I've honestly had a very difficult time posting much since Tuesday night. If you follow me on twitter, you've seen me tweet about pussy grabbing fairly often and retweeting all kinds of horrible stuff- along with a few birds for a bit of relief.

I've struggled with how much I want to reveal about myself and why I'm not kidding when I say that parents need to talk to their kids about the pussy-grabbing recording. I mean it. Not just their daughters. Yes, support your daughters and help lead them to a life with enough confidence that they know no one has the right to their bodies. They owe nothing to anyone. Teach your sons that this is not a joke. It's not funny to say at school, it's not lighthearted, and it's not a prank to actually do it. It's sexual assault. I've had multiple friends mention that their daughters have come home from school, elementary, middle and high schools, with stories of boys joking about grabbing them or chanting "grab 'em by the pussy".

The thing is, as you must know, groping and assault are not new things that Trump made up. He has only brought it out into the open and legitimzed it as a thing men simply do. It has been defended as locker room talk and even something a man might casually say at a dinner party. And now our boys know that this is a thing that powerful, successful men do... and women supposedly like it, according to Trump.

So now I'll get personal.

The first time I was kissed against my will was in kindergarten. It was a friend's older brother. It was treated as all fun and games and he certainly didn't try to hide it. I just tried not to be near him.

The first time I was groped by a boy I was in fifth grade. He lifted my skirt, pulled on my bra straps, and touched my body. This was the only time anyone faced any kind of consequence for doing these things. He was expelled from the school. But don't worry- he was back in my 6th grade class. He was fine. I didn't ruin his life.

The first time a man offered me money for sex I was twelve and sitting with a friend in front of a cafe where we had bought muffins for breakfast. He was in his thirties, a slight build, glasses, a suit and briefcase- an average white guy. My friend had been assaulted before, by her father, and was far more bold than I was. She stood up- all five feet and two inches, balled her fists, leaned towards him, and yelled at him to get the fuck away from me. She called him names as he walked up the street slightly more hurried than before. She was fierce. She knew more than I did.

Oh, I forgot to mention the time when I was nine and a man tried to convince me to leave the grocery store with him to go to his apartment across the street for a pool party. He told me there would be cake and pizza and kids and he had a swimsuit for me to wear. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to talk to him. He was intimidating though. Luckily my mom and I were regulars at the store and a clerk saw what was happening. He interrupted the conversation and waited with me for my mom to come back to the book isle where I always read while she shopped.

When I was thirteen I was raped. I'm not telling you anything about that. Deal with it.

Throughout my teens I was groped and catcalled and followed by men. It was a part of life as a girl who spent time outside in a busy city.

When I was 15, through a series of unfortunate circumstances, I ended up trapped by a dude in his frat house. I was rescued by a friend. I don't know if I yelled or what happened. I felt paralyzed. She burst through the door, pushed him off of me, and grabbed me by the hand. She said "Let's go." and we ran so so far as fast as we could.

When I was 18, my ex boyfriend tried to rape me. I talked him out of it. I don't know how that happened. I talked him off of me and got him to drive me home. It was the middle of the night and his house was far up in the pitch black Oakland hills. There were no street lights or sidewalks to walk on. We were just supposed to be having coffee and catching up because we had gotten along outside of dating.

This isn't the end. This isn't all. There are worse incidents.

Before you think I'm some crazy fringe case you need to understand that this was life. It happened to pretty much all my friends to some extent. And no, we were not exceptionally hot children. No, I did not look 'mature for my age'- which is the most bullshit of bullshitty excuses any grown man ever uses.

These are just a handful of incidents. So, when you meet anyone who thinks the pussy grabbing comments are no big deal, let them know that your new president has given permission to a whole new generation of boys to assault our girls. He has given permission to Brock Turner to fuck a passed out girl behind a dumpster. Next time some bro grabs your ass on a bus, it's okay, don't fret. The president is okay with it.

Have you read Ivana Trump's account of brutal abuse?

But, sure, she's probably just a gold digger.

I'm deeply, deeply angered by the election results, as are many others. So when people defend voting for Trump with 'economic anxiety' or 'feeling disenfranchised', as if white working class men are the first to ever feel such things- nevermind suburban white women or tech billionairs, I say fuck right off. I don't trust you.