A Novel Idea

The back and forth, uncertainties; obscure and misled rhyming schemes meant to tell me and you and that kid in the corner something important. Like when and why and how life meant something, but nothing that will answer the all important question that everyone’s asking, or not verbally speaking, but seeking to be understood and known and unknown is what we’re remembering. 

But when days fall into early summer’s eve, and we’re waiting under skies, by watery fronts, and coolers filled with beer and hands with blunts, you might as well pass over the questions and say “fuck it,” because you’re not even living when in comatose by some ridiculous substance. Can’t understand, or learn, or breathe, or function without a buzz or something to mask over what you can’t grasp or capture. 

My 5th Birthday

Five years ago, I was 16 years old, with a mess of hair, blue eyes, and a disaster of a romance, and my first self-published book, with a pot full of problems I was willing to share. I was sitting in my American history class, that I never really much paid attention in, talking to my best friend a mutual friend of ours. Somehow, the Hills Have Eyes got brought up… and I’m not even sure how. I hadn’t seen the movie, but I’d heard enough to know I didn’t want to. My best friend, at the time, Stormy, started telling me how distburing the rape scene was at the beginning of the movie, and she had to get up and leave the theatre, permanently. She was so disgusted, she never saw the remainder of the movie. The group of boys (some mutual friends) overheard and said that the rape was fake and that it was okay to be in movies and that it was funny. 

The conversation went something like this: 

“I don’t care what it’s rated. I don’t care if they film it. What I do have a problem with, is that you are justifying it because it’s fake.” 

“What it’s matter if it had raping in it? It’s just a movie.” 

“You’re justying that rape is okay. That’s what the matter is.” 

“It is. LOL. Not in real life.” 

At the time, we were all 16 and pimple-faced and going through puberty and were all extremely hormonal. About 2.5 weeks before this conversation, I was in the next room with my best friend’s best friend’s cousin (we’ll call her my ex, for lack of better words because I was head over heels) as she was assaulted on St. Patrick’s Day. It was still a sensitive issue, as it should always be. 

Regardless, I think people underestimated my message. My message wasn’t that rape shouldn’t be in movies — some of my favorite movies, include rape scenes (Speak, The Unsaid, Red State, Hotel Rwanda, Precious, and there’s surely hundreds more). My message wasn’t that we needed a warning before they’re in movies. My message was that, in this case, someone justified rape. Fake or not, rape is rape. And it’s never okay. And that was my message five years ago. 

And five years later, that is still my message. I’m proud to say that this was never my intention (to have an organization). But that’s what it became and I’m really happy with what my life has become because of it. Because I won’t have time to do it all individually, there’s certain people that have been supportive since the beginning of this process. 

To everyone who made RNJ a possibility, or stood in my way and made me work ten times harder, I thank you. RNJ is a full time job… one that never sleeps. Because it’s 24 hours, I don’t ever really a get a day off, and I work weird hours, and that’s okay with me. This is what I want my life to be… so for everyone who says, “What are you going to do with a women’s studies degree?” I’m going to use the information it gives me about women, being that’s our main demographic, to my advantage as I advance my organization to it’s 10 birthday. If I have to work a dead-end job the rest of my life, but I get to come home after work, and continue to help victims of rape and abuse… then that’s what I’ll do… and I’ll be the happiest person in the world because of it. No degree can give me that.

When people tell me, “Hey, RNJ saved my life,” or “RNJ really made a difference in my life,” I get to tell them I understand, because RNJ made a difference in my life. But it also saved my life. No one is put together at 16, but I was an extra-hot mess, and RNJ made all that easier. “This is where everything is better and safe”

Anonymous asked: Ali I feel so lost and stupid, I was raped a year ago today but I still feel like it was two minutes ago! I still cut myself still can't eat and have terrible sleep at night.I can't email u personaly.... Im too embarrassed. He was so close to me, he was my teacher, he raped me over and over again for 9hours he customer a S into my private area when he was done. I wish I could tell my mum or anyone but I just can't say the words, I have. Tried to tell but I just can't. I'm sorry:(

You should definitely go to Elizabeth’s page (I can’t link stuff but if you go to the RNJ website and click “staff blog’s” scroll down to her section and read the post on “Forget the Rape Anniversaries.” It’s a really great blog. 

Please don’t hesitate to email me personally. I think RNJ could be really helpful for you. Based on the “mum,” I’m guessing you’re not from the US? 

You should consider emailing me. This may be a discouraging statement, but I will be out of town all next week, and fairly unavailable this weekend. I will be responding to emails up until about Monday morning. Please don’t hesitate to use your voice. 

#1

Am beginning a new poetry project, indefinitely. 

It’s on. 

twenty-six heavy, zangy pieces. 

Good luck, qwerty.

I desperately want to re-do my Tumblr follows… and would like to follow more of my activism type-friends… so I can feel more in touch with the world. I feel so left out of my life right now.

Everly (After)

The silky dress 

fits you pleasantly, 

molds to your 

tender body

but you’re forgetting, 

I know the heart 

behind the low-cut

evening dress. 

You sign away

the only things 

that once mattered, 

sing the melody, 

we once belonged

to the days that 

held us together.

You walk in circles

around crowded 

rooms, alone

you are 

because you’re 

a trending topic

#mistaken#mistake

A bottle lie empty 

on your coffee-table, 

stained with red wine, 

whining cries,

and all you see 

is crime scenes, 

mistakenly,

You sign away

the only things 

that once mattered, 

sing the melody, 

we once belonged

to the days that 

held us together, 

but now we’re 

gently letting

God take over 

the wrath of 

“used to be,” 

director’s cut, 

end scene. 

There’s only so many moments you can look back on and say, “that’s when it all changed.”

The past week has been a realization of that. Some good, some bad. Some heart breaking. Some over due. 

All I expect from me right now, is to narrow my Worry List.

Cutting ties to a friendship that has had me more stressed than relaxed is a positive change. Letting go of a woman I was ready to marry, is a hard but promising change. Seeing a friendship, so powerful, change suddenly is less than satisfying. 

I’m grateful that some of the stable figures in my life from the past five years are still present. 

Anonymous asked: Hey, Miss Ali, so I just wanted to know if you could share your story, I already know your strong and amazing, but it would be really cool to check out what your all about for real! Please don't be shame to share ur story! How many different times were you assulted? Did you do a rape kit?

“Miss Ali.” Oh the joys! I don’t mind sharing my story, but I prefer to do so in private. I’m not ashamed of my story, nor do I feel like I can’t share my story. However, in many ways, I feel that sharing my story publicly can cause a lot of, troublesome circumstances for myself, if you will, as it has in the past. This is a matter of choice, not a matter of fear, or shame, or whatever the case may be. I’m very open about my past (given the organization) — but I don’t feel as though posting my story in an open arena is beneficial for myself or other (friends) who were also victimized — it’s just as much their story as it is mine. Feel free to email me (anonymously, or openly) at ali@rnjstaff.com or you can text me — or whatever you choose.

Anonymous asked: is a survivor normal if she orgasms during rape? it's the main topic of discussion in my own therapy and there is barely anyone that is willing to talk about it, but i have questions and want to know if i'm normal, and just how normal, and to someone who was repeatedly conditioned to orgasm during rape, if there's any way to change the only way I can orgasm *pretend that it's happening to me all over again, which leads to a very bad night of crying and emotional bondage. please blog about it?

I’ll do this in short, but if I get a chance to blog tomorrow, I’ll definitely do this! (It may not make it up until this weekend, but consider it on my to-do list.) I like to put this question in perspective of this: If a female has an orgasm during a rape, it’s the same as a male becoming erect when she’s raped. (It’s not abnormal.) 

In response to your other message: 

I’m guessing you’re still under the assumption that I’m a psychology major… I am not at this point, unfortunately. It’s extremely disheartening but I found that my path on psychology would be much longer and I wouldn’t be as successful (due to a LOT of things) and decided to move my major to Women’s Studies and Gender Studies. 

I hope you don’t feel embarrassed to ask me any question — anonymous or otherwise — I’ve heard quite a bit, so my shock level is pretty hard to achieve. I hope you know that you are more than welcome to text message me (if you’re international, there’s some ways round that) or you’re welcome to email me or message me here with your username, and we can privately message. 

I’m not a superior to you. I was you about, 4 years ago, believe it or not. When RNJ started, I wasn’t as composed as I should’ve been. Hence, why RNJ was started in the first place. However, about 6 months into RNJ’s foundation, I started studying the topic of rape and grew to find answers and healing techniques, and I actually found myself healing. In the scheme of things, I wasn’t you long ago. I want to be a friend to you, if it’s what you want. I don’t like being impersonal with any supporter of RNJ because it’s more, I feel, beneficial to be on a one-on-one level with things and I can ask questions that may help you in your process or provide more personal advice to help you in the healing process. No pressure, but when you’re ready… I’ll be there! 

Circular Lifestyles

Time is a spinning wheel, repeating endlessly, but never moving; a runner on a treadmill envisioning their feet rapping against the pavement, hot with the summer sun melting it’s chipped pour. Monday, tuesday, everyday ends with day and starts with day, but what about the sleepless nights and tossing, turning, taunting with the repeating, never ending: Yesterday, tomorrow, today is a blend of past, present, future, just in another time-zone with another hazy face. And what my father used to tell me is that it was a beautiful day. 

Futures, are a spinning wheel, similar to that runner on a treadmill. Only, futures are seeing me in a mirror, staring at me, questioning, interrogating, despising what I haven’t achieved. A checklist of my life’s successes lies under my eyes, the weighted lines carved under my cheek bones; those scarring signs of stressors under the crevices of my half-dimple-smile-lines, lies I’ve perfected throughout the endless list of questions. 

The wheel is growing dented with repetitiveness — same minuscule (in)decision to pave the path for futures, indebted. Nothing like tomorrow, but when today is all I’ve got, short-lived and never-ending; the winter days shorten my life-span by twelve simple hours of darkness: no contest to dimly-lit spaces and patches of dark corners; I obsess over low-lighting and create darkness for my heart to light up in. 

The wheel keeps spinning, spinning me endless and I’ve accepted the fate of living in God’s shadow: human beings with few flaws who admit their wrongs in the face of sunrise, not dangerous situations. I seek you to believe despite lie being the central component and I’ll live for me, for you, I’ll love every day in spite of this tedious revolution.

COME THE FUCK ON.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

If you would please stop being so scared, we could finally be true to our hearts. And then one day, in the near future, I’ll ask you to marry me.

I’m Putting You To Rest