Why I’m Writing
Shorter post today.
I spent a bit of time today and yesterday researching some topics for my novel, mostly related to the long-term effects of rape. After all, if one of my characters is going to deal with issues like this, I can at least do a little bit to make sure I’m not just making up behaviors or symptoms (though to be honest, most of what I’ve found indicates that it can vary quite heavily from person to person, and while there are a few commonalities between many victims, the reactions include everything from rage and anger to deep depression and suicidal thoughts).
And speaking of depressed, that’s pretty much how I felt after reading through all these articles. It made me reassess why exactly it is that I’m writing about this sort of topic in the first place.
It’s not because I want to raise awareness of sexual abuse and it’s long term effects on victims. Don’t get me wrong, that is an excellent goal to have, but it wasn’t mine when I started to compile the ideas necessary to start writing this. My story isn’t wholly about rape, but it does play a large part in shaping the main character’s views of the world. If you remember my previous post in which I explained where my idea for this novel came from, you’ll remember that I was thinking about the importance we place on virginity and the over-sexualized nature of our society. I wanted to talk about these topics as I had been pondering them for a while, but mostly I just wanted an outlet to express my feelings (as DISGUSTINGLY cliche as that sounds).
I feel angry. I feel depressed. I feel lustful.
Angry at the injustice. At the lack of control I have over the world around me. At the atrocities commited everyday, and my inability to stop them. At people feeling sad or hurt, and my lack of communicative skills making me powerless to comfort them.
Depressed at the state of my life. At my stagnacy, and my tendancy to just stop caring. At my lack of a job or education, and my lack of desire to acquire either.
And lustful. I speak not of the need for intimacy, to be close to someone, to understand them and love them, but of the wholly phsyical need to satisfy those base desires. The dark corner of the mind that if left unchecked drives some to do terrible things.
I want to take away the pain. I want to comfort those in distress, to get people to understand each other on a basic level. Simply put, I want the impossible. I want to love and be loved.
But you know what? Maybe, just maybe, if I can just purge my soul of its darkness, if I can just empty out my venom onto these pure white pages, I’ll be a slightly less vile person in my own eyes by the time this novel sees its completion.
Or at least, that’s what I hope.
Brendon “needs more sleep” Regier