This is disgusting. The RCMP in Nova Scotia is a joke especially when it comes to letting minors get away with shit. If the rapists were under 18 when they did it I wont hold my breath for anything to be done about it.
Obviously I hope justice is done but god it's hard to not be cynical about them reopening it too late, and due to public pressure.emptiedglass said:
https://www.ambercutie.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=328163#p328163SierraTonin said:Why can't I find this original post by bawksy? Was it deleted?
Oh god, the irony.SierraTonin said:It wasn't that long ago for me when I was 17 and I remember how it felt. The hormones, the lack of logic [...]
No. I have not been raped. I am so sorry for expressing my opinion thatSierraTonin said:Have you been raped? So why are you giving your opinion on it? Do you know what it feels like?
But if you pay attention to my post, you'll see that it's actually an opinion piece on suicide. And, while not having ever attempted suicide myself, I do have some experience in the matter.bawksy said:[...] rape is a terrible crime.
I'm not sure how it works in Canada, but in most parts of the USA, 17 year olds can be tried as adults for murder. And suicide is murder.SierraTonin said:Not to mention this is a child. She does not possess the rationality or logic of an adult.
The girl was almost 18, and she had her whole life in front of her. In a few months, she'd be done with school, and then she could have moved anywhere in the world to start her life over. I'm not trying to downplay how painful this experience was for her. But she is absolutely a coward for taking the easy way out.SierraTonin said:This girl is not a coward for wanting to remove her pain.
Again, my post was not about rape. It was about suicide. But I think it is quite sexist for you to assume that women "own" the subject of rape. I would have made the same post if it had been the story of a 17 year old homophobic boy who had committed suicide after getting gang ass raped by the Village People.SierraTonin said:You really should think before posting on a forum that is full of women on a subject you really know nothing about.
bawksy said:But if you pay attention to my post, you'll see that it's actually an opinion piece on suicide. And, while not having ever attempted suicide myself, I do have some experience in the matter.
The girl was almost 18, and she had her whole life in front of her. In a few months, she'd be done with school, and then she could have moved anywhere in the world to start her life over. I'm not trying to downplay how painful this experience was for her. But she is absolutely a coward for taking the easy way out.
If you had a broken leg, you would go to a hospital immediately. There would be no hesitation, and no consideration about what others would "think." And after you left the hospital, you would not hide out in your house because you would be afraid of being discriminated against because of your "condition." You would just go on with your life.
No big deal. A broken leg. A cast. And in a few months, a healed bone.
But what if a stigma was attached to having a broken leg? Then what? What if you could lose your job because of it? What if people would treat you differently because of it? What if people said that you were weak because of it? Weak? Yes. Only weak people get broken legs. So, you are weak! And what if people told you that your broken leg was all in you mind? That you just needed to be "strong"? That you were choosing to have a broken leg? And what if you lost friends because of your broken leg? Remember--you are a weak person for having a broken leg, and don't you ever forget it. And what if people whispered behind your back about you because of your broken leg? After all, only crazy people have broken legs. You didn't know that? Well now you do. You are crazy! That's right, crazy!
So you are ridiculed incessantly, become a pariah, lose your job, lose friends, and now you start believing that you actually are weak and crazy. And the pain of the broken leg is unbearable because you never sought treatment. How could you? The "broken-leg stigma" prevented you from getting help.
So you begin having suicidal thoughts. You want to end it all. You cannot go on.
Sound far fetched? Unfortunately this scenario unfolds every day. And it certainly could happen to you, except not with a broken leg, but with a mental illness.
Because of the stigma (the ignorant stigma, mind you) that still exists concerning mental illness, many people who need help do not seek it. Even though there is clear scientific data that indicates irrefutably that a physical connection exists with most mental disorders, many people still stigmatize others because they stupidly hold on to the misguided beliefs of yesteryear that people with mental disorders are weak or just lack will power.
The laws need to be harsher (for the criminal, not the victim) for men who have been raped too. Personally (in my offline life), I know more men who have been sexually assaulted or raped than women. I'm glad that these men feel they can open up to me like that but it also feels like a burden because I know they have significantly less resources available to them than women in their situation.JickyJuly said:The real problem is that laws against rape and subsequent punishments need to be harsher almost everywhere in the world. If a woman is brave enough to report having been raped, she's automatically made to be on the defense. Everything about her becomes a clue as to how the incident may have been her own fault. What did she wear? What did she say? Anything in her lifestyle that is remotely sexual will be brought to light and used against her. No other crime is reacted to this way. We don't blame people with nice homes for being robbed. We don't blame snazzy dressers for being mugged. Young men are being led to believe that their sexual urges are more important than the safety of women.
I'm glad you were strong enough to work through that as I enjoy who you are and what you say!LadyLuna said:I was suicidal a couple times in my life.
The first time, I was 15. I believed that I was a monster. That the world would be better off without me (I will not get into why I was convinced of that, just know that I really truly believed that for years). I hate pain, but knew instinctively that a knife would be the only way I could do it. I lay in bed waiting for my dad to go to sleep. I was pumped with adreneline, and figured out a plan. I would go to the kitchen, get a knife, go to the bathroom, take my clothes off, and cut my throat while lying in the bathtub. I did not want my death to give my parents too much trouble. At 4am my dad finally went to bed. I was pumped full of adreneline, but I knew I had to wait 15 mins for him to go to sleep. So I watched the clock closely, wanting to get it over with asap, before I lost my nerve. I had 2 mins left till I was gonna do it, I blinked and it was 6:30 am and the sun was coming up. I knew my mom would be up to walk the dogs before I could get the knife. To this day, I believe an angel (which I define as a spirit who fights for good) stopped my hand.
The second time was a few months after I started camming. I was still coming to terms with the idea that I would never be a teacher, and my partner and I were living with a toxic couple. He had started taking on some of the bad habits of the "male" partner in the relationship (they were lesbians, but the one was a female who comes off as being a man, and so doesn't really count as a "she" to me... even though she really is female, not trans...). We were close to breaking up, and I was feeling hopeless. See, at the time, I had this crazy belief that if we broke up, we were both as good as dead. But, I wasn't ready to completely give up hope, so I handed all sharp objects to the other couple and said to keep them for three days.
In the first case, my suicide was probably the bravest thing I could've done. I believed I would be going straight to hell, and believed my options were to accept hell for myself or to inflict hell on the rest of the world. I'm not saying I wish it had happened, just that I wasn't being a coward in contemplating it.
In the second case, my suicidal thoughts were purely selfish. I knew at the time that there were many people who would be very very hurt if I did it and yet I still desired to stop my own pain. That was cowardly.
And yes, I do still kinda have the belief that prompted the second one, but my thoughts are that if it happens and we break up, I will do my damndest to disprove that belief.
The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.
You pretty much said the same thing as I did. Here, the fire coerced this person (her?) into choosing to jump from a highrise which is normally a suicidal decision. People who witness this, question the jump, without ever wondering who started the fire. Go figure ...Just Me said:The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.