I’m sure the way I was maimed from childhood was no worse than your getting raped. My parents traveled a lot when I was growing up. They’d leave me with grandma. Oma, I called her. Dutch for grandmother. Too terrified to screw up when she was around. I couldn’t screw up because I was too scared to sleep in the yard or take a bath in ice. I kept calling her Oma because it would arise suspicion had I not. Plus she was still my grandma, and still Dutch. This story is true. Maybe not for me, but for someone it is.
What happened to you may have been horrendous, but you can’t base the rest of your life on it. You can base your moment on it, but that’s because that’s what life is. It’s a series of waiting rooms, and who we got stuck in a room with adds up to what our lives are. Now, you’ve found out you’re pregnant and want to keep a rape baby. Are you more or less “not okay” than you were 5 minutes ago? Probably not. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. Don’t quote me bumper stickers. The problems with exceptions to rules is the line drawing. It might make sense to the asshole that did this to you, but where do we draw the line? Which asses do we get to kill? Which asses get to keep on being asses? The nice thing about abortion debate is we can quibble over trimesters, but ultimately there’s a nice clean line; birth. Morally, there isn’t much difference. But practically, there’s a huge difference. I can’t have a normal conversation about dumb shit like our favorite music or t.v. shows, but this kind of conversation, I do best. And hate the most. With personal subjects, there aren’t any answers, only opinions. In the end, you don’t care about it, and I sure as hell don’t either.
People can do good things, but their instincts are crap. When we’re left with our own devices, we make dumb descisions. Either god doesn’t exist or he’s unimaginably cruel. Like, God doesn’t exist and he let you get raped and is letting you carry a rape baby. Maybe he’s testing you. What kind of grade does everyone else get? Do they get the same test? What you believe doesn’t make too much sense. If you believe in eternity, then life is irrelevant. If I don’t believe in eternity, then what I do to make this world a better place doesn’t matter either.
My beliefs lead to no ultimate consequence, and nothing matters because of it. Is it a comfort? Or does the moment mean much more to me than it does you? (that isn’t really my belief either. Then again, neither is the former, think about that.)
I don’t care about the answers to your questions, but I’ll give them. But I would much rather ask why you’re asking questions. Because the answers you’re looking for, will never change. They will never be definite. But your motives for wanting to ask certain questions, tells me everything. The story about my grandma was true. It wasn’t my grandma, but it was true. It was my dad. But that really doesn’t mean anything. I’m who I am because of it. Without having to base the rest of my life according to the moments I was in the room with him.
I know my answers aren’t what you’re looking for. But you know how I would answer. Knew I would answer. And socially, I’m required to say something to help you. Except I can’t. No one can. We’ll drag out your story, tell ourselves it’ll help you heal and then feel good about ourselves. But in the end, all we’ve really done is make a girl cry. Today will never suck anymore than it did yesterday.
Doing things; changes things. Not doing things; leaves things exactly the way they are. Time changes nothing. We’re all base animals that crawl along the earth, and sometimes, just sometimes, we aspire to do something that is less than pure evil, and extrapolate to all of humanity. We need reasons, everything has reasons, and the one thing our reasons have in common, are that they’re stupid. All the time. Well, most of all the time.