Rage
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This is my space to write anything I want. My nightmares are described, and my random emotions have the full run of this page. I hope that by exposing my feelings I can become more familiar with my own mind. Nightmares... There's a lot of things I've realized about dreams. I used to think they had no meaning, but now I think they are little windows into our brains, painting pictures of our fears, hopes, and subconcious thoughts. So what the fuck does it mean to be raped every night in your mind? I don't know...but it's killing me. I would rather not sleep, which I have done quite a few times. Sometimes I wake myself up yelling, scared and cold. I feel alone and vulnerable. I feel dead already. I had the worst nightmare of my life about a week ago. I was raped, and when I threated to report it, the man slit the throat of my twin sister, who was laying on the couch, oblivious to what was going on between me and the guy. In all of my dreams I'm raped, and somebody I love is always killed, or dead. Have you ever seen your nieces or nephews laying lifeless on the bottom of the pool? I have. I've seen mine leaving thick bloody trails of vomit and skin. Fuck it. I can't handle those types of dreams so I dissociate as far and intensely as I can. I go to sleep knowing that I'll be raped in my head. I wake up emotionally drained and scared to death that the cycle is just going to continue. Why do I love Sarah McLachlan and Eminem? They are two extremes of music. One is focused on spirituality and emotions, while the other, Eminem, cusses and raps about violence, sex, and how much life is shitty. But I love them both. I only associate well with anger and depression. I'm not anywhere in the middle, except when I'm putting on a face of happiness and satisfaction. Anger and depression. I am Jesse's self depricating sadness. I deserve bad things. I deserve to hurt, to feel pain. Because I can't control anything in the world. I have no image of myself, I have no values. I am working on finding something to live for besides the rest of the world. It's looking gloomy for that. JOURNAL 8-14-00 Yeah, fuck you lady. You think you've got one over on me? You don't even have a clue. I'm on top of the world...didn't you know?
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Rage
There are some people in the world who call themselves men. Some of them are husbands, fathers, professionals, relatives, friends and lovers. They walk the earth in different levels of humanity and life. They are all people, but they are not all men. Real men do not take from a woman what she doesn't want to give. Real men do not take advantage of girls who have been drinking. Real men do not rape, molest, abuse, or sexually assault a woman. Or do they?
I've met some of these 'real men.' And you have too. They've taken our dignity and security, and given us shame and guilt. These 'real men' that we have all encountered are husbands, fathers, professionals...everything I listed and more. These men have damaged a part of our lives that we can never repair by forcing themselves on us, robbing us of our control and confidence. I know that you feel the same way if you have encountered men like I have.These assholes have ripped our lives into pieces for one worthless moment of sexual satisfaction.
I really don't know exactly what my point is, or where I want to go with this. I am so angry I can't stand it sometimes. I want redemption...I want validation and confidence to know that these men will be punished. But in ths seemingly Godless world, that seems unlikely. I've lost my sense of boundaries, I've categorized all men as worthless assholes, and It's only more depressing to think of the hopelessness that I have because of this.
More journaling:By now, if you've read some of my page, you know me a little better than a lot of the people I've known in my life. It's actually about 1:30am. Sometimes I lie to people, to see how much I can get away with, sometimes to punish myself with guilt, when I have nothing to be guilty about. Like tonight I told the landlord that I didn't have any money to pay the rent, when I really do.I don't have many friends. In fact, right now, I don't consider myself as having any friends besides my family, and maybe my therapist, but that's all. Right now I'm tired, I have to have a big fat research paper in to my professor in the morning, and I'm not even close to being finished with it. The way that I decide if someone is my friend, is if I got a flat tire on the freeway, and I called them, if they would come and help me without any question, and drop whatever they are doing to come help me.Right now I want to cut, I feel compelled to cut, I'm picturing it in my head, and I'm looking at my arm to see where a new scar wouldn't look so bad. But I'm getting better at stopping myself from cutting, so I don't think I will tonight. I have to finish this damn paper anyway.So I'm going to finish my paper now. Goodnight little blue world.
It's 11:49am, Sunday, Jan 14th, 2001.
I have nothing to say...here's how I feel:
