The Game

Being raped is like losing the game. You know which game I mean, the one you have just lost. (And if you really don't know, please go here, and I'm sorry http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Game_(mind_game) )
Being raped is like losing the game, daily, hourly, every minute, potentially for the rest of your life.

Not the physical moment of being raped. That's like...I don't know. Maybe like being almost murdered, but then allowed to live at the last second, but kind of wishing you were dead instead. Maybe that only applies to violent rape. Maybe it's not like anything else. Rape is a thing that is only really like rape, and even then one rape may not be quite the same as another one. Maybe I can't really describe what it's like.

I can tell you what it's not like, though. 

It's not like your hilarious mate Jonno taking your phone when you go for a piss and typing "I love dicks!!1" on your Facebook wall. 

It's not like your favourite team playing at the sports and losing badly at the sports so that you and your mates are like "oh no! The other team were better at the sports!"

It's not like your boss giving you loads of work to do, even 5 minutes before you leave to go home, even at the weekend.

Anyway so, the game.

When you wake up, the day after you have been raped, maybe you get a couple of seconds of bleary blissful morning empty mindedness, or maybe not, but either way pretty soon you remember what happened. You lose the game. And then, it's fresh and real and raw and sickening inside your head until you forget again. Maybe you sleep, maybe you get so drunk you forget your name and everything connected to it, maybe you go to the zoo and are momentarily distracted by the unexpected gracefulness of a polar bear swimming. Either way eventually your mind will be empty again. Then, you wake up, or sober up, or there are giraffes, and you lose the game again. And again. And again.

The first days, weeks, months and I guess even years after being raped you lose the game pretty much constantly. For me, it has been 5 years and almost 8 months, but I still lose that fucking stupid game, just about every day.

Herro

I got a new phone.
It is smart.
I am not.
I feel like a ninety year old man with no teeth holding a rock and shouting "how does this thing work Barbara" at a dog.
A minute ago I tried to make it stop vibrating when I press stuff, because although it is kind of exciting to always feel like T Rex is chasing you, it is also a bit unnerving. However instead of the vibrations stopping, I removed all the little pictures from the screen.
Christina says the pictures are widgets. She also said "Mmms whap enabled wifey widgets aichty see" and other things that I don't really see are relevant to my situation right now. She asked me if I wanted the pictures back and I said no, but she looked unconvinced and put some of them back anyway and now there are little icons taunting me for my lack of technological prowess and for having giant spam fingers like an orang-u-tan or something less co-ordinated, like maybe if I just had five fat slugs instead of digits or something.
I tried to text to someone because I needed biscuits and even though my phone is apparently super-smart it won't bring me snack products or hot beverages.
I managed to type "Pleaded bring Mr Moore bizcoots" and now the phone is in the kitchen and I am in here because in here it can't make me feel stupid and hungry.
Fuck you.

CJD

When we got to the hospital the walls were soupy pea green to match the smell in the air. They made us put on plastic before we could enter the room, plastic over our shoes and hair and aprons and gloves to wear. I took mine off, they felt cruel and cold. He was there but not there, he looked different but the same. Something about the eyes. Something about the face. Something about the way he wasn't there any more. He looked into the distance, drooled, smiled. We went back some time later, days, weeks. The last time we went back he wasn't looking or drooling any more. He just lay there. We talked to him like he could hear. I don't think he could.

Weight loss

My shorts keep falling down maybe I have lost a bit of weight? They're so loose, I have to keep pulling them up, I must have lost weight I suppose I have been eating quite healthily and skating a bit and well not really eating healthily but drinking a lot instead of eating which is sort of a bit almost like a diet and probably means I'd lose weight, except aren't there lots of calories in beer or something? But still they're so loose maybe I should buy a belt...oh no wait my fly is undone.

Babybels

I have just been to the supermarket and I bought a pack of 12 Babybels and now I have three left. I wish that everything in the world was made of Babybels so that I could eat it all, if that tree over there was a Babybel I would eat it and that lamp post too and that dog, I'd eat them all and if you were a Babybel I'd eat you too.

Car Park Dream

Last night I dreamed I was back in Memphis and they had built a car park over the place where I was raped. It was sunny. I walked across the concrete and stood looking at a rusty old car that had its back wheels parked where my head hit the floor. I thought this should make me feel something, but it didn't.

Field Day

I'm in the dance tent and it's loud and packed and some sweaty guy is grinning and talking to me and I can't hear what he is saying so I am just nodding and grinning and hoping that he will stop soon and go away because if he carries on maybe he will notice that my hand is wrapped around my boyfriend's cock and his fingers are fucking me hard.

Not quite human

Random dude: "You look kind of fashiony."
Not me: "I work in market research. But thanks!"
Random dude: "And you. You look...alternative."
Me: "...alternative to what?"

A pint of bitter please

I suppose essentially it is just gripe juice.

Cat

Oh oh listen to him aww he's so happy!! ...or sad. Or maybe he wants something. Or I don't really know what he's just meowing a lot.