My entire life, I’ve always prided myself in being the strongest of all my girlfriends. Need something lifted? I can do it. Have some hard labor? I can do it. I’d pick my friends up and carry em around, work out and try to get my biceps popping, I felt physically good. I used to always think I could kick anyone’s ass. Then, I realized, no matter how much I lifted and how hard I tried, men could out strength me.
Oh, I know I’ll get flack. I know you guys will send me examples of people like my old friend Chyna (who I have known to be overpowered by a few men…and not in fake wrestling) and claim women can be just as strong as men. Safly, we are not designed to be. Men are the stronger of our species. We were given the ability to be more intelligent, multitask more and to be emotionally deeper and more mature…but men can kick our ass.
When I needed to be stronger than a man, I wasn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I was over powered. I won’t even touch on my sexual assaults here. The reason being, I KNOW a weapon would have saved me. I had my face beaten into a subway wall in NYC’S Penn Station. I fought this man like my life depended on it. I didn’t even feel my teeth almost breaking through my cheek. I didn’t even realize how badly I was hurt till he was done and on lookers were gasping at the model with her portfolio, blood gushing down her face and neck. I was so angry, I vowed to never let a man over power me again. I trained for 8 years with an ex Olympian boxer and former lightweight world champion kickboxer. I worked out daily and learned self defense. It wouldn’t happen to me again.
Then I got into a domestic dispute. My partner chest butted me into a wall and pinned me down with just his weight. I could not get free. I decided I was done. I reached for a lead crystal vase ( heavy as all fuck ) and I cracked him on his neck/shoulder with all my force. I broke away and I ran into the bathroom and propped my back against the wall, feet against the door as there was no lock. I remember the sensation of my legs feeling like they’d snap in two as I fought to keep that door closed. The pressure was so great I was scared my bones would fracture. Luckily I was able to open the window and scream “call 911! Help me!” Till my partner decided he didn’t want to go to jail or have it be known he was entering the world of “woman beating” and he left the door. His image was more important to him than kicking my ass.
I jumped out that second story bathroom window and escaped. Luckily, since I was about to leave when the fight started, I had my purse around my shoulder the whole time with my keys. I realized, a lot worse could have happened. Equipping myself with a weapon was all that got me away.
I started investing in pepper sprays. I purchased a tiny bat to keep next to my bed. I trained harder. I learned more techniques to hurt people. I moved away from the house I had shared with my partner and started a new life. I desperately wanted to stop my cycle of abusive men…something born from the abuse I had suffered.
Unfortunately, even when I put cupids bow into the hands of a person I trusted and respected, he managed to set me up with his best friend… who just so haooened to be the biggest sociopath evil fuck I’ve ever encountered. The depths of his psycopathy knew no bounds. My best friend asked that I never bring him around her children ever again because her “motherly intinct” was going off…she cried when she told me. This is the parking garage guy. Yep, that one.
He started acting crazy when his lies fell apart. The moment I started to call him out on his shit, he began to get violent. First, I could feel the violence in him….I could see him clench and veins protrude. Then, he smashed his head in my old 1920s English Tudor apartment wall. That wall was hard as a brick. He hardly put a dent in it and it almost knocked himself out. That’s when I decided I was not going to be his victim. I went and bought a 12 Guage Remington tactical pump action shotgun. I brought it home and I could see the fear in his eyes. I needed him to fear me. I needed him to get the living fuck out of my apartment and life. Guess what? He did.
You guys know some of the rest of the story with that gem. The best part is, he never hit me..he never touched me. He knew I would kill him. I got him to pack up and get the fuck out. My Remington kept me safe. My shotgun ensured I would not be a victim again merely by it existing in my domain.
I think every woman should own a gun to even out the score. Perhaps men would be less tempted to rape us if they knew we were all packing. If you have never found yourself in a situation that you were scared for your safety or life…then you are rare and lucky. I am an armed woman. I know how to use my weapon and I value my life far more than anyone who is trying to hurt me. You may not agree, but this is my right. As it is yours to not like my choice.