Help
Welcome to Pandora's Aquarium, a rape, sexual assault, and sexual abuse survivor message board and chat room.
If you've been a victim of any type of sexual violence, you belong here. What you see below represents just a fraction of the resources and survivor support available. Register now to join our community and take full advantage of what this online support group has to offer you as you heal and recover, or sign in to remove this message.
You are not alone, we can support you as you heal, and you've made an important step toward recovery by reaching out. If you are unable to register or have any questions, please contact the staff or view our home page.
Someone wrote that: "I just wanted to alienate myself". In response to my last entry, wanting to kill myself. Moving to the middle of nowhere. Having to leave nowhere to come back to civilization. Why did I move there in the first place? Yes, because I just wanted to alienate myself. Disappear off the face of the earth.
This village I live in is called Natashquan. It's the birthplace of a very famous French Canadian singer called Gilles Vigneault. I call him the soul of Quebec. I came here after visiting the region last fall, after deciding I wanted to move far, far, far, after my best friend hung herself. I was here and it was the first anniversary of her death. While I was here, I met a priest. There was a group of us - we were on a paid trip for 18-to-35 job seekers. It was the day she had died last year. I'd been so caught up in everything new and beautiful that I completely forgot. I remembered around dinner time, when we were supposed to meet the priest. For some reason he focussed on me. He took me aside and I started to cry. I explained. He said something like "you'll find what you're looking at the end of the road..." Maybe he didn't say it exactly that way - maybe he said at the end of 'my' road. It doesn't matter. I hang on to imagery like a photographer does the subject. The next day, we were visiting Natashquan. Natashquan is literally at the end of route 138. I was at the end of the road. I said, this is where I was meant to live.
I got a job at the government agency in the meantime. I was a policy analyst and I was writing a piece that was an extension of my masters thesis. In the middle of it, I started wondering what was the point? My subject of study - Aboriginal peoples - well, a million reports had been written on them and mine surely wouldn't have any more impact than the other ones gathering dust in the governmental library I used to make my point. I'd always thought government was BS - I would never be a bureaucrat. I said that all during my studies, but at the end of it, finding a job was impossible. I caved in. I got in touch with my prof who got me in touch with a big gun at the department. The big gun got me interviews. I got the job, moved to Ottawa, shared an apartment with another girl who also worked in government but had only been able to get a level 5 position. I was a level 3. She wished she was in my position. I wished I could tell the world what BS my department was. 6000 employees. Millions of dollars down the drain. I calculated each floors: 1 million dollars in salaries. 29 floors. 29 million down the drain. Millions of Aboriginal children down the drain. I left one day. I just got up, and snuck out by the emergency stairwell, walked from the 28th down so I wouldn't meet anyone in the elevator. I packed my things. I called my friend. He told me to get my ass back over there tomorrow. I unpacked my things. I went back feeling like I was failing myself for not sticking to my guns. For saying to myself: stick it out, everyone sticks it out. For being a sell-out. Or as my dad likes to say, a whore. Lots of prostitutes don't work in the sex trade. Lots of people kiss ass and get paid for it. In government, I was right back where I started.
I got in touch with a woman in Natashquan. She was the coordinator of a community paper in the village. She had a job for me. 15$ an hour. Community. I just heard community. I finished my contract. Sold everything. Bought a station-wagon. Moved there. Because I just wanted to alienate myself.
Alienation. What does that mean to me? It means I give up. It means fuck the world. It means I need a break. It means time to clear my brain. It means testing myself. The test: can you survive all on your own?
I don't know what the goal of that test was. I've been surviving all on my own since I first ran away. When I didn't have money to pay my rent - because runaway teens don't have concepts like 'rent' and 'bills' and 'food' etc - I survived by prostituting myself. I didn't have a concept for that either. The ad just said they were looking for escorts.
I wanted to alienate myself from my dad.
csg
p.s. thanks to Szivlia for the lightbult "I just wanted to alienate myself" moment.
This village I live in is called Natashquan. It's the birthplace of a very famous French Canadian singer called Gilles Vigneault. I call him the soul of Quebec. I came here after visiting the region last fall, after deciding I wanted to move far, far, far, after my best friend hung herself. I was here and it was the first anniversary of her death. While I was here, I met a priest. There was a group of us - we were on a paid trip for 18-to-35 job seekers. It was the day she had died last year. I'd been so caught up in everything new and beautiful that I completely forgot. I remembered around dinner time, when we were supposed to meet the priest. For some reason he focussed on me. He took me aside and I started to cry. I explained. He said something like "you'll find what you're looking at the end of the road..." Maybe he didn't say it exactly that way - maybe he said at the end of 'my' road. It doesn't matter. I hang on to imagery like a photographer does the subject. The next day, we were visiting Natashquan. Natashquan is literally at the end of route 138. I was at the end of the road. I said, this is where I was meant to live.
I got a job at the government agency in the meantime. I was a policy analyst and I was writing a piece that was an extension of my masters thesis. In the middle of it, I started wondering what was the point? My subject of study - Aboriginal peoples - well, a million reports had been written on them and mine surely wouldn't have any more impact than the other ones gathering dust in the governmental library I used to make my point. I'd always thought government was BS - I would never be a bureaucrat. I said that all during my studies, but at the end of it, finding a job was impossible. I caved in. I got in touch with my prof who got me in touch with a big gun at the department. The big gun got me interviews. I got the job, moved to Ottawa, shared an apartment with another girl who also worked in government but had only been able to get a level 5 position. I was a level 3. She wished she was in my position. I wished I could tell the world what BS my department was. 6000 employees. Millions of dollars down the drain. I calculated each floors: 1 million dollars in salaries. 29 floors. 29 million down the drain. Millions of Aboriginal children down the drain. I left one day. I just got up, and snuck out by the emergency stairwell, walked from the 28th down so I wouldn't meet anyone in the elevator. I packed my things. I called my friend. He told me to get my ass back over there tomorrow. I unpacked my things. I went back feeling like I was failing myself for not sticking to my guns. For saying to myself: stick it out, everyone sticks it out. For being a sell-out. Or as my dad likes to say, a whore. Lots of prostitutes don't work in the sex trade. Lots of people kiss ass and get paid for it. In government, I was right back where I started.
I got in touch with a woman in Natashquan. She was the coordinator of a community paper in the village. She had a job for me. 15$ an hour. Community. I just heard community. I finished my contract. Sold everything. Bought a station-wagon. Moved there. Because I just wanted to alienate myself.
Alienation. What does that mean to me? It means I give up. It means fuck the world. It means I need a break. It means time to clear my brain. It means testing myself. The test: can you survive all on your own?
I don't know what the goal of that test was. I've been surviving all on my own since I first ran away. When I didn't have money to pay my rent - because runaway teens don't have concepts like 'rent' and 'bills' and 'food' etc - I survived by prostituting myself. I didn't have a concept for that either. The ad just said they were looking for escorts.
I wanted to alienate myself from my dad.
csg
p.s. thanks to Szivlia for the lightbult "I just wanted to alienate myself" moment.
Share This Entry:
