Sitting at a sunny table outside my local pub, a pal from that time said to me, “You should expect this kind of thing to happen, working in this industry.”
I’d like to think that she meant to reassure me that something like this had happened to her too, that I wasn’t being judged for choosing to be an actress, that my friendliness and desire to make work with other people didn’t make me a naive fool, and that it wasn’t my fault that a man I trusted, a friend and a director I had been building projects with, had found me attractive enough to invite me to his flat and then had not make it easy for me to leave.
This was six years ago now. I’m thinking about it today as I walk down the street, on another sunny day, in a different part of town.
There is too much fear in my veins. The streets where I live IV-supply me, keep me topped up. What is the ground under my feet? Crunch of glass, cigarette butts, spittle. Young ones with no struggle stand on your feet to get to their craft beer. What is the weight above their heads, they can’t smile? Why are their eyes so small?
N.B. It is never ok to force yourself on a person.