it's satire) is walking behind my back, as the script indicates.

I express my discomfort, because suddenly I'm that scared 15-year-old, going to the principal (director) and saying I'm not comfortable.  The director immediately makes changes to accommodate my discomfort.

The bully defends himself, saying it's OK, in real life he's a nice guy.

That, right there, ladies and gentleman, is rape culture.

In the sketch, I knee him in the nuts.  Wish I could do that in real life.  And go back in time and do it again.