the caged bird sings.

written, designed, and edited by Bee Butler

On time cut short.

Bee ButlerComment
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This is Shana Fisher.

Shana, like most women I know, had a boy problem. She was being harassed by a guy she knew who refused to leave her alone even after she made it clear that she did not have any interest in dating him, nor did she want to engage in any physical contact. Like most women I know, Shana went out of her way to avoid him, told friends and family about the issue, and was genuinely afraid of him because of his persistence and the inappropriate and downright awful things he said to her.

Unlike a lot of women I know, Shana's stalker didn't rape her.

He shot her to death.

Dimitrios Pagourtzis told Shana two weeks before the Santa Fe massacre that he was going to kill her, and she told her parents. Pagourtzis was a football player and showed no outward signs of hostility to his teachers or many other classmates, so he was never even considered a danger, up until he blew away eight classmates and two teachers.

This is what happens when we don't listen to girls who are being harassed. This is what happens when we don't teach consent. This is what happens when we do not make it CRYSTAL CLEAR that boys and men have ZERO right to our bodies and minds and souls, and that we do not owe them sex because they are kind to us. This is what happens when no doesn't mean no because a court decided that the lines were blurred. THIS IS VIOLENT MISOGYNY.

Don't forget Shana Fisher.
Don't let someone you love end up like she did.
Please, pay attention, demand help, and do everything in your power to keep your friends and family safe when they tell you that this is happening to them. You never know who they're being hunted by, and they might end up staring down a bullet for a simple rejection.


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Across the Universe

Bee ButlerComment

I'm sitting here staring at a bouquet of roses my mom got for mother's day, here in her house. In Tomball. In Texas. I'm slowly realizing that this is my new life.

Ross and I broke up almost a month ago, and immediately following that, my stepdad flew to California, helped me pack up my car (along with Ross' parents', who I am forever grateful for and will always love), and although I left a ton of things behind, we left and drove straight to Texas in 48 hours, which kicked both our asses but somehow got us here.

I'm struggling.

It's hard to walk away from your wildest dreams, knowing you may never have them again in your grasp. It's hard to walk away from three and a half years, knowing that the dreams and plans you'd given yourself to over time were slipping away, and that you would never get to live them. It's hard to turn around and give up on everything you've come to know, to never walk on the beach again, to never drive to your favorite gas station for a drink, to never wake up next to the person you love or the dog who has become yours because of the passage of time and the love you inevitably feel. It's hard. It aches.

I guess I got lucky, though. I'm not waking up in that half empty bed. I'm not seeing that empty spot in the street where my car used to be parked. I don't have to do my every day without the people surrounding me minus one. Ross got the short end of the stick there, and I don't envy him.


I wake up in a new house with new rules and a different time zone. I eat when they (my mom and stepdad) eat. I go to church with them. I slowly settle and adjust and realize what needs to be shipped here and try to find doctors and a therapist and a job, and everything is new. Nothing hurts because of the familiarity. I'm lucky. It aches in a different way, but there's something less painful somehow. I wish I could say that i wasn't still crying daily, but I am. I wish certain songs and movies and memories didn't send me sobbing into my room, but they do. My phone gets a text and for half a second, things are the same... and then I look up and realize he's half a country away and I'm being ridiculous.

There's not a happy way to end this. There's not a way to say things got better because they haven't. There's a song, though, one that both of us can't stop listening to. For his sake and for mine, I'm just going to put the piano instrumental here. It's enough. 

I don't know how he's feeling. I wish I could see.
The song helps, and it hurts, but some lyrics fit.

What's in your head?

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