The "r" word in a bookstore.
Saturday, 09/04/04 - 11:24 pm.

I went to a bookstore today. It was supposed to be nice, because all my trips to the bookstore are. And before I begin with the negative, let me say I loved the cookie I had, and I bought a book I'd been looking for for a long time.

On the other hand, I saw books that seriously brought me down. Like the "100 pictures that changed the world" (or something like that), that had the most impressive pictures, like the lynching and hanging of two black men (who allegedly raped a white girl), starving children in Africa, and a baby sealed being beat up while the mom is on the background, a little far away, watching.

The bookstore was particularly crowded today, so I wasn't going to start crying there. I think the fact that the place was crowded got me in a worse mood, because crowds have that effect on me, they shut me down. The pictures shocked me, and being the person I am, I was moved the most by the picture of the baby seal being beat up. I just wanted to close the book and scream. Better yet, I wanted to be the person behind the camera and save the seal, by beating up that man's penis.

I was already on the verge of breaking down when I picked up that book of photographs. Because before that one, I'd been on the psychology aisle. I found a book that, unfortunately, I already own in photocopies, it's the letters from Freud to his friend Fleiss. But that's not the point.

I spotted a book in the "abuse" section, about rape. Just the word makes me feel all teary and horrified, have I ever said that? Well, at the same time, I'm very interested in that subject. Because I, being the psychologist I want to be when I grow up (which doesn't make sense), think I'd like to work in that field, to come up with some good idea to attack the problem.

So I saw one book about rape. The author told the story of his daughter, who was raped repeteadly by two guys in a garage. I looked at the book and I thought it'd be interesting. I started to read excerpts...I read the "happening", and I just couldn't go on. The book was particularly graphic, and I just wanted to cry.

I'm very touchy when it comes to this subject. I can't believe people sometimes jokes about it, like "oh, I'd like to rape that person, (s)he's so yummy"...sometimes I feel I'm the only one who really takes that subject seriously.

I suppose I'm afraid it could happen to me...no, it wouldn't. I'd get myself shot before I'd let anybody do that to me. I slightly know that feeling of feeling dirty and stared at, because here it's usual that a man whistles and says things at girls on the street. Sometimes they're very vulgar, and I remember I was no more than nine years old when it happened to me for the first time: I was in a playground with my nephew (who's currently 12 years old) and his babysitter. A man blew me a kiss and called me something I don't even remember, but it freaked me out. I wasn't even sure if it was directed to me, I'm just a little girl. In any case, I stopped playing and asked the babysitter to go back home.

Joseph can't believe I loathe that so much, he says he'd never met somebody who's this much bothered by those things. Sometimes I'm in the car, on my way to the university, and I see a bunch of workers telling things to a woman that's walking by. Obviously she ignores them, or pretends to, but I wonder what she thinks, if she really cares and feels embarrased and angered and violated like I do, or just thinks, very wisely, "poor losers" and doesn't take it personally.

Somebody with freudian tendencies would say that there's something in my inconscious related to this subject, that something happened to me. But it didn't, seriously. I'd definitely remember. Or at least I'd dream about it. Nothing has ever happened to me, thank God. It's just that I...I think that's the worst thing you could to anybody. I read about rape everyday in the newspaper, and sometimes we talk about it in class, and I see movies or news about it on TV. I'm somewhat familiar with the subject and all the dynamics and myths around it. I'm interested in that field, but then again, I don't know if I could take it myself.

So I had a knot in my throat when I put the book back in the shelf, saying to myself you couldn't take it, don't buy it. I decided it wouldn't be healthy...and given I will look after people's sanity, I must look after mine first. Anyway, that's when I ran into the book of the 100 photographs. Needless to say, I was very depressed for the rest of the afternoon. I'm still thinking about the girl from the book, and in spite of me, I have no problem imagining how she felt when one of the guys told her "we just want to have a little fun with you". I really feel like crying.

(but not to worry, nobody messes with me, which is why I always have a rock in my hand when I go out to walk Frog around the neighborhood...it worked once, that was a moral victory for me)

Let's change subject, yes, please?

Joseph and I had a rather political discussion this morning. That happens when we talk after watching Gundam every saturday morning on a local channel. I was going to talk about it, which is why I started this paragraph. But I've changed my mind, I'm not in the mood.

I'm very aware of everything that happens around the world, for the most part...I read two newspapers and I watch three news reports on TV a day (habits I got from my dad). And in general, my days are bitter and depressive because of my awareness. I'm horrified by what happened in Russia, and I fear for my friend Nicole in Florida, just to mention two inmediate events.

I hate the world. My life is ok, but I can't ignore what happens around the world (even if it has no real impact on me) which is why I'm usually overly sad. I'd like to consider myself as too sympathetic, but nobody has ever told me I am, so I guess I'm not, I'm just stupid.

At least I got to talk to Christine, Angel's girlfriend, which is one of the very few goods thing of this particularly distressing day.

I walked around the bookstore for about an hour and a half. I was looking for something, but I wasn't sure what it was. The voices in my head told me you're looking for yourself. I agree with them, although I don't quite know what that means, given I've never lost myself in the first place.

prev / next