What's a blog to do?

So, it's been since Sunday morning (well, Saturday nightish...) that I've written. Its been a busier week at work, save for yesterday, and while I should have written, for some reason, I just didn't feel much like it. I guess I'll start with what I wanted to mention the next time I blogged. The other night, Jamie and I were flipping stations on TV and came across an interesting show called Degrassi on the N. The show apparently originated on CBC, and basically is about the life of a bunch of teenagers in High School. The commercials looked powerful. It reminded me a lot of my high school days. Well, the first episode we watch, and the head cheerleader gets raped. Not by a random stranger, but by someone she wanted.. just not to have sex with.. yet, at least. A rival team came to a game, and she developed quite the crush on the star player. Deciding to ditch her boyfriend and run off to a party at the rival players house, she text messaged a horrible excuse that her grandmother was in the hospital, so she wouldn't be able to get together that night. Somehow, her boyfriend made it to the party, and in an effort not to be seen, she snuck off upstairs with Dean, the boy she had a crush on. Moments later, they were kissing, which she was fine with... but then she said "your going a bit too fast" and then when he pulled out a condom, she freaked and said "no!" more than once. Date rape. It's a horrible thing. And while I'm sure it's devistating for anyone, it must be that harder on virgins. All this culminated in my mind and brought me reeling back to my high school experience. At only 16, the first guy I slept with... I didn't want to either. And as excited as I was to have met someone who was gay, I wasn't attracted to him. And, I didn't want to have sex. I'm pretty sure he used a condom, but that wasn't the point. I remember crying. And I remember all the angst and hurt. What's worse.. I didn't even hate him.. I hated myself for somehow having allowed it to happen. I didn't even tell anyone it had happened for nearly a year, when I finally came out to my mom. I'm sure many of you reading this will for the first time be hearing this. Statistically, those raped are three times as likely to develop HIV not as a result of their rape, but sometimes after. I feel like a broken record fitting in with some silly statistic. I do know that after it happened, I hated myself so much, I actually wished I'd be infected, so I would die and never have to tell anyone that I was gay. I felt like an abomination. I just wanted to die, and I could never understand how God would create someone like me, if we really were that horrible. It took a long time for me to forgive myself. And, finding out that I was negative was a huge relief. I guess that's why I took getting infected so hard. Once you appreciate how worthy life is, it's harder to accept that yours might be cut short. Especially by something you could have pretty easily prevented with just some simple common sense. Why, then, did I not choose to use protection that night? I knew HIV was real... but part of me did feel somewhat invincible to it, since I'd managed not to get it after such a horrible experience. And, he said he was negative. And, maybe I just needed to believe in people again. Life certainly has a way of teaching people lessons. Ever since, I've had a hard time really trusting. I find it difficult to be honest, but I feel like I have to be. So that maybe there can at least be one honest person on this planet... So.. Degrassi. Thank you. Thank you for showing a realistic portrayal of how simple it is to be raped, how unlikely people can be to believe you, how difficult it is to prosecute, and how tragic the emotional process is afterward. Finally, it felt like someone else was showing my story, and I'm sure the story of millions of others, in a realistic manner.

On a ligher front, things seem to be looking up for me. The weather is going to be nice for a change. Sunny and 73. With all the smells of autumn. What could be more perfect? My folliculitis is finally starting to clear up. Thank you Chlyndamycin! I'm feeling a bit more like me again, instead of broken me. Even with a cast to support a broken leg, the body must do the healing. The same can be said of a broken heart, and broken spirit. And for the first time in nearly two months, I feel like I'm starting to walk again.