Some apparently living, well breathing anyway, people have apparently reached the conclusion that I may not join their academic, intellectual and august company. As I understand it a vote was taken. I’m sceptical on this because the numbers vary from a couple of psycho loons who may have escaped from somewhere with bars, to six or seven not quite right in the head almost celebrities to one hundred certifiable if not all criminal cunts.
You see I’m not afraid to use the words I despise those who do the deed then hide behind their middle class, middle aged vocabulary to conceal it.
There have been several invasions of my space by those whose only interest was self preservation and a curiosity more often associated with adolescent sexual exploration. Why would some middle aged idiot and his presumably much younger friend stand outside my garden pointing and laughing.
Why would a middle aged woman approach me in Tesco’s of all places and to admire my hair! and why would someone of the cheap out of a bottle red head run into a farm lane at the very sight of my approach. The unexpected couple from the north, they served a purpose but that in no way excuses or diminishes their invasion, and nor does the mouthful I gave yet another intruder the next day and besides his was a second visit!
Topping all that of course is the neighbour who used the key he swore he didn’t have to go into my house without my permission and obviously when he knew I was out, and who is also responsible for giving the curious directions so they could what, appreciate the view?
The first thing they all have in common is a voyeuristic and illegal interest in someone they apparently consider so far beneath them she has no feeling and if she does by some slim chance have any feelings she is not entitled.
There is a kind of not just class but slave master attitude here. A slave free or not was thought to be so far down the human evolutionary and social scale that they were not considered capable of feelings so of course abusing them was not only not a crime for many it was an enjoyable and satisfying hobby and that is what it seems I have to some become.
Which brings me to she of the interminable angst. It never stops, oh it did announce that it was going to or at least take itself off to pastures not so much new as elsewhere, but that momentous decision didn’t last as much as a day, within hours it was back with yet another tale of emotional woe. This would be after it appeared near my house.
I mention this one perhaps more frequently than some of the others because it so obviously knew about the illegal photography I have been subjected to, it dared to pose for a picture fully dressed but with no make up on and had the gall to suggest it was on a par with what was done to me. The implication being that her mug shot cancelled out the criminal invasion I had suffered.
Sisterhood? Fuck off woman if you can’t tell the truth don’t you dare try to convince me everything is alright with a lie.
Pictures of me have been passed around like audeurves before a main course which leads me to believe that none of the people who have joined together to make my life hell for so long have any experience outside their own narcissistic selves.
I hold all the women who are involved in invading and hurting me in absolute total contempt, and added to that is another reason for my suspicions about her with the interminable angst. I don’t think she knows what she’s talking about. You see I was assaulted.
There I was doing my usual walk and most importantly and regrettably not paying attention to my surroundings or anyone anywhere near me. The first I knew I was being attacked was when two black hands reached from behind me, round my throat and down to my breasts. Luckily I was dressed for weather and the assailant didn’t get anywhere near them. This is partly because of the heavy coat but also because in those days you needed a magnifying glass and a map.
Its also because of where I was: on my side of the road was a wide open debris but directly opposite me was a row of tumble down waiting to be demolished houses. I think maybe my assailant thought all the houses were empty. To my everlasting relief and gratitude at least one of the houses was occupied. As I resisted attempts to cover my mouth I was also screaming blue murder, a front door opened my assailant took to his heels and I glanced across to my rescuer who stood in the doorway not moving or saying a word.
I was beyond conversation! I straightened my clothes, looked at my rescuer and moved on.
Don’t write reams about assault if you have no idea what it really is or if you really can’t put yourself in that place without sounding as though its part of English Lit, and no I didn’t report it to the police I didn’t see my attacker all I saw were two black hands, and I wanted to go home. I have never wanted to go home as much as I did that day and would it surprise anyone as much as I do now.
I didn’t tell my family I didn’t tell anyone and I never went near that street again. In all the years since the assault this is the first time I’ve even mentioned it. It left a scar do you see? You don’t peel the scab off a wound unless you want it to bleed and you don’t treat sexual assault as an English lesson. Nor if you’ve got any sense do you leap to the defence of the fucking indefensible.
Roger and Out.
