I talked to a woman who had been raped before. I didn't ask any more special question than "Have you got a child?", which turned out to be a shocking story. She was raped by a guy whose friend she'd known, got pregnant and gave birth to the child, who is not considered to be legitimate thus not hers. In her country, abortion is illegal. She said she was in the process of divorce, but I failed to grasp whether the ex-husband was the one who raped her or not.
She kept smiling naturally, in no compelling way, whilst she was telling me her story. That overwhelmed me most. How could one narrate such a painful experience as if only a slight difference did it brought to one's life? I also relate to my little story from time to time (trying to be) calm in retrospective, but, deep down, I'm still struggling with the reason why I had to get through the difficult time.
Not that I want to under- or overstate my (or anyone else's) past. I don't even feel urgent for explanation of it. Still, her consistent cheerfulness hurts me probably because I'm not yet ready to talk about myself in that simple and objective way.
Shock is not the only thing I got from the conversation. I also felt comfort and relief, which, as far as I discern, boiled down to my recognising part of myself in her reflextion.
Let us abhor rape, but yet, for now, I would like to express my appreciation for her sharing the distress she underwent.
Too emotional?. Sorry, sorry, but I don't seem to be cut out for dandyism. I'm working on it, though.
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