elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- hello from the deep So, I have been reminded that it's been a while since I've written in here. I'm chalking it up to lack of computer, although I have my girlfriend's that I can use. I haven't been, though, not as much as I would use my sturdy old compaq laptop, in the shop to fix the power cord intake thingy, and maybe a tiny bit more than I use my antiquated desktop pc, running, or in this case not running, on good old win98. And now that I'm here, what should I talk about? I have kittens! I'm fostering a litter of five kittens and their mama for a local rescue association. I love them all and hopefully I can adopt one. It's going to be impossible to choose, however, because they're so goddamned cute. Mamacat, Dorian Gray, is a bit of a shithead. She won't eat food that's good for her, and she's scared of everything - probably because she was a pet and when she got preggers, was dumped on the street. People are so, so nice. And, my girlfriend has been out of the country for a month. It is somewhat excruciating, but, it seems, a tiny bit more for her than for me. Cause she hates what she's doing, and wishes I were there. Who wouldn't? I wish I were there too. I'm dealing, but have been pretty depressed on and off. Lonely. I've only ever lived alone for one month before, so. But that's why I got kittens! Because I talk to them like they are my children. I'm one of THOSE. But yes. I miss her every day, and nothing is as good without her. This scares me a little, because I've been hurt before when I trusted and loved somebody completely. Who hasn't. But lots of my heart is scar tissue, and my brain is inherently distrustful of need. I do need her, though. Not to survive, not to enjoy myself, but to be fulfilled, to feel right in my own skin. That's love, I guess. I got badly sunburned at the Pride Parade. I have $50 in my bank account to last me until I get my first TA paycheck. Mid-September. AHAHA. I suck in my wastrelness. And this is without paying my rent. Luckily, my dad is my landlord, and he loves me, so. I'm bored to tears with the American election. You guys just draw it out as long as possible, doncha? We had an election, and nobody cared! So there. I got an extention on my summer paper until the 19th. I haven't done a thing. I clearly suck. - And now for something completely different. Sensitive subject, maybe, but important. Livejournal, at least in my circle, has been plugged up with this post (not me) about sexual abuse for the last couple of days. The slogan is No pity. No shame. No silence. and has people coming out with a declaration of themselves as a survivor. While I doubt the journalling medium is the best place to break silences that may have lasted years, this is an issue that is talked about far too often. 1 in 5 women before age 18, and 1 in 4 women in their lifetime will survive sexual abuse. I'm one of them, both as a child and an adult. I think it's important to say, although I'm not going to describe my experiences. But read the original post, hidden between edits because so many people were moved. Read some of the comments. Think about your own experiences, or your best friend's, or your sister's or brother's or mother's or random acquaintance's. I'm sure you can come up with someone, and that's scary. Silence is deadly. It's true with farts, and it's true with abuse. (do you like how callous I can be in the middle of something serious?) We should not be ashamed, or scared. By speaking out we are not looking for pity. And abuse is not something to be repressed, or ignored, or silenced. I think the online world can make even the most serious thing a triviality, and a floating post with six words, meant to encapsulate everything, is not anywhere near to a solution. I have a lot of problems with this sort of thing, and it's odd for me to embrace something like this. But people have been complaining about how they want the post to go away, and that is the disease right there. Too many people suffer from silence.
I'm repeating myself. But these things hit me hard. So. Word. 9:25 p.m. - 2004-08-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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