Today was an exceptionally hard class day.
We talked about the reasons that rapes go unreported (as rape is one of the index crimes that is high on the scale of not being reported upon), and I sort of clenched my body into itself and remained silent, and I cried just the slightest bit. I had discussed this with my professor the second week of class, letting her know that I may not be present during our class session pertaining to rape (we have an entire chapter on it, and since this class is very discussion heavy, I told her I may not be able to handle it). She's loosely aware of my situation. At the end of the discussion today, she gave me a thumbs up and a smiled and mouthed, "you did great".
When we came back in from break, we watched a documentary about domestic violence, and women who had suffered domestic violence until they killed their husbands. The documentary itself was heartbreaking, but to divide the movie in half, there was a sound clip cut in, played against a black screen. The sound clip is of a frantic little boy, I'm guessing he was no older than five, but I could be off by a year either way telling the cops to send help because his mommy and daddy were having an argument. As the dispatcher is telling him someone is on the way, he starts sobbing, and he tells the dispatcher his daddy just punched his sister to the ground. As the call progresses, the little boy starts crying harder and harder, until he finally screams and says his daddy just stabbed his mommy in the neck, and the dispatcher is telling him to stay on the phone, and you can hear the phone drop, the dispatcher says hello one more time, and then the line goes dead. It was, by far, the most horrifying thing I've heard in a long, long time. I didn't cry while I watched the documentary, but the second I got into my car after class, I lost it.
I am not what anybody would call maternal. I've had two children; my daughter is eleven and she lives with her father. I gave up custody of her when she was six. I haven't seen her since she was one and a half, and I haven't spoken to her since she was five. This brief description of my relationship with Rhyann does not do any kind of service to explaining the events that took place and why they happened the way that they did. But that's the situation in a nutshell. I also have a seven year old son. My relationship with Gabriel was....and still is....rocky. My involvement with my son has gotten better over the last two years, because for some crazy reason, that little kid loves me. I want to deserve it. I don't understand why he does, but he does. I'm not cruel to him, I don't ignore him, I just...I'm not a stereotyped ideal of a mother. I work, sometimes two or three jobs at a time. I got to school full time. I have studying to do. Sometimes, SOMETIMES, I have a very small social life that starts up right after he goes to bed, so I'm not around for all the jumping out of bed to get water, and sometimes, I'm out studying with my study group until one or two in the morning, so I'm not always around for the nightmares, either. Trying to better myself and create myself and find myself doesn't leave much room for me to be maternal. And to top it all off, I never wanted kids to begin with. I don't particularly like children. Don't get me wrong, I love my son. I love my daughter, as far removed from me as she is. Gabriel has gotten exceptionally interesting in the last two years, and I've gotten to the point where I LOVE spending time with him. I will, when I can afford to slack off, take him for adventures. We have discussions about science, and astronomy, and as frustrating as it is, I'm teaching him the things I know about the world and its components. I've started teaching him how to use my camera. I'll go out and take pictures of him. Derek and I take him out with us sometimes.My kid is razor sharp (I have the tests to prove it!This isn't just mom bragging. My kid is damn near genius level smart), he's funny, and he's a little asshole in exactly the same way that I'm a large asshole. The only difference is I'm thirty, and he's seven. He's snarky and sarcastic, and a whole heap of trouble. But he's also the sweetest fucking kid ever. Somehow, someway, I managed to help raise a little boy that can make fun of the world while being incredibly empathetic to it at the same time.
When I heard that little boy crying on the phone, I thought of my son. I thought of the terror the poor little boy witnessed, and I felt afraid for the things my son may see, or hear, and I wanted to make sure that he never had to feel that fear for me. Or because of me.
I haven't ever been blind to the terrible things that go on in the world. I know that people have the capacity to act upon the wild, animalistic, cruel desires they harbor, and sometimes, they carry them out. About six years ago, I decided I wanted to stop just knowing about them. Knowledge is nothing unless you do something with it. I began participating in my community. I volunteer with quite a few organizations, and I'm attempting to get into more to branch out my volunteer work. Domestic violence is one I've stayed away from. Not intentionally, it just hasn't been on my radar. I don't think this is the sort of thing I can sit idly by with anymore.
That little boy may not have made it through that night alive. His mother may not have, either. But no little child should ever have to be afraid for his mother, or his father, or his siblings. Nobody should live in fear of anybody. All too often, sufferers of domestic violence suffer silently and alone. I can't fucking swallow that idea. I want to help. The most interesting thing about college for me hasn't been what I've learned, it's been what I want to do with that knowledge. Every week, there's something else I want to devote time to doing.
The world needs to change. It needs to change so, so much. When I discussed all of this with Allen tonight, sobbing to him about how this made me feel, and how I can't in good conscience sit idly by, he told me that the saddest thing is, no matter what you do, you can't even begin to make a dent in things like this. But I call shens. I CAN make a dent, and I will. Even if that dent is one person, it's something. It's better than standing with a group of my friends and saying things need to change. I can affect that change. I will affect that change.
I recognize that I don't have a lot of time for things. Even in the grand scheme of my life, I don't have enough time. I can't touch on everything that matters to me, but I can sure as fuck give it a try. How I'll attempt to go about helping in this regard eludes me. But I'll start by seeing what's in this area, and what time I can afford to devote to it.
I don't miss the old me one bit. I have changed and grown and evolved so much, sometimes I don't recognize myself. Sometimes I wonder if this is why I'm single, which may seem a strange thing to wonder in the face of such things, but I can't help it. Perhaps my torch carrying gets old, and is too much to handle. Who knows?
I want to change the world. I want to change it for the better. I'm glad I started when I did, but I wish I had started sooner.
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