I have chosen to not be certain of anything at all


An anonymous submission to deep dark fears.

6 minutes ago28790


Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let’s go take a howl at that moon.

28 minutes ago4378

This one goes out to my freshmen year sex-ed teacher.
Hello, Mr. Kier.
I have some things I’d like to talk to you about.
I have some problems about your so-called “lesson,” that may have never been brought to your attention before.
There are several.
I know that you must think that there are no flaws with your lesson.
If you thought that there were problems, you wouldn’t continue teaching this way.
But the fact is that you’ve left a lot of teenagers dazed and confused about sex.
And the truth of the matter is that I’m angry.
Incredibly angry, as a matter of fact, and I think I could resolve this issue if you’d just listen.
So lend me your ear for a moment,
Mr. Kier,
And try not to hold what I’m about to say against me.
After all,
I tried not to hold your words against you.

It was all so painful,
Listening to you speak.
Because I know for a fact that you don’t think you’re wrong.
I know for a fact that you think your blatant homophobia and victim-blaming
Should feel something to me like coming home.
And, well, it does.
But the problem with this is that I don’t like my home,
And I very severely want the interior of my home renovated.
It was all so heart-wrenching,
Watching you smile from your soap box at the front of my health class,
Because I knew – and I know –
That you are a genuinely good guy.
I know that your morals are intact,
And I know that you don’t think that what you’re saying
Is detrimental to the mental health of the boys and girls in my class.
But the ugly truth of the matter is that it is.
And I’m here to bring the ugly truth.
I’m not going to disguise it, or pretend that I’m not angry.
I shouldn’t have to blanket all of this with kind words,
Or pretending that it’s not big deal
Because it is.
It’s a big fucking deal,
And I want to make sure that you know that.

There are so many things wrong with your lesson,
In fact,
That I’ve made a list.
It took a long time to jot these things down, simply because I didn’t know where to start.
But I figured it out.
And I think I know exactly where I want to start now.
Our’s was a five-day course, and
Though something about you made my stomach churn from day one,
Problems didn’t start until day three.
Day three was the day that you ceremoniously wheeled a projector into the room and set it up,
Proclaiming, “This is the day that we learn about the consequences of sex.”
Let me point something out right now.
You didn’t say, “This is the day we learn about the consequences of unsafe sex,”
Or, “sex without a condom,”
But rather blanketed all sex as unsafe,
Assuming (I’m guessing) that if you said it that way,
We would choose abstinence.
Because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?
Choosing abstinence over the numerous other ways people can practice sex
And still be safe.
But we’ll talk about this later.
Now, I want to talk about the show you put on for us,
Grinning and clapping your hands together,
Pretending like this was all Fun and Games for you.
You taught us not to take you seriously,
And you can be sure that I didn’t.

The pictures that you showed were of bodies plagued with STDs.
Gonorrhea, herpes, chlamydia, syphilis, hepatitis, HIV.
Just to name a few.
When all was said and done, we were all disgusted,
And one girl had even ran out of the room,
Presumably to vomit.
Each time a new slide would flick across the screen,
We would all let out a collective gasp,
Some of us choosing instead to look away.
We learned,
On day three of what you call Creating Positive Relationships
Or CPR for those of us who are too lazy to say the whole thing,
That if we have sex,
It’s inevitable that we will either impregnate, be impregnated,
Or die.
Those seem like awfully dangerous statistics,
Considering the amount of people that I know personally who have sex on a regular basis
And have none of those things happen at all.
“Don’t become a statistic!” you preached,
But you didn’t give us any alternate way to avoid it.

You later discussed how sex works,
But considering you were in the presence of high schoolers,
I’m assuming that you didn’t think you needed to go into much detail,
Because you didn’t.
Worse than that,
For those of us
Who were and are of a different sexuality other than hetero,
You made it very clear how you felt.
You told us that who we have sex with is our choice
—Which, admittedly, is good—
But that if we choose to have sex of someone of the same gender…
“Well,” you said, “you know how I feel about that.”
No, Mr. Kier, I don’t.
So please, tell me.
How is it that you feel
About those of us who love
And are loved
By those of the same sex?
What preconceived grudges do you hold against those of us
Who are not straight?
Homosexuals, Bisexuals, Pansexuals, Demisexuals, Transgenders—
That’s an awfully large group to pit your hate against.
For those of us in this class
Who have been struggling to come to terms with our sexualities,
Who’ve had to tell ourselves over and over that it doesn’t matter what people think—
Because those that matter don’t care, and those who care don’t matter—
You’ve made it incredibly hard.
We thought we liked you.
Flaws aside, we liked you.
But now, well.
You’re bigoted.
And if you knew the truth about us,
You wouldn’t like us much, either.

You fit a lot of wrong things into this day, Mr. Kier.
You told us that our virginities are like a present
That we are to gift to our spouses
When we get married.
What a kind thought.
Of course, not everyone’s virginity is intact.
You described losing it before marriage
As taking that gift
And crushing it,
Slamming it against walls,
Stomping on it,
And spitting in the fact of the receiver.
Automatically, once one person has sex,
Their value has plummeted.
And for every time they have sex again,
It only drops lower
And lower.
Perhaps one’s virginity is something to be treasured
And kept in a box,
Kept away from prying eyes.
But my virginity is my own,
And no one should tell me who
Or where,
Or how to give it away.
I am just as valuable if I have sex with every person I ever meet
As if I were to never have sex in my life.
You do not give me value,
And you do not take it away.
Keep that in mind, Mr. Kier, when you tell the next batch of students
That they are worthless.

Day four
Wasn’t much better.
In fact,
If you had asked me,
I would tell you that it was worse.
By more than a ton.
Day four
Was the day that we discussed rape.
I respected you for taking on a much more serious tone
For this topic.
I respected you for looking at the girls and boys,
And including both genders into the discussion.
I was proud to know that you didn’t pretend that men don’t get raped.
But after that,
Things went downhill.
Mr. Kier, I don’t know if you know what you did was wrong.
I don’t know if you purposefully looked at the girls in the room
And automatically labeled them as “weak,” or “victims.”
Perhaps you labeled us all as “liars.”
But I do know that what you said was not appropriate.
Not by a long shot.
I appreciate you telling us
That again, we could become a statistic.
That there are girls out in the great, big, scary world
Who get raped and sexually assaulted every day.
You told us that if a boy is trying to force himself on us,
That we should make a commotion.
You told us that a majority of the girls who do this in order to escape sexual assault
Get away with not only their lives and their precious sexualities.
But I have something to tell you, Mr. Kier.
When you tell me to stave off any unwanted advancements,
But refuse to tell the boys that they shouldn’t advance unwantedly,
You’re simply telling the boys to be stronger.
To be quicker.
To rape the other girl.
Once you were done preaching to us
About the importance of protecting ourselves,
(Which had the aura of telling each and every girl
That if she did not do what you told her,
And she got raped,
It’s her fault),
You turned to the boys.
I cannot emphasize enough
How angry you made me with your next statement.
“Boys,” you greeted them, with a smile no less.
“The technology these days is astounding.
“And I can assure you that if you rape someone,
“You’ll probably get caught.”
Next topic.
What the fuck?
Are you fucking kidding me, Mr. Kier?
Are you telling me that the only advice you have for these boys
Is to tell them to be sneakier?
To tell them that it’s likely they’ll get caught,
But to imply that if they’re good enough at it,
It’ll all go away?
Are you seriously fucking telling me right now that that’s all you have to say?
You made rape an option.
It should not be an option.
It should never be an option.
You didn’t explain once,
How the girl they rape will feel
And how she will blame herself
Because she didn’t cause a big enough commotion.
You didn’t bother to mention
How she might never get over it,
How she might never be able to trust a boy again.
You didn’t consider telling them about any of the consequences,
About how if they get found out,
Their mother’s heart will break
And jump into her throat.
All throughout this, Mr. Kier,
I’ve managed to remain calm,
But this.
This is the one thing I cannot and will not let go.
You’re a fucking joke, Mr. Kier.
What about the girls in that class that have already been sexually assaulted?
You’ve just reinforced something that they already knew.
“It’s your fault.”
Your lips didn’t form the words,
But anyone who caught your gaze could read it on your face.

You left us the next day with smiles and laughs.
But secretly, I stewed.
I wanted to say something.
I wanted to so. Badly.
But I couldn’t.
I knew it would do no good.
I would get too angry,
And end up in the principal’s office.
It would do no good,
Because I knew you wouldn’t listen.
It might have done the class itself some good,
But it doesn’t matter,
Because I kept it to myself.
The bell rang, and we gathered our things.
On the way out, I passed two boys who high-fived each other.
“I totally raped that final quiz,” one said to the other,
And I cringed.
You obviously taught our class much, Mr. Kier.
But none of it had to do with sex.

— "Mr. Kier," by Morgan Babb (via sam-mooschester)
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