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This. All day, everyday…

The Reportage of Sexual Mayhem by the Media Has Become a Full-Blown Assault

Trigger warning: this is about the pain of being a victim all over again

Watching from afar and speaking to a friend who doesn’t have a Twitter page has opened my eyes to the violence of information and how it can be almost as deadly as the ongoing splashes of testimonies from victims.

What happened to me was beyond awful — and of course, I always knew that I wasn’t alone in my struggle. I knew I wasn’t unique in my battle for the right to live a life that wouldn’t be irrevocably damaged by mental strife. It hasn’t been an easy journey — and I’m now old enough to accept that there is no cure.

I also accept that the reason why I can’t manage a functioning relationship with men or women is because I don’t have the capacity to fully give myself away. That privilege was stolen from me and I just never recovered.

The past couple of years have been brutal — as I’m suddenly flooded by memories that gave me panic attacks and wreck havoc on my ability to function without bottles of wine or whatever else could provide numbing relief.

I’ve spent the past year — trying to cure myself because I can’t afford to see a shrink — although I’ve been forced to contemplate this cheap method of survival.

I stopped drinking and basically immersed myself in writing. Writing about me, writing about you, writing about all the things that make us good and also make us bad. Writing about stuff that I propose as noteworthy. Writing about how fragile we are and how social media is changing that basic quality for the worst.

All the reporting about sexual mayhem is taking a gigantic toll on me — and I can bet my life that I’m not the only one. Streaming trigger-inducing material that is dumped with never-ending ambition isn’t informative. It’s damaging, irresponsible and outright callous.

I mean it’s a complete disaster — and nobody wants to even attempt to clean the mess.

Instead, we pour more matter into the pot that is rapidly flowing with steamy offerings that don’t offer any ounce of consolation or the hope that if I provide the exact age and location of my assault — somehow progression will begin to deviate way from celebrated toxicity.

All the hashtags in the world and the instant notoriety assigned to the best woman who wins the race of ownership will not curb the habits of predators — nor does it help victims like me — who can’t seem to escape the vacuum of buzzwords that leave bloody residue in our view.

Yes, of course I take breaks from Twitter and praise the God I don’t serve for rescuing from Facebook in the nick of time — but I shouldn’t have to be assaulted for being a curious user who doesn’t want minute by minute updates from outlets — that are ravenous with fury when it comes to how Reese Witherspoon met her assailant as a teen.

It’s appalling and unfathomable that we’ve allowed ourselves to become this.

The veil of solidarity as victims of sexual abuse are asked to divulge the worst of it to complete strangers as a form of release and healing is simply unforgivable. In case — you haven’t noticed because you’re too busy tallying up all the new followers and onslaught of click-worthy affection — we have crossed the line — and this time there’s no turning back.

I have witnessed just how bad things can get — when you surrender to the chaotic mess of online usage.

It’s a nightmare. It’s a roving horror show that includes all the reasons why we really don’t give a damn about each other. We don’t have the time to consider how each person’s journey differs from the other and why it’s imperative to proceed with caution when openly discussing the complexities of physical trauma that is borne out of selfish tendencies.

The predators that force themselves on their prey are doing it for the purpose of dominating that space — regardless of whether or not they’ve been encouraged to do so. Regardless of whether or not it’s right or necessary to do so. Regardless of how much harm is being inflicted — the monster will not rest until tragic motives have been fulfilled.

For the record — the current landscape of faces with headlines and essays that are competing for the best way to whip us back into mental hardship — mixed in with forgettable hashtags and the battle to claim them back to Black from White — is a cycle of ugliness that proves why we’re meant to be replaced by bots.

And maybe that’s a good thing because it’s about time we relearn how to feel again. And if that’s the next trend on the horizon — sign me up.

In the meantime — I hate all humans.

If you need to speak to someone about the trauma of your abuse — reach out to and get the relief you desperately need and deserve. Don’t suffer in silence. If logging off periodically helps for meditative purposes — do it!

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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