8:40 p.m. | 2003-04-11 Cruel Irony Gets Up Close And Personal. Go Figure. Mostly, I use this space to explore a different kind of writing. The personal kind. I do and have done all sorts of writing� professional, academic, technical, legal, journalistic, poetic, etc. However, before this diary, I�ve never just had a place where I just write whatever the fuck I want to. A place where I don�t have to provide support for my theories, cite stuff and/or keep the consideration of the reader in the forefront of my mind. You know, a place where I just kick off my shoes, put my feet up on the coffee table and just talk about stuff off the top of my head. I�ve been doing that here but only to a point. I keep a lot of the really personal stuff to myself, as I tend to do. But I�ve been around here long enough to know that there�s not really anything special about me or my life. And what follows isn�t earth shattering, it�s just one of my many personal experiences. When I was 16, I was raped. It was on a first date with a guy who was 18. We went to a party, which was the quintessential activity in the small town in which I lived. We were having a good time, partying, laughing, talking and all that. Then, he started making the moves. I was okay with the kisses but really didn�t even plan on that happening, as it was our first date and all. It quickly accelerated to something completely different. I voiced my objections at first and then physically attempted to stop his advances. However, he had a different game plan, and in the end, it really didn�t matter how or how much I fought against him. Sometimes, there�s a point that you reach where you realize that breathing is critical and necessary to life. When I was finally able to escape, I staggered to a payphone to call home for a ride, leaving behind my sense of dignity, trust and self. I didn�t tell anyone about what happened at the time. Or for many, many years. Clueless, my sister told me she would pick me up at a local burger place which was several blocks away. It was one of the longest walks I�ve ever endured. Then, she berated me all the way home for staying out late and bothering her for a ride. That was one of the longest rides I�ve ever endured. Of course, she didn�t know. I went home and showered many, many times. As I would for quite some time. All in vain. Alas, soap and water doesn�t ever get that kind of grime off you. It took me many years to face the consequential fallout and shards of emotional shrapnel. That kind of thing has an everlasting effect. Obviously. I wouldn�t be mentioning it otherwise. And, it just happens to be on my mind because National Denim Day is coming up this month. It�s a day set aside to mourn an old case from Italy where the judges decided that a woman wasn�t raped because she was wearing jeans. They opined that she must have consented because jeans are too difficult for one person to remove by themselves, therefore she must have consented and assisted in their removal, and hence agreed to have sexual intercourse. The irony? I was raped within two blocks of the local courthouse. In fact, I was looking up at the courthouse as I asked my sister to pick me up. Oh, and I was wearing jeans. your thoughts? seed flower