8:03 am

all day yesterday i kind of put it out of my head that i was going to an art
show at the university. my avoidance technique for stressful situations.
phred and i waited for connie to over and we were on our way.
i thought i was going to be sick as we drove onto campus.
speaking easy about casual every day
shit to keep my mind off where i was didn't work.
as soon i saw that concrete
cradle that i lived in standing above
the other buildings i felt reduced to the victim that i became in it.
i felt small, invisible very vulnerable, on the verge of running away but before i could we entered the art gallery and immediately i felt relieved
not to be staring at my the beginnings of my undoing.

the show which monica was one of the curators was about activist art.
i really enjoyed it, the photography was a real trip. they were reenactments
of women on strike at the GM in plant in oshawa back in the 50's and early 60's.
the artist actually spoke to workers from back in the day to get their perspectives on their inadvertent activism the beginnings of feminism and the rights of women workers. touring around the gallery looking at the other exhibits i suddenly was over come with the feeling that i would be identified. completely irrational i know, but i felt that someone would recognize me
as that girl.
when the artist began her speech the crowd gathered around holding their little plates greedily filled with their free cheese and crackers to listen.
i felt like i was back in a lecture. she was very interesting but i couldn't focus.
my mind was across the quad in the tall residence building on the tenth floor in
room 1004 being raped all over again.
phred shot me an knowing glance and smiled at me.
i still felt sick. i couldn't get out of there fast enough. i started drinking
my wine faster and faster until the burning warmth in my stomach
was stronger than the burning pain that i felt reemerging between
my legs.
as we left the gallery i saw my face in this huge mirror that hung by the door.
for a second all i saw was a bloodied nose and black eyes. i didn't expect such a strong reaction, i did expect to be a bit uncomfortable but nothing like that.
its taken me over an hour to write this and about an another hour to decide whether or not to post this. i have avoided writing about this for years and when i have i refer to it as the incident. even writing the word is hard and seeing it referred to me is still difficult to grasp. here i go dancing around it
still, most likely always.
rape.
there i said it ! i wrote it !
but i won't put it in an sentence where it can complete its awful action to
me again.

araMat