Last week was a rough week. Some people assumed Serbia was the issue, so I now feel a need to explain myself further:
The issue is the US. The issue is things that are happening in the US, and the way that western men react to these things—perhaps not all men but literally every western man I’ve spoken to for more than three minutes this month.
The issue is also the way that women in the US media email me about these things, asking for commentary—like I haven’t publicly stated that I will move on with my life, and will simply retire if the media refuses to allow that to happen while I remain in the public eye.
I am fortunate to be in a place where I don’t need Ritalin to do my work at the level expected of me. I am fortunate to be in a place that helps me feel stable, where many of my friends are available last minute for a coffee or dinner and we can share our issues as opposed to steam-rolling each other with them. I am fortunate to be in a place where I am able to have my feelings as they happen, process them, and write about them if they’re organized enough. I am fortunate to be in a place where I am treated as a human above all else.
If I had been in New York last week, I’d still be in a funk. I’d be exhibiting physical symptoms of depression and hypervigilance. I’d most likely be experiencing a domino-like cascade of flashbacks.
But I’m not in New York. I’m in Belgrade. Where my only insecurity stems from the fear that I won’t be allowed to stay here. Where I can move freely through the city, where no one has ever interrupted my dinner to demand a photo, where no strange man has ever put their hands on me inappropriately.
God save me from men whose default mode is to make assumptions, please. God save me from feminists who forget that I am human too.
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Also published on Medium.