It's been a hectic and heavy few days. I went to Take Back the Night on Thursday, the annual rally / vigil held on many college campuses to raise awareness about sexual assult and its long-term effects on peoples' lives.
It was good, but sad and hard, especially the vigil. I appreciated being with friends, radical feminist friends who accepted that I don't particularly go in for cathartic public crying, but that I still felt incredibly touched and saddened.
The hardest was listening to the testimonials where, even though the person speaking was hidden from the audience's view, I could identify the voice because I knew the speaker. A couple I expected or knew about previously, and one was a surprise. It haunts me now, your disembodied voice floating toward us, my flashback recognition, the callous way that we accepted your post-traumatic stress syndrome behavior as an integral part of you, not something in reaction to external stress.
I am shamed that I was not a better, friendlier person when I lived in close quarters with you. And I'm appalled that people all around me have stories like yours.
I'm looking forward to a little escapism this weekend, and a long bath at home. I have new music!
reading: the new york times online
listening to : tears dry on their own // amy winehouse
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