This is going to end up being a much longer post than the others that have been told under the #SpeakingOut hashtag, and I know that because I wrote the ending first. I did that because I know who I am in this moment, but coming forward means going back and reliving the thing that made me the sad, hollow person I’ve been for the better part of the past year. I don’t want to be that person anymore, and every moment since making that decision I get a little bit better.

 

Back in August 2019, I was assaulted. I trusted someone to be better than they were because they had always been a good friend to me, and had trusted me enough to confide in me about their own mental health issues. I know now that wasn’t trust; it was a tool he used to manipulate me into thinking he had any kind of reason or remorse for things he had done in the past, and to make me feel sorry for him.

 

I really don’t want to go into details, and honestly if you’re a person who needs them to believe myself and the other people who have shared their stories, know that what you’re asking them to do is endure even more pain and trauma to justify to you that they were truly hurt in the first place. If you’re reading this and don’t believe me, sure. Fine. You don’t have to. All I need to tell you, a stranger, is that I said I wasn’t interested and was tired and just wanted to go to sleep more than once. That I didn’t want anything that happened, and felt so trapped my body just didn’t know how to fight or escape what was going on. If you think that isn’t real, I’m happy to direct you to Google so you can educate yourselves on not only the mental/chemical reactions one can have when being assaulted, but also all of the ways your body works to protect you when fight and flight just aren’t possible. 

 

At first I was scared to put his name on it, but after so many more people coming forward I know that I’m not alone, and my doing so could help someone else who’s struggling feel the same. Subconsciously it may be that I didn’t want to give him any more power over me by naming him, but honestly I’m tired and just don’t really want to talk about him. But that’s the thing, isn’t it. I’ve seen so many people comment that those coming forward about any incident on the wide spectrum of inappropriate behavior and abuse that they just want the attention, but it’s really the opposite. I don’t want people to tell me they’re sorry. I don’t want to hear that people stand with me. I don’t want anyone else’s pity or pride or scorn because the only thing I need is to get back all of the feelings that were taken from me. I’ve felt enough shame and doubt and fear and it’s time to start feeling my own pride, my own confidence, my own inspiration; to feel any good thing that isn’t the weight and numbness that sat in the pit of my stomach and eventually radiated out into my entire being. 

 

All of the things I was excited to do just...died off. I have hundreds of photos that sit unedited, my Patreon lags dangerously behind, and I let down people and companies I value and was so grateful to work with. If I was robbed of any feelings, they were more than replaced with the guilt and shame of being a flake, or unreliable, or a disappointment. I didn’t watch friends I miss terribly wrestle on TV, and mostly just stopped watching wrestling altogether. If I started to miss it, I would only watch things with people I knew who made me feel safe, but weren’t necessarily close enough friends I would be letting down by not being strong enough to come forward. Or Battlarts, but that’s just because Battlarts fucking slaps.

 

To get some answers to possible questions out of the way, I did not go to the police. It’s taken months to fully process that not wanting it was enough, and to stop blaming myself for not doing more to stop it. Also, have you met the police?? I mean seriously, come on. I did not go to him and tell him what I was feeling. I continued to follow him on social media and threw him a like now and then just to keep up appearances because something in my brain said this was a good defense against...I don’t know. Confronting just how deeply horrible it had made me feel? Not wanting to have to justify my feelings to someone who clearly didn’t give a fuck in the first place?

 

When people are viewed as marginalized and less-than, they enter a dichotomous space all their own, being both vulnerable and unseen at the same time. They have a higher risk of being preyed upon, yes, but are also more likely to make people around them think it’s safe to show their true selves without recrimination. This is where whisper networks are born, so whenever someone new takes up residence in that space, they know not to ride in a particular car, split a hotel room on tour, or that the open relationship someone says they’re in? Nope, not a real thing. The safeguards and protections are self-constructed with whatever materials are on hand, and when they aren’t reinforced by the companies’ strength, they will inevitably fail someone who needed that protection. 

 

If you have any questions about what I’m saying, honestly, I don’t want to answer them. I’m sorry this interrupts some near-voyeuristic need to know every single detail of a person’s experience in order to believe them, but you’re not owed anything. You do not need to play detective for someone who has the money and resources to do it for themselves because similarly, you do not owe them anything. If your worry is that lying about this could ruin someone’s career, please study the numerous historical examples of famous people who have been accused of sexual assault, domestic violence, or just being a shitty person who have lost everything. I hope that was a fun and educational few seconds for you! 

 

What I do want from those reading this is a real, viable effort to be the kind of person someone in your life can come to in faith and trust and honesty about their own experiences. That when you see someone being harangued and inundated with tweets and comments questioning their stories, your first instinct is to believe them, whether concrete proof is given or not. To be someone who doesn’t question the almost preternatural defence mechanisms people use to exist in professional spaces with people who have wronged them, like working in the same locker room, or following them on social media, or appearing friendly toward them in any public-facing way. The instinct is to blend in, to not make trouble, to not put yourself at further risk. It is a lie bred from a breach of trust, and it is a lie you’re meant to believe.

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I want you to give people who have just now come forward time to process their emotions and not why they haven't immediately scrubbed all traces of their internet life of their abuser. I would also ask that you make an effort to understand that people in the independent wrestling community are they themselves processing the fact that someone they care about was hurt so deeply by someone else they know, and the guilt and shame for not seeing it sooner. These people were manipulated too, and it's alright to give them a second to catch their breath and support victims they care about before they take time away to write a statement and say hey, rape, pretty bad, innit?

 

In writing the end of this first, I’m hoping that by the time I get back to this sentence I will have shed some of the fear I’ve felt to attach my name, or his. You can see people who have posted anonymously, or posted their stories without naming their accuser have gone back and clarified “Fuck it, it was [this person.]” Whenever the word empowerment is used to describe a brand or a running shoe or the sad little women’s-only room at the gym that’s like, three treadmills and a yoga mat, it doesn’t come close to the meaning given to it by everyone who has made the choice speak out. When you see someone tell their story, you’re seeing empowerment in real time. When you see someone attach a name to it, you’re witnessing the evolution of that power. These are the first steps in a long, painful, private journey of both grieving the loss of who they used to be, and figuring out how to make sure that the new version of themselves is healthier, happier, and even stronger than they were before.

 

At first I couldn’t say it at all. Then I told one person, but couldn’t say it with my voice. The time has come for him to hold the shame and fear so many others have carried around with them. It’s time to stop blaming myself for what he did so he can take back all of the doubt and hurt and guilt he gave to me.  Now I can say to anyone who wants to listen: Joey Ryan assaulted me, and can get absolutely, unequivocally fucked.