This Blog.

This blog may come across as ranty.  This blog is a thought process, for me.  It may seem like cowardice, but it’s not; there are things I want to say but can’t always. There are issues that affect me – yes, me, the person everyone believes is aloof and strong and has an amazing handle on the world.  The world scares me at times; there are so many people who deliberately hurt other people and those are the people who scare the bejeezus out of me.

People think nothing affects me, oh how wrong they are.  The one person who knows everything about me, my fears, my hurts, my pain, is my husband. Actually, there’s another person too, but we don’t always speak so……
Anyway, I digress, this blog is my personal sounding board and the posts will often come across as ranty, maybe childish, maybe even controversial but all of that depends on who is reading it and what their viewpoint of each subject is.
big bad world

Here we go again.

Another blog.  I’ve been away from the personal blogging sphere for a while now, but lately I’ve felt the need to share my thoughts.
I’ve had so many blogs over the years that I forget what I’ve posted and what I haven’t. My latest urge to blog came about because of something I read on Facebook; you’ll probably find me blogging an awful lot about stuff from social media. 

I have two review blogs, a pagan themed blog and a couple of private ones. I also have scores of unpublished blog posts, waiting for me to hit publish. Some of them are nonsense and never will make light of day, some are unfinished and waiting for me to go back to polish them up. Others are the posts I’ve written that are so personal and to be frank, quite disturbing. One in particular is a rather disturbing post from a rape victim’s point of view. 

I wrote it last year when I shared a secret on Facebook. The secret was about me being the victim of a sex crime, rape. I wrote it intending it to be inspirational, I know others who have been attacked and are at different stages of their recovery. It’s sitting there, in the drafts folder, waiting for me to either delete it or to publish it. So far I’ve not been able to do anything with it; I’ve read it through only once. I know I had intended for it to be a true account of what happened to me that night, but I just couldn’t share everything. It’s too graphic, too personal, too awful, it’s harrowing and upsetting. My aim had been to take control of my story and remove the shame…. But I just can’t publish it. I just couldn’t give a blow by blow account. What is written is bad enough and that’s just the briefest details. Even now, 28 years on, recalling the attack makes me ill.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not raking over old coals here just for attention. Being the center of attention is something I hate, if you know me, you know I can talk about stuff but hate the attention being solely on me. I will do whatever it takes to divert the attention away from myself and onto something, or someone else. For a long time I refused to talk about the attack, it was something I felt ashamed of and I didn’t want outsiders knowing that about me. As time has passed, I’ve become more and more angry about rape apologists and their misconceptions about the very harrowing ordeal that rape is for a victim. I am not violent but I’ve wanted to shake the stupid out of them; if they knew the horrors a victim endures surely they would change their tune? 

I opened up on social media because I hate how men and women can blame a woman for being attacked. Hello? Rape is sex with another without that person’s consent. How does that equal the blame being theirs? 

It doesn’t! 

My keeping the post out of the public eye is the right thing for me at this time. I’m always as mad as hell when high profile cases are in the media and misinformed people are shouting about how the victim did something wrong. That’s when I want to share my story, the graphic, harrowing version, not the toned down version, not the barest of facts that I have shared. I want these people to feel the shame, the guilt, the disbelief, the horror of what has happened. I want them to have to have those images burn into their very core and not ever be able to shake them off, ever. I want them to think “oh my god, that’s awful, that’s too much.” I want them to feel it all, because by the gods, if they felt it they’d change their minds and wouldn’t talk such nonsense. But common sense prevails. Decency stops me from shoving that onto them. I know only too well how it feels to be forced to do something, to feel something, to endure something I didn’t want to. I don’t want to be the same as that piece of filth and so I restrain myself.  

This post comes on very strong, I’m not certain I intended it to. I wasn’t intending to talk about this either, but sometimes something just needs to come out into the open. I’m not ashamed to admit I was attacked, but something inside of me still keeps me quiet. It’s not a nice topic of conversation, it’s not a comfortable topic, it’s an emotive subject and one that divides people the world over.
You can be sure this won’t be the only time I discuss it here, on this blog. I was inspired to start up a personal blog again because I’d read something earlier this week – yes, it’s that high profile case in the media. No, I don’t want to discuss it here, not now anyway.