I'm all thinky now. I signed into my account and guy from Thanksgiving was online. You'd think that I'd just delete him from my list, but...I dunno. What if I'm still on his? What if he still reads my blog? I'm glad I'm moving and that I tend to be vague about everything. I mean, yeah, he knows my real name and everything, but I never keep anything in my real name and I can always start going by Slate's name if it proves necessary. Anyway, that's not the point. I highly doubt he wants anything to do with me ever again. And it's not like he doesn't know where I live if he did. Maybe I SHOULD sleep with my doors locked...but that's not the point, either. Hell, I don't even know if I have a point. I wish I'd kept the charges pending for a while longer. Not long enough to go to trial or anything, but longer than just giving him one shitty weekend to contemplate what an asshole he is before I let him off the hook. I didn't want a court thing anyway-the whole 'my word against his' thing just doesn't work for me. I mean, what if he's a really good liar? I'M not a very good...performer. I wouldn't get up there and cry and be all victim looking. I'd just avoid looking at him and tell the truth in a factual manner and then leave. Yes, I've thought about it. Dreamed about it, even. Woken up screaming because of it.
And the past few days, weeks, whatever-however long since I've actively thought about it-I feel like I've been deliberately ignoring it. Like I'm hiding from it or denying it or something. Like I'm still afraid. Like I'm still weak, still the victim. Why do *I* have to be victimized by this? I mean, WTF? I wonder if I can reinstate the charges or something like that. I don't even know. Do I WANT him to suffer? Do I even care? I'm so confused. About so many things.
And then I hate-HATE-people telling me how I should react. Like the fucking missionaries telling me that I shouldn't talk about it that often so it won't continue to have such an effect on me. WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY KNOW?!? I'd REALLY like to see how THEY would handle it if they were involuntarily fucked up the ass by a stranger. Like I'm supposed to just fucking DEAL with it and move on and hell, even forget about it. Yeah, that'll happen. And then others-like my parents and the bitch-telling me that I wasn't traumatized enough, that I didn't react as severely as I should have and THAT'S why they didn't believe me. Why do I fucking care? Why am I such a coward that I have to have all this goddamned external validation? That I can't admit things about myself that make me uncomfortable? Why do I have to have the excuse of liquor to say what I want to say? Or do what I want to do? Why can't I emotionally as well as intelectually accept the duality of all things, the possibility and capability of evil within myself? Why do I blame myself for everything? Even then, even Thanksgiving. And now with the bitch and all her problems.
*sigh* I don't even know anymore. And THAT is why I'm in therapy.
Laters
And the past few days, weeks, whatever-however long since I've actively thought about it-I feel like I've been deliberately ignoring it. Like I'm hiding from it or denying it or something. Like I'm still afraid. Like I'm still weak, still the victim. Why do *I* have to be victimized by this? I mean, WTF? I wonder if I can reinstate the charges or something like that. I don't even know. Do I WANT him to suffer? Do I even care? I'm so confused. About so many things.
And then I hate-HATE-people telling me how I should react. Like the fucking missionaries telling me that I shouldn't talk about it that often so it won't continue to have such an effect on me. WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY KNOW?!? I'd REALLY like to see how THEY would handle it if they were involuntarily fucked up the ass by a stranger. Like I'm supposed to just fucking DEAL with it and move on and hell, even forget about it. Yeah, that'll happen. And then others-like my parents and the bitch-telling me that I wasn't traumatized enough, that I didn't react as severely as I should have and THAT'S why they didn't believe me. Why do I fucking care? Why am I such a coward that I have to have all this goddamned external validation? That I can't admit things about myself that make me uncomfortable? Why do I have to have the excuse of liquor to say what I want to say? Or do what I want to do? Why can't I emotionally as well as intelectually accept the duality of all things, the possibility and capability of evil within myself? Why do I blame myself for everything? Even then, even Thanksgiving. And now with the bitch and all her problems.
*sigh* I don't even know anymore. And THAT is why I'm in therapy.
Laters
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