D-day

Today it arrived, in a fairly ordinary white envelope appropriately postmarked with the equally ordinary "Swindon". But that indication of origin was enough to forewarn me of the emotional letter-bomb hidden inside. "Certificate of entitlement to a decree", it began, continuing with a little legalese essentially informing me that I had a small window to contest this decree. A window which, owing to the distance the certificate had travelled, had long expired.

I was not going to contest anything anyway. Oh, it still irks that in the eyes of the law it was my "unreasonable behaviour" that led to an "irretrievable breakdown" in our marriage. But that is because she was the petitioner and the only other causes she could give after such a short marriage would have been abandonment or infidelity. And least "unreasonable behaviour" could be justified (everyone is unreasonable in someone elses eyes, right?).

Of course I could have petitioned... Infidelity? Check. Abandonment? Check. Cheque? Ah... well... Okay then. Maybe I couldn't have petitioned, at least not in the finacial situation I was then. I know in my heart that this is just an excuse, though. I would never have filed for divorce.

Yesterday's post was almost as sad. A late Christmas card from her and her "bump". Yes, she's pregnant. Yes, by that guy. In fact she may have given birth already - it was due around now, a mere 18 months after she left me for the last time. Although it could have been 8 months after... now that would have been much worse!

I''d like to say I've thought of her a lot recently, but that's both true and untrue. I've thought about her a lot, yes, but no more recently than I have done every day for the last year and a half. In many ways I moved on, but in more than I ever before cared to admit I was solidly stuck in my memories and my unfulfilled wishes.

We have spoken and emailed - it's tough sometimes, but we always promised we would be a part of each others lives. And I hear resignation in her voice, read doubt in her words... or is that just me? I wonder, is she just settling for a man because he's fathering her child, or is this another chance at love? If this hadn't happened would there still have been hope for us in the long run... after all, we were talking reconcilliation before the pregnancy.

I don't know. All I know is that I failed at the one thing in life I wanted more than anything to be a success at.

Once upon a time...

An old song, but an apt one..

Over

Do you remember?
Just how sweetly these things fitted together...
Now they don't seem quite so clever
In the cold, harsh light of day.

As these colours run,
Start to merge into one,
Turning to ash in the sun...
And the dreams you thought that you had won
Have fallen, fallen away.

Oh, can't you see that it's over for you now
Before it's even begun?
Can't you tell that it's flown from you now?
It's over and done.

And time takes its toll on you,
But the toll takes its time.
Over there in the distance
At the back of your mind.
And this pantomime takes its one last curtain call...

And don't you feel jaded and foolish and hated?
Don't you feel so under-rated?
And so, so - so complicated with it all...?

Oh, can't you see that it's over for you now
Before it's even begun?
Can't you tell that it's flown from you now?
It's over and done.

Oh, can't you see - oh, can't you see...
That it's over before it's even begun?
Oh, yes it's over - over and done...

Can't you see that it's gone away?
Can't you tell it's the end of your day?
Why can't you - why can't you...
Why can't you just say what ou really want to say to me, honey?
Bring it on back now - take it on back now,
Tell me what you want to say,
Tell me what you want - why can't you see?
Why can't you see?
Why can't you?



Some endings are sweet... some are sad... some are a little bitter or angry.

Some are just impossible to describe, because you have nothing to liken them to.

....happily ever after

No still means no!

I just received a new response to my post on Male Rape, which (although I did not agree with everything) I found to hold interesting perspectives. I am reproducing it, and my response, below. As always, your feedback is warmly welcomed...


Posted by Clarice on Wednesday, October 04, 2006 10:29:44 PM

"Agree with all of this, but I think it's strange and rather telling that when this stuff happens to women, it is so prevalent as to be almost normative, and no-one hardly turns a hair. When it happens to one single man, suddenly it makes men think. Men don't seem to like it much when even one woman starts behaving as men have done with impunity since the year dot. I am reminded too of Myra Hindley in this respect.
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The fact that the gender of those involved is presented here as the "twist" in the tale, that the readers' expectations are so predictable as to be exploited to this effect makes me feel rather sad. Perhaps I don't get it. What is the "surprise" of the genders in this case supposed to tell us?
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Why should it be different (any more or less upsetting) depending on the gender of those involved?
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Well, I'll say one thing. He was less likely to get a disease, and completely unlikely to have to risk his life or reproductive fitness carrying or aborting a child as a result of the encounter. Also, because of the stereotypes in our culture, he didn't have to feel secretly that he was a slag - he may have felt like people would say he was asking for it, but a man who asks for sex does not carry the same stigma as a woman who does so. So there are similarities, but also differences I feel in the male-female experience.
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If people can realise that sexual stereotypes damage men as well as women, maybe things could change. It's just a depressing shame that the knowledge that they damage women is not a good enough motivator by itself. That by itself kind of tells me that they're here to stay."


Posted by Clarice on Wednesday, October 04, 2006 10:39:39 PM

"On reflection, I think the "twist" in this tale is supposed to tell us that the male concerned felt emasculated as well as everything else. He experienced something that as well as being upsetting and unpleasant, traditionally only happens to females. The extent to which this adds another layer of hurt to the experience kind of depends on his view of females, doesn't it?
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This state of affairs is a double-edged sword. If I am raped, at least that's par for the course of being female, looking at the stats. On the other hand, if I am made to have sex with someone I do not like or respect, or who does not appear to display very much humanity, you could say that's par for the course of being male, looking at the boom in the sex industry these days. These are muddy waters."


Reply by me on Thursday, October 05, 2006 9:32:21 AM

"Wow, Clarice... I never for one second intended it to be read that it is normal for a woman to be raped. It is a beastly, disgusting crime, and I for one turn more than one hair when I hear about it. Of course, you don't hear about it because it does happen so much, in the same way you don't hear about a car crash, but you do if it's a plane...
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As far as Myra Hindley goes... she is just another person in a list of killers, and to me her being a woman makes little difference... she's there alongside Fred West, Dr Shipman... and of course her own partner in crime, Brady.
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I acknowledge I somewhat exploit readers expectations with the 'twist', but only because I wanted people to view this as something wrong. If I started with "This is a tale of a man raped by a woman" there are many who would have refused to take it seriously. By presenting the seriousness (because everyone views the rape of a woman as serious) before the perhaps unusual feature it was intended to raise thought - which it succeeded in doing.
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You say why should it be different depending on gender? That is entirely the point of my post...
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I thoroughly disagree that he was less likely to get a disease - that comment suggests that only men can carry and transmit STD's - and although I agree that he was never going to get pregnant or have to have an abortion what if she had got pregnant? Possibly deliberately? And kept the child?
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Maybe you're right that he didn't need to feel like a slag, but just because he didn't NEED to doesn't mean he didn't... and the affects of rape are usually deemed to be more traumatic on a personal emotional level, rather than a physical one - who knows exactly how he felt? Remember, this guy had always been a bit of a nerd and had been picked on... who is to say that he didn't fear what others might say or do to him?
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It is depressing that knowledge of the way women are treated is not a motivator in itself, but don't kid yourself into thinking that the story in my post will suddenly change the perception. Saying "it happens to men too" only raises more questions, it doesn't provide any solutions. Mankind (and womankind) has a history of people hurting and abusing others - that isn't going to change any time soon.
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As for your second comment, I thoroughly disagree. I say that because I know the guy well. It's difficult to explain... I don't think he ever felt 'manly' enough to ever then be 'emasculated'. And as all his closest friends, both at school and since, have usually been female I don't think he ever viewed them in a macho bullshit way. But maybe it was that breach of trust that hurt the most?
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These are indeed muddy waters..."


Thanks, Clarice, for taking the time... and Cheers m'dears!

No means no.

Let me tell you a little story, one that is completely true, no matter how much you may scoff or sneer at it. It is the tale of a virginal student and an English teacher who found themselves in an illicit relationship, one which affected the student for many years...

With only two months to go before turning 19 this student was probably a little unusual in still being a virgin, although having always been a bit nerdy and mostly friendless it was probably not THAT much of a surprise. But despite being remembered (and still dismissed) by peers as the spotty swotty one this student's looks had improved a little with maturity and this particular English teacher noticed. The fact that the student was good at acting and the teacher was directing the school play brought them into closer contact with each other and eventually it became apparent that the student had a crush on the teacher...

At the cast party after the play, out at the teacher's house in the middle of the countryside, the situation developed and they kissed and 'fooled around' for a bit. And the teacher seemed to respect the fact that the student didn't want sex, wasn't ready for it... and so began the affair.

After a fortnight or so of clandestine meetings and journeys out to the lonely house (where the student would sometimes spend the night) the teacher's attitude changed slightly. The agenda became sex, although the issue was never forced... the teacher was just a little too persistent. Still the student resisted, naively believing that this was love and it could all wait... believing that the teacher had respect and would be patient for sex. Until one night the student awoke to find the teacher was just taking it anyway.

The student didn't know what to say or do, so just froze and allowed the teacher to finish. It was all so confusing... after all, this was love... wasn't it? And because the student still believed this the relationship continued for a few more days until it just got too much and the student jumped on a train and travelled to stay with family far away... the teacher quietly moved to another school and was subsequently sacked for trying to seduce 2 more students there whilst sharing a spliff with them.

13 years later and the student is now almost 32. Attitudes toward sex and male-female relationships have been coloured by this first experience, the professional diagnosis being 'a fear of sexual intimacy' which has played a large part in consigning a two-year marriage to the bin. It has also affected friendships, relationships with family, and generated a great deal of self-loathing that is only just now being dealt with through counselling sessions.

At face value it's a tragic case of a person abusing a position of trust and authority and raping an innocent - lock the bastard up! But then there's a twist in the tale, a piece of information that you might refuse to believe or accept. The student was male, the teacher female.

...!...

"A man cannot be raped by a woman!"

In general, I might agree. For the most part rape is performed by a physically stronger aggressor (or group), and for the most part men are still physically stronger than women. But then, not all women fight back, not all rapists need to be physically stronger - especially if they know the victim. A woman may simply lie there, and hope her attacker is quick so she can get away... or maybe, like the case above, the victim doesn't quite understand that what is happening to her is wrong, maybe because she deludes herself that she 'loves' this beast.

As for the physical - if a woman is enjoying a small degree of intimacy with a man she may become turned on. Being turned on does not neccesarily mean she wants sex. Just because her sexual organs have responded in the way they are supposed to and lubricated themselves does not mean that in her heart or her head she is ready... and if she vocalises that and says no? Well, no means no.

Likewise, even if a man is physically turned on and has an erection it does not neccesarily indicate that he agrees to participate in intercourse. If he vocalises that and says no - as the student above did MANY times? Three words. No means no.

No one is claiming that female-on-male rape is as widespread a cancer as the other way around. There are thousands of cases of men raping women every year, yet this is the only example I know of the reverse happening (other than cases involving much younger males which would be considered child abuse anyway). But I still find it absurd that because it is quite the exception it can be dismissed so easily (and it has been, affecting the guy even more). It doesn't matter who you are, what sex you are - no means no. And that counts for male-on-female, female-on-male, male-on-male or female-on-female.

This post has been inspired by FMC's recent post on the rapper DMX and the ensuing comments. Whilst I only know a little about DMX and personally find his story of being 'raped' by a woman a little suspect I did think it was worthwhile exploring a subject I know a little about...

A Little Light Relief (and other not-so-tall tales)...

In Jamaica the argument over distribution of condoms in male prisons (fought between the pro-"protecting against STDs" group and the anti-"encouraging sexual activity" lobby) has finally been settled with the Government opting to allow inmates to kill each other off slowly and painfully by spreading AIDS. A poor-taste humourist might make a crack about lethal injection, but not I...

In India, however, they may want to consider banning lightbulbs rather than condoms as one inmate recently had to have one removed from his arse. Intact. Claiming to not know how it got up there (what the fuck?!) Fateh Mohammad had gone to the prison hospital with a pain in his lower abdomen. Upon its discovery (see x-ray, above) a delicate operation ensued to remove it without breaking the glass... perhaps unsurprisingly Mohammads doctor states that he has never encountered anything like this before...

In other news I am astounded to learn that research has unearthed the cause of Japans falling birth rate. Quite simply, people are not having sex. Yep, that'd do it. Various reasons are to blame (you know, the usual shit like long work hours), although maybe people are just finding each others footwear a turn-off... this is the country from which those evil flip-flops developed, after all. I have always said, right from my very first post, that those things should be destroyed - and now evidence is on my side that even if they don't play a part in Japans demographics they still fuck up your ankles (and your career).

...and I'm not even going to start about the Estonians. Bunch of fucking weirdos!

Cheers m'dears!

Self-harm - not so cut and dried.

On Brewski's current post he mentions people who self-harm... he brings this up in his usual 'what the fuck is going on?' kind of way (quote: "And what's with every cunt self-harming these days anyway? The world has fucking left me behind pal.") and in the midst of a typically humorous post, so rather than bring everyone down by getting all serious in his comments box I have decided to write on the subject here...

Now, I have worked with (in a mentor / student capacity) and been friends with many people who have or still do cut themselves and to my mind they fall into three distinct categories:-

1) The ones that genuinely want to kill themselves. These are the ones I have met least, partially because... well, you don't know who they are until they do it. Only those who fail in the attempt get brought to your attention, and only if you are close to the individual or work in some kind of medical or social field where you would need to know. Your average person in the street would be oblivious to this type of self-harmer as they tend to keep the scars well covered to avoid detection.

2) The ones who feel like they are letting out the pain. This is kind of like a medieval style blood-letting and as well as the psychological idea of "bleeding out the bad" there is some degree of physical truth in the concept that calmness and "lightness" comes with a loss of blood. This type of self-harmer does this purely for themselves and is usually embarrassed about it. As a result they also tend to keep their scars covered to avoid detection.

3) The attention-seekers. Okay, that is a harsh phrase to use to describe them but it sums it up. They are maybe crying out for help, maybe simply wanting someone to notice them. Some just want to look 'hard', although I have not met many like that. These tend to be most obvious, the most noticeable to other people, as they ones rarely cover up their scars - the point of them is to be seen. Whereas types 1 and 2 will often be left with permanent scars type 3 will rarely cut that deep... of course, there is always the chance that - if ignored - a type 3 will graduate to type 2 or 1.

Okay, there is certainly some generalisation there and my intention is not to offend any readers who themselves self-harm. I do, however, base this on my observations and conversations with self-harmers, some of whom have been very close to me.

The basic fact is the people who we most hear about and see, the people who Brewski describes as "slicing 'I am a cunt' into your pallid skin, you poncey emo fucks you", they tend to fall into category 3. But there are so many more people out there who do this than we realise... your best friend; your kid; your secretary; your teacher... I guarrantee that all of us have people in our lives that cut themselves, yet we don't even know.

As usual your thoughts are welcomed...

Cheers m'dears!

For those who are interested here is a link to The National Self-Harm Network of the UK. For those outside of the UK there are other sites that may be more use - you just need to do a search.

Random Tossery #01

Further to my much earlier post on suicide here is a classic example of how not to end it all. A headache you say? Hmmm, I wonder why...?

Cheers m'dears!

Suicide

Our friend Anti-Barney has just posted a fascinating and thoughtful piece on suicide (it’s also slightly disturbing - one hopes it should not be taken as any kind of sign…) and in my attempt to reply I decided that maybe I should air my thoughts on home turf instead.
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In another reply to AB’s post (Update - the replies have been posted at a different entry - click here to see them and scroll right down) Kim Ayres is adamant that suicide is a selfish act, and he’s right. The thing is, however, it is rarely (if ever) done out of a perceived selfishness... the perpetrator surely believes that what he is doing is in everyone's best interests. In truth there are very few truly selfless acts – any charity or supposed self-sacrifice usually has the added side-effect of feeling good about oneself – and, yes, ending your own pain may be a huge factor in taking your own life but for the most part the desire to cease being a burden on other people is the massively motivating factor.
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Let’s get it out in the open - I have been there, and seriously, when I was 16. We're not talking 'cry for help' or anything. In fact I took great pains to keep my plans to myself. It was never going to be anything as fallible as pills or a razor, and I wouldn’t have had a clue how to get hold of a shotgun. The high cliffs where I had gone on holiday with my family seemed like the perfect option… and so I planned it all – the best time to go out on my own, when there would be no-one else around; the highest point with no random ledges that might break my fall too soon; even down to wearing the oldest tatty clothes I had so I wouldn’t ruin anything decent that could be passed on…
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I have often thought about that strangely surreal night, when there was an almost full moon much larger than I remember seeing before or since. I can still picture it clearly as I walked with purpose to the spot. The plan was simple… keep walking until about a hundred yards away and then start running – and just don’t stop. Except the one thing I hadn’t expected somewhere so remote at such an ungodly hour… someone in the way.
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It was that sheer chance meeting that kept me from following through. Instead of instantly running I stopped still for a moment. The stranger called out a hello and walked toward me. And talked… I don’t even remember what about. It was just one of those clear pure voices that kind of lulls you, calms you. For a mere three or four minutes, that’s all, although it seemed longer. And then she said a goodbye and walked off. The opportunity to carry out my plan had arrived but the desire had gone – in fact, the very idea seemed to have left me.
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And that was what stopped me from killing myself - not cowardice, but a random stranger who gave to me much more than they will ever know. I saw her again over the last two days of my holiday, just to nod too from a distance, but I still think about her from time to time and wonder if she even had the faintest idea of what my intentions were that night?
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It’s taken me years since then to reconcile my actions and the feelings that prompted them. I frequently still feel like a burden to others, I still suffer from the same problems that haunted me back then. I often still come across like a complete twat to people I meet because of a degree of social ineptitude (I’m sure that’s why I love blogging so much… it’s nice to have a safety barrier) but now I find other ways to deal with it. Back then I thought my mother’s life would be far easier if I wasn’t there to fuck things up. Now I know that even though it’s actually true my mother would be so devastated that any good would be more than outweighed.
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It’s so easy to see now, but it really wasn’t back then. Selfish or not, those who commit suicide will always be pitied by me, not scorned. Because I have genuinely been there, and at times like that you really, truthfully, cannot see any other way…
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Cheers m’dears!

My weak-end...

.....slavishly he wrote, each vitriolic word bleeding onto the computer screen as his tired, blistered fingers stabbed them out. This would be his crowning glory, his legacy. Never before had he written with such dedication and enthusiasm - passion, even. Not even once in his life had he previously unleashed this demon, allowed the Kraken that slumbered inside to awaken.

Second followed second, minute followed minute, but this mattered not to The Author. Feverishly he willed his fingers to keep pace with the torrent of thoughts cascading from his mind, thoughts regarding the injustices, the crimes, the agonies of the world. One moment crying at the inhumanity propelling his ravings, the next cackling manically as an argument fell into place as neatly as a tetris block. He grinned and gurned insanely at the witticisms that leapt like static electricity from human mind to hard-drive - not mere innuendo or sarcastic put-down but something... alive!

Evening fell, darkness came, and still The Author wrote - nay, wrought his opus, until finally... Peace descended on that battered keyboard. Barely a sound, nothing but the delicate, pained breaths struggling past his lips. Breaths that slowed until shuddering to a stop, cut down by an almost inaudible utterance...

"It is done."

Slowly, but with purpose, The Author's hand reached the comforting bulb of the mouse and stroked it along its mat, carefully aligning the innocent cursor with it's ominous partner, that which bears the name 'Publish Post'. And with one gentle press, an alien feeling to those fingers more used to hammering, it was done indeed.

CLICK

MESSAGE #3105 - UNABLE TO COMPLETE YOUR REQUEST. PLEASE REFRESH BROWSER.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"