The Answer Heard ‘Round the World (wide web)…

Reddit Ask Women asked the following:

“Among women here who have experienced sexual assault, what fate do you want, most of all, for you attacker(s)?”

For me, this is the answer heard around the world…and was given by a Reddit user named http://www.reddit.com/user/twistyrockets

I thank her, thousands thank her, for putting into words what most cannot.

I also thank Join the Conversation for sharing it on Facebook so that those of us non-Reddit users could see it.

Thank you Andrea and Bless You twistyrockets…

Her answer:

I want them to be walking around in a public place, like a grocery store, and suddenly recognize what they did and dissolve into panicked tears. I want them to lie awake at night and spend hours replaying those scenes wishing through choking, pathetic sobs that they could change the endings. I want them to be terrified of being around the opposite sex because it might happen again. I want them to be so deeply ashamed of themselves that they truly believe their own parents would stop loving them if they really knew the truth. I want them to get the cold sweats and shakes whenever someone mentions the word “rape”.

I want them to look at other people who are happy, who have healthy and pleasurable sexual relationships, and feel broken. I want them to feel enraged whenever someone spouts off “just world” philosophy bullshit. I want them to avoid mirrors because they can’t stand to look at themselves. I want them to spend countless nights getting drunk so they’ll finally have the courage to commit suicide only to realize that they’re a coward (just like they already knew). I want them to spend 15 minutes of every hour in the handicap bathroom at work trying to calm themselves down. I want them to feel inescapable panic about half of the time they have sex for years after the fact. I want them to think about my face any time they’re feeling sexual pleasure or getting naked or masturbating and I want that image to crush any hope of arousal.

I want them to explain to a significant other, through hysterics, exactly what happened on those nights. I want them to fear being out in public because it feels like the truth of those experiences is written on their faces. I want them to spend years in therapy. I want people to tell them that their pain is not a big deal and that they should just stop thinking about those nights because honestly, what is it really helping? I want them to feel a deep, unabiding sadness when people tell women not to go out alone or drink too much or wear sexy clothing because they know it’s not going to help a damn thing.

I want them to feel like I know them better than anyone ever could because I was there, I know what they look like when they rape someone. I want them to feel like I’m inside them, all the time, mocking them for every failure, panic attack and sick day. I want them to believe that it’s always going to be like this. I want them to feel like trash, actual use-and-throw-away trash. I want them to feel angry and have no outlet for that anger except their own body. I want them to feel weak and useless. I want them to feel DEFINED by those experiences. I want them to feel like a monster.

I want them to feel like me.

WaG tHe DoG….

What the heck does that mean?

Just this:

I’ve become (dun dun dun)

A PIT-BULL  –  WOOF!

Now I actually know what that really means.

When you find something that you sink your teeth into and can’t seem to let go of because it

just HAS to get done

just HAS to be perfect

just HAS to get out there

Geesh…my doggy-jaw is  E  x  H  a  U  s  T  e  D

For those that visit me here; are friends of mine on Facebook; do the Google-y +1 circle thing with me…you know what I’m talking about.

I’ve been buried in photos, copy, making videos, posting videos, making advertisements, paying for advertisements, and now my social pages are fraught with links to

You Tube

Craigslist

Backpage

more more more!

Our first Open House is this Sunday and all I want for Christmas is a BUYER!

961

In the meantime, however, I’ll keep slogging along, doing my thing, and hopefully not lose what family and friends I have because they are sick of me SeLLing My HoUsE all over cyberspace!

Oh…and did I tell you I have real estate agents?

😆

At least I HOPE I still do…oy what they must think of me!

Thanks for indulging though, now it’s time to go feed the dog!

The Laddie is a Tramp

I cannot, in all honesty, say it thrilled me when I heard the kids had gotten a Trampoline.

With a 12-year-old and 3-year-old on that behemoth bouncy bone breaker, I had visions of head wounds and little fingers and toes caught in the webbing, and mid-air collisions that would result in trips to the emergency room.

However, never let it be said that Grammy Rhoni is not one to ‘give it a chance’.

So, on many a morning during our recent trip to almost heaven…I sat with my trusted and constant companion and just watched.

I’m glad I did and hope you can see why.

My laddie is definitely a TRAMP!

The hours of laughter, sweat, and no tears are worth every wrinkle the idea of this thing gave me!

The hours of laughter, sweat, and no tears were worth every wrinkle the idea of this thing gave me!

my turn

I observed big Alex having as much, if not more, fun than the little Alex dude
But he DID get his turn!

running

What heart wouldn’t melt at seeing the end of such a time?
Mine sure did.
What a sight!

So…I guess the lesson here, for all you Grams and Gramps out there…look before you leap; to conclusions that is.

Supervision, common sense, and a love for life is all that’s needed to make this a safe place to be a TRAMP!

🙂