Easter. A friend of mine was raped last night. Of course I can’t say who it was. Of course she’d already gone home and showered and changed by the time I heard, and of course she wouldn’t go to the hospital, because of course she was drunk and of course she thinks it’s her fault.
I hate that this happens. I hate being helpless. I hate him, I want to kill him, and it’s easy because I don’t even know who he is.
You do the Laramie Project and you do the Vagina Monologues and you try to tell the stories and you do everything you can to make people understand, and no one listens. Why can’t I make things better? Why doesn’t anything ever change?
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