#Metoo Part I: Clarity and the Rhinoceros Revelation

Have you ever been about to go to sleep and something, a dream, a falling or whatever startles you awake and you jump?

Happened to me right before I decided to share a deep dark story on facebook. I have watched BBC documentaries for entertainment since I was a child and was doing so to fall asleep one innocuous night sometime ago, before #metoo. If you want to open your eyes a little bit, go to Netflix, check out the BBC show “Africa,” episode 1, skip to the 20:15 mark. That is where I was. Eyes hardly open, night time chirping. Cutest rhinoceros  you ever did see drinking out of a lake under the twilight, we hear a famous British voice.

“Using the latest starlight camera, David Attenborough announces, “we can reveal for the first time, the rhino’s true charactah.” Larger view. “This young female seems nervous,” the British narrator describes the emotional state of a completely different species he can plainly see to the audience who can also plainly see. “The young female has an admirer,but she doesn’t seem keen on him.”

So then this rhino mofo comes back after getting some antlers stuck on his horn and that does it for her, she decides to give him a chance. Didn’t do it for me, I was never convinced, but it did it for this lady rhino, this guys extra effort. So she decides to give it a go. Don’t turn away, give it another minute. Yep, he disappoints. She’s over it, so she goes off and feigns sleep.  Then what happens? He waits a little bit then takes her anyway because he is a legitimate randy beast and they are about to go extinct?

Nope

lol

He just trots away. Like a gentleman. Or like most members of all species across many a genus.

All the proof I need. Thank you Black Rhinoceroses.

Do you know what the Buddha said when he reached enlightenment and the devil came and attempted to reduce him with questions like, “Who do you think you are?!”

He said nothing. He touched the earth. Why? Because all of creation, the earth itself would bear witness to his enlightenment. If it is the truth, what does he have to prove to the likes of Mara?

Right then and there, on the edge of sleep, a big part of me just died and I don’t think that is a bad thing. Might have just been the itchings of 30. My first grey hair. And I got on Facebook and told a story, which I had considered doing at other points in the process because I am a writer and that is what we do, we write when the going gets tough. But I never quite had the limbic pulsing to shut off the blood flow to my prefrontal cortex. That is to say, I had thought about it but never pulled the trigger.

Anger.

It can be inappropriate. It can become an addictive way of life for some, but sometimes, sooooooooometiiiiiiiiiiiiimes

it can be just the motivation you need to act appropriately.

Sharing personal things to strangers is not a safe strategy for many.

But it happens to be for me in this situation at this time.

Clarity.

To the outside world it didn’t look like I had it. We have a lot of assumptions about women and anger. Clarity  is not one of them.

So I got online, shared a story that shined a light on a really ugly scene that made people feel an array of pity, concern, anger and embarrassment. And all of our reactions gave me more clarity. Not a lot of queenly grace there, but I can’t regret it. I needed that information.

I had done all the right things. And still. Fed up.

Wanna know what happened when I took my black and white date rape report to the authorities? About how a man did to me what even a rhino wouldn’t dare do to one of his own? Hope for a minute. Doctors, police, detectives, listening even though I most definitely felt crazy. Validating me with statements like,” yeah, this is exactly what it looks like, we know, and don’t expect anything to happen once it gets to our prosecutor.” An arrest. Silence. Long silence.

Finally, I bug her because my police man ex told me that’s how it works if I want answers.

When I finally did get a hold of the Hawaii State prosecutor and she finally did agree to meet me with an “advocate” (who really served as an advocate for her) she started with a question.

“Abby, do you really think he needs to go to jail?”

Full stop. Crick in my back is tightening to a near pop as I lean a little to the right to try and ease it. The pain of her nonsense.

Not my job.

My job is care-taking, babies, old people, men.

I went to school for public and social health.

Didn’t our prosecutor have years and thousands of dollars worth of rigorous training that had qualified her to put in to practice all the 1 + 1’s of the law?

And besides, that wouldn’t have even been her job!!! What sort of beliefs about who I am made her feel comfortable putting that guilt on me?

I had believed and wanted it to be the people’s who’s job it was suppose to be, the judge and jury’s. Could you have imagined me up there, Judge Libtard?

“JAIL? You mean a place with no stars?!?!? Community service should do! And mandatory therapy! That should fix him right up! Smile, meet heart!”

There is a reason I was both victim and witness in this case and not the judge.

Sorry.

I had no balls for this. And I’ve never had any interest in going to school to be a judge.  Justice is hard work and shouldn’t be left to the victims.

 

And that is why I me-tooed.  I’m fed up and CLEAR AS DAY! Tired of loved ones getting raped on and good -hearted people being left to pick up the wreckage while sociopaths skip around looking pretty and causing chaos. Yes, all sexual assailants are sociopaths, as this rhino demonstrated for all of us, because one has to jump through several dehumanizing hoops in order to make the choice to steal a person’s sex. Even if that person is female. Or it’s some impulsivity problem. Why is the weight on me, a haole from a strange land, the actions of this man’s criminal violation of my body? Why didn’t the justice system take care of it? Black and  White. About the easiest date rape scenario ever. Asleep. Hour and a half been asleep. Sober. Witnesses willing to testify on a consistent story. Freakin’ DIARY ENTRIES. What in the world? This is why #metoo had to happen. This is why sex stuff is now on social media. Because people in our system of Justice put politics before service. Its a joke. I was intimidated TWICE  out of pursuing basic justice while my sexual perpetrator was emboldened to continue his narcissistic abuse.

How do we reach someone committed to a sociopathic path? There is only one way.  Consistent social accountability. Justice, even gentle and kind, really goes a long way.

A narcissistic game always unravels in the light.

Now I understand more deeply my responsibility to  strengthen my inner fortitude in order to continue to shine a light on narcissistic frameworks and take a stand for my own inner integrity.

Would be nice if our system could be trusted to do its job but I never saw any evidence of that.

 

Guns

Ummmmm. So…… This is the entire reason I am writing my blog I think. I knew this needed to be said, I knew this was coming, but I thought it would all be sometime later.

There isn’t really time to wait for the right time is there? There isn’t really time to wait until I’m cool.

There isn’t time. We’ve got to extinguish our fears and fake divisions immediately. Can’t find an ashtray? How about right here in this bowl of mixed nuts everyone is eating out of?

“Me? What do I care? I was only eating almonds anyway. Brazil nuts are for people who don’t have food allergies!”

“Me? I was only eating the almonds anyway! Cashews are for fatties!”

See? We are all ready for this. We are all ready to get to the root of the problem.

If you or your children just had your school shot down, or threats are flying, you go rage balls if you need to, I am not talking to you. You are really feeling it. Anger may signal clarity and clarity may prompt action. That isn’t always a tragedy or a “bad thing.” Speak your mind, show up at your capital. Why wouldn’t you? We can listen. I know those cocky faces aren’t listening, those mocking faces. But we are listening.

Like Harvey Weinstein, I was forced into an inpatient treatment center in the middle of the desert in Arizona even though I was fine. I barely spoke for days and at night I sobbed and sobbed and when I talked to my mother on the phone I vacillated between telling her how amazing things were going to be if we could just pull me out of here and how much of a monster she was. How I needed my dog at this important time. I was going to leave soon, I knew that in the first couple of weeks but I ended up staying for the maximum amount of time and then was sent to their “step down” program for another 60 days. By that time I had warmed up to “Rich Girl Prison” and I was a little nervous about going home and reintegrating. “Life” as they called the step-down program, was a cul-de-sac of model homes behind a mall in an Arizona suburb with a giant high school.  A bunch of teenage girls living in a gated neighborhood with a bunch of mental health professionals.

They made us attend this giant high school with elevators and I still to this day have those anxiety nightmares where I need to find my locker even though I never had one there. Isn’t that strange? A high school so large that a classroom of girls cycle through at all times only attending for two months max and hardly anyone notices? I don’t remember making or attempting to make any outside friends but we only stayed for two periods and I had a friend or two from Life in both classes.

The program was designed to get us reintegrated, give us a little more freedom for us to practice what we had learned. We took shopping trips, went to church, got to exercise and went on “snack challenges” because while they affirmed that my eating disorder was a symptom of my major depression, this was primarily an institution for girls with eating disorders.

Shame.

Gnarly stuff. I don’t tell many people I have recovered from an eating disorder. Or that I tried to kill myself. But when I do talk to people, I tell them I was diagnosed with eating disorder not otherwise specified or EDNOS even though its more complicated to say.  I was something as complicated as EDNOS and it is so much nicer than saying I was bulimic, even though I did a lot of bulimic things. Even in the realm of eating disorders, something usually maintained by high doses of shame and hopelessness, there’s a hierarchy.

I can admit I had an eating disorder and that I wanted to just die because even though it makes some people uncomfortable, even though it makes ignorant people believe I am broken beyond repair, it is still a lot prettier than saying I want a bunch of other people to die.

Shame.

Guilt is that important signal, I am doing something bad, I have done something bad.

Shame is much scarier. Shame says I am bad. Broken. Daddy issues. Not meant for this world, not cut out for it, don’t have what it takes. Don’t have what it takes. Yesterday, my friend told me about a little girl she babysits and how she overheard her mom saying that on the phone about her little sister. Going into preschool. So she told her, of course. “We aren’t sure you have what it takes to survive something as pivotal as preschool. We are scared for you.”

Adolescence is a strong time for shame, it’s that way for everyone. It’s a time of forming identity and shame directs us to make better choices, social choices. We can privately live with our guilt, but shame can build in to something sinister if it’s not jostled around a little and brought  to light and shared, communed.

“Yeah, a girl lost interest in me cuz I farted once! lol So what? lol”
Some kids can’t do that. They don’t know how. Their parents don’t know how and so compulsory education can feel a lot like prison.

Some people do need to sit with shame, for a sec. Right? Some rich world leaders need to learn to sit with shame, duh! But our children and our teenagers? They haven’t had enough time to settle in to the practice of being a “bad person.” They are shitty one day, popped with guilt, nice the next.

They need to know that.

They need to know that whatever happens they belong here, they have a place even if its not in high school.

How do we do that? Easily and for free! I am not even kidding.

Bear with me, I know I am libtarded.

At Life we volunteered once a week. I do not remember any of the programs other than the one that revolutionized my thinking. St. Mary’s was a very small children’s hospital in a one story brick building. Did not know those things existed. We went in and there were a row of babies in bouncy chairs on the ground. One had a giant tumor covering most of the left side of his face and the other one…. have you ever had those nightmares where you feel like you are stuck in mud though you need to run and you are pretty sure you can’t possibly be paralyzed? Or where you need to scream bloody murder and nothing is coming out? Little Baby Edwin was sitting there red and purple and tan faced and hardly a whisper was coming out.

Excuse me?

Little Baby Edwin! Hello! And when I picked him up he stopped instantly. That’s all his nightmare needed.  “How old is he?! What is his last name?! Where are his parents?! Does he even have any parents?!” Crazy needs more information!!! They couldn’t give me any more information. Laws and stuff. I did go see some of the other children but I could not stop going back to Edwin and his friend. This baby too was so moving. I held him too and he never took his eyes off me even as I tended to Edwin. He never cried but he never took his eyes away. Wow. I remember that.

Oh shit, someone needs me.

This is the root of it. Do we need to just let go of our arguing and let that be the final solution? No! You know I am far more holistic in my thinking.

Why isn’t community outreach compulsory for our adolescents? They need to be a part of something bigger. They are a part of something bigger. We need to let them get involved. Get them out of this prison! If math is compulsory, even though stress makes it almost impossible to be attentive to details enough to be good at, why can’t connecting with our community be compulsory?! How can we expect them to grow in to good people if we don’t give them a reason why?

OUR FOUNDING FATHERS COULD NOT HAVE IMAGINED THIS.

They did not know that one day our children would be robbed of purpose.

“What?! There are Injuns out there effing with our way of life! There is still so much to explore! We need our young men and women, ALWAYS! Hello!”

Trump doesn’t really strike me as someone who would really get behind this solution. He doesn’t really seem like the type. Neither would have Hillary. I mean, she would smile and say through teeth that are a part but just barely, “Oh this is a great solution to a huge problem that won’t cost or make anybody any money. Oh, yes, a feminine solution. I’m so in to this. People organizing and stuff.”

You see, my blog is not a Real Simple blog. Duh! It has no business going viral. But this is a Real Simple message.

I need this message to reach the right people in order for it to be implemented.

This has to happen.

Community outreach needs to be compulsory. Our adolescents need to be out working for free, for credit. Every year, middle school through high school. We need them.