At that time I was hanging out with Sally and we were just starting what was to become Pussy Power. We were planning our first feeble disruptions. Every day, we would spend hours talking and laughing at our stupid ideas, and
she didn’t once acknowledge the trauma my family was going through. After spending time with her, I would go home to this sorrow pit filled with dying flowers and the stale smell of grief casseroles and listen to my brother say things like “Do you want to process anything you are feeling about Owen right now?” or “I’m feeling really vulnerable, I’m going to cry for a little bit. Do you mind?”
I wore a gorilla mask to hide my face, not because I was ashamed, but because this was a solo disruption and I was feeling vulnerable.
I amped myself up as I marched toward the hateful group. I puffed my chest out. Clenched my fists and repeated go, go, go, go, go, go feeling my hot breath bounce off the internal surface of the mask.
Sneak peak into the story of a woman who is fighting the man. All the men.