I’ve stopped saying I was mugged.

Because that’s not what happened. They would have to take my stuff for it to be a mugging. I was attacked and sexually assaulted. That’s what happened. I couldn’t let my brain go there, right away, though. “Mugged” is a much easier word to wrap your head and your life around.

This happened a week ago. I was walking home, seething about the street harassment I experienced in the four blocks in the Mission it would take me to get to my doorstep. It didn’t seem practical or necessary to call a car to drive four blocks.

The harassment happens every day and every night, but that night felt especially aggressive. A group of men near the bodega. Another group congregated on the retaining wall. A wasted crust punk wants to fist-bump me in the crosswalk. I’d had it. I thought to myself, “I wonder if I can condense my rage in to 140 characters?” Perhaps one of the more San Franciscan thoughts I’ve ever had.

Click here to read the blog post at medium.com