I found a couple of books and bought them. Feels like impulsive shopping, but one book was, "The Story of Jane Doe", about a woman in Toronto who was raped in her own place and the cops took so long and were inadequate because of their sexist attitudes; the thing that was so horrible, besides the rape, was that the cops knew there was a balcony rapist, but to alert the other women in the building would've scared him away and they were more concerned about keeping an eye on him than to serve and protect people. It's a difficult read, but very important, I find. The trauma is in my head 24/7, so reading about it gets it out of my head and reminds me that I'm not the only one who was treated so poorly. I mean.......anyway, another book I'm reading is called, "Transformation of a Rape Culture", or something like that. It's a bunch of articles contributed to anyone who's aghast about why rape happens and that it's tolerated and even engrained in our culture. It hurts me that I'll never ever, in my entire life, get over this or have any sort of closure, that I'll be tormented about this. It's been over 10 years and here I am, still having ugly thoughts on why it happened and why everyone reacted the way they did. I've also bought other books too, but they aren't relevent to this subject. Actually one book I bought was called, "Everything You Know About God Is Wrong" by Russ Kick. There's a chapter about priest: need I say more? Skimming over it, I realized that if you sexually violate someone, you don't get as harsh a sentence as murder or burglary, at least that's my perspective. I have ugly thoughts and ugly trauma in my body. I can't enjoy sex the same way. I can't fantasize like I use to without the trauma sneaking its way into my head. Especially when I fantasize about women, the trauma is attached to my feelings and my nerve endings, so it has poisoned my pleasure, it feels.
Does my sexual preference even matter anymore?
What's the point of looking for love when one person felt my needs didn't matter?
Who can I trust when my neighbours felt my side of the incident didn't matter and their blind loyalty to him did?
Why go to thet police when they discouraged me from doing anything from it, emphasising the humiliation?
What's preventing me from taking my life to end this pain?
Everyday, I live a lie to the whole world that I'm fine, that life is boringly safe, that I haven't a real thought in my head, that nothing is important, that I'm not very intelligent. Not talking about it saves me from people's ignorance assaulting me, their malice and viciousness. This is the only place I can type these words into. Any other blog, I don't feel safe enough. I'll never understand why a crime like this is allowed to exist? I'll never understand why when talking to friends who know about it that they're so stupid and hostile towards me? I obsess about the "why's" of it, but only get trapped in the pain and humiliation of it, that it even happened at all, that I can't be one of those ignorant types who don't understand how anyone can "let it happen"? The world has become a scarier and uglier place. There's one person I knew of who'd think my feelings, that all that I've written here were me just making a mountain out of a mole hill, that I was making a big deal over nothing! I don't know how I'd react if someone I knew needed me in their distressed time, if I'd be so cold hearted and disgusting. I'm stuck in my anger that won't unleash itself and I want it removed!
I'll read some more and make some chocolate chip cookies.