I’m tired of it. Tired. If you haven’t seen tonight’s “Gray’s Anatomy”, watch it. I’m tired.
Long ago, someone I cared a lot about, told me her story. Listening to it sucked. She was afraid to talk about what had happened, thought I’d reject her. She was raped. Sexually assaulted. I’m tired.
It didn’t happen to me. What I did didn’t matter… (OK, it does matter. It did to her. I called a rape crisis counselor and put them both on the phone. But telling that makes this my story and it is not. Shorter thing, I didn’t reject her).
After a time she told someone else, her mom. Fuck. This is not my story, there are no names, I hope people who know me and know them don’t connect the stories to the real people. Her mom? Told her story of being raped. I’m tired.
Someone I recently cared about told me her story. She was abused for years. She was too young to understand. I’m tired.
Back to before, after she told her mom, she told her sister. Sis then shared her rape story. Yeah, I’m tired, but this isn’t my pain. Yet I wonder. I know I’ve never had non-consensual sex. My recent encounters included asking more than once. But I do wonder if I’ve done things that crossed a line. I’m tired.
Another friend shared her story. More pain. We talked about it. Writing this scares me. My daughter might read it. She might share a story I’ll never want to hear. I’d probably want to kill someone that hurt her like this. Castrate him. Choke him with the remains. My friend? I told her perhaps you shouldn’t tell your child. What if she tells you her story? You can’t change it, can’t relieve the pain. Don’t tell her if you don’t want to know. And I can’t stop wondering. Another friend is doing a charity thing to help others who have been abused. She was too. How many women stay in bad relationships because they don’t believe they deserve better? How many find something good and run because past pain doesn’t let them believe? I’m tired.
I’m tired. Fucking tired.
Resist. Somehow signing my blog this way means more tonight.