I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to report on a story like this, your own story.
People do it all the time, of course, in the form of memoir, but this isn’t a memoir, not a one-sided recollection of events. It’s an exploration of a rape, of the perpetrator, that neither makes excuses for him nor blindly vilifies. And it was written by his victim.
I’ve been reading this too, my heart in my throat the entire time.
That story had the strange effect of making my heart hurt for her and for giving me hope…
The hope that IF i were ever had to deal with such an issue, I’d deal with it in as strong and objective manner. I’m sure it wasn’t always like that for her, but the fact that she got to that place is just amazing…and awe-inspiring, and no less heart-wrenching.
You know what I hate, though? The section on self defense. I mean, I get it, I do, but fucking “defensive” thorny shrubbery to plant outside your windows to keep criminals out? Really? It’s not enought to stay inside with your doors locked, now? I need my bushes to have shanks, too? How ’bout I just build a moat around the mountain that I live atop, all by myself, with my dogs and guns?
Shit. I am not having a “love for all mankind” kinda day, now.