Yes, That Was The Beginning Of A Slapgate Scandal

I am unsure if I can call it a social issue though, in my defense, it pertains to issues that concern me socially!

It was a regular day in my town, which by the way thrives on parties. The high of a day isn’t in how happy you have been or what you achieved at work but the shallow – “You didn’t get an invite?”

It never mattered to me for very early in life I learned the art of distinguishing real from fake. I could attribute it to my ever-consistently loyal gut or maybe it was an inherent part of my nature to just be able to look beyond the masquerade!

When someone with power asserts themselves on you for vile purposes, there is not much you can do but hold your ground. Publicly, a lot was said, privately even more so. For a moment, not to sound melodramatic but I almost felt the pain Sita must have felt at being questioned about her character in the full public glare! But I chose to stay silent. When friends turned foe and conveniently believed falsified stories and rumours, I tried to make a joke out of it to keep my sanity. But deep inside me, another wave of black silence descended.

It was a regular socialite party with an eclectic mix of generations. I saw her walk in and get intoxicated, which was a usual affair. The town was drunk… but of course, no one dared question her as she belonged to aristocracy! And who was I but a simple married woman? The fact that we had been friends, great friends at that was a fact long camouflaged with deceit, insecurity, and of course jealousy. Why to this date I am ignorant of!

What stirred the pot was when she slapped me, owing to her twisted cacophony of lustful thoughts and that was when the SlapGate scandal began. Yes, I was slut shamed in public! I was told things that I could never in my wildest dreams imagine from anyone, let alone a woman I once considered a friend. I was humiliated and abused for something that was solely her warped mind.

But, it was done.

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I did hit back, for self-defense is a vital lesson we are taught. I did talk to my friends hoping they would have it in them to stand for the right instead of the wrong. But, it was a small town and people thrived on parties… Standing with me meant isolation from the glamour and, of course, I had to be guilty for no one dared take a stand against her. She was too evil a human, too powerfully conniving a mind to displease.

So, I stood alone.

The parties continue, the fakeness remains believable. It hurts deep inside me when I teach my daughters never to shed tears for someone who wrongs them, but contradictorily, weep every night at my helplessness.

Crying doesn’t make me a weak woman, it simply makes me human. Or is this a story I tell myself to wake up each morning?

(Abuse against women – emotional or physical cannot be pushed under the rug anymore. I’m finally ready to share my story if you have it in you to listen)

Image Source: wdstock from Getty Images Signature via Canva Pro 

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