Land of the Lost
I apologize if my last post gave the impression I would never post again. That wasn't what I meant. I only meant future posts may be infrequent and haphazard and fraught with drama. Sort of like my trips to the dentist.
Anyway.
Ben turned me on to a new tv trainwreck. "Obsessed" is a show along the lines of my other fave, "Intervention," in that it's a semi-documentary about fucked up people. Only this time, instead of addiction, the subject matter is OCD.
Good fuckin' times, my friends.
Last night was only the second episode we've watched, and it was a doozy. The dude who compulsively worked out 10 times a day (at least) was weird enough, but when the chick explained how she spends two hours in the shower after every bowel movement scrubbing out her insides by shoving a toothbrush up her ass...wow. That made me physically uncomfortable. For real.
I applaud these people for having the balls (or the need for cash) necessary to put their dirty laundry (and toothbrushes) on the table for the public's guilty viewing pleasure. I also thank them for bringing mental illness (at least one facet of it) out into the open. But I have to seriously wonder if this sort of venue is doing more harm than good. Because seriously--I have a child with mental illness. I know it's nothing to laugh at or joke about or dismiss as some random fuck-up of nature that happens to other people and never anyone close to me. And even I was sitting there last night thinking "holy fucking shit, what a wackadoo." And if that's my reaction--is this show putting a positive light on the face of mental illness, or just making it more of a freak show?
I can't answer that question. I can only say I looked at my toothbrush this morning and damn near puked.
And then there was the link my work friend IM'ed me yesterday while I was minding my own business, downloading some documents. I don't know the particulars because I saw all I needed to see before I clicked the little "x" button, but the damage was already done. Somewhere, for some reason, some douchebag is being charged with the rape and murder of an 8 month old.
Yes, you read that correctly. Rape. Murder. 8 month old.
You don't really need to know more than that, do you? I didn't. That was way too much information as it was.
And somehow, it wasn't enough. I wanted to know WHY, MOTHERFUCKER. What on earth kind of sick fucked up piece of shit must you be to inflict that kind of suffering on a baby? My toddler can be loud, demanding, relentless. His brother at his age was even worse. And there were times, oh, there were times, when I could have seen myself snapping and giving either of them a good slap--but Jesus Christ, I didn't, and even if I had, that act alone would have shocked me enough to bring me back to earth. What kind of monster do you have to be to take it so much further?
I tried to put it out of my head. I watched a video of Moosetoddler and Gilda in Gilda's pool, splashing and laughing. It didn't help. I listened to his sweet giggle and all I could think of was that nameless, faceless baby and the horror it must have endured in its short life. I'm still trying to put it out of my head a day later, and it was all I could do earlier to send the toddler off to Grandma's for the night (Dad's working from home tomorrow) and not clutch him to me and yell, "no, you can't take him, I'm not letting go of him until I'm absolutely sure no one will ever, ever hurt him."
It's a fucked up world.
I think I need to go to the gym now. It's going to take a lot of weight to remove that one.
Anyway.
Ben turned me on to a new tv trainwreck. "Obsessed" is a show along the lines of my other fave, "Intervention," in that it's a semi-documentary about fucked up people. Only this time, instead of addiction, the subject matter is OCD.
Good fuckin' times, my friends.
Last night was only the second episode we've watched, and it was a doozy. The dude who compulsively worked out 10 times a day (at least) was weird enough, but when the chick explained how she spends two hours in the shower after every bowel movement scrubbing out her insides by shoving a toothbrush up her ass...wow. That made me physically uncomfortable. For real.
I applaud these people for having the balls (or the need for cash) necessary to put their dirty laundry (and toothbrushes) on the table for the public's guilty viewing pleasure. I also thank them for bringing mental illness (at least one facet of it) out into the open. But I have to seriously wonder if this sort of venue is doing more harm than good. Because seriously--I have a child with mental illness. I know it's nothing to laugh at or joke about or dismiss as some random fuck-up of nature that happens to other people and never anyone close to me. And even I was sitting there last night thinking "holy fucking shit, what a wackadoo." And if that's my reaction--is this show putting a positive light on the face of mental illness, or just making it more of a freak show?
I can't answer that question. I can only say I looked at my toothbrush this morning and damn near puked.
And then there was the link my work friend IM'ed me yesterday while I was minding my own business, downloading some documents. I don't know the particulars because I saw all I needed to see before I clicked the little "x" button, but the damage was already done. Somewhere, for some reason, some douchebag is being charged with the rape and murder of an 8 month old.
Yes, you read that correctly. Rape. Murder. 8 month old.
You don't really need to know more than that, do you? I didn't. That was way too much information as it was.
And somehow, it wasn't enough. I wanted to know WHY, MOTHERFUCKER. What on earth kind of sick fucked up piece of shit must you be to inflict that kind of suffering on a baby? My toddler can be loud, demanding, relentless. His brother at his age was even worse. And there were times, oh, there were times, when I could have seen myself snapping and giving either of them a good slap--but Jesus Christ, I didn't, and even if I had, that act alone would have shocked me enough to bring me back to earth. What kind of monster do you have to be to take it so much further?
I tried to put it out of my head. I watched a video of Moosetoddler and Gilda in Gilda's pool, splashing and laughing. It didn't help. I listened to his sweet giggle and all I could think of was that nameless, faceless baby and the horror it must have endured in its short life. I'm still trying to put it out of my head a day later, and it was all I could do earlier to send the toddler off to Grandma's for the night (Dad's working from home tomorrow) and not clutch him to me and yell, "no, you can't take him, I'm not letting go of him until I'm absolutely sure no one will ever, ever hurt him."
It's a fucked up world.
I think I need to go to the gym now. It's going to take a lot of weight to remove that one.
posted by Mitzi Green at 5:42 PM
1 Comments:
Oops...sorry I misunderstood your post. And glad you will be posting. Sporadically is better than nothing.
That is so gross about the 8 month old baby. That happens a lot all over the country. I have read about younger ones abused that way. I just cannot fathom what is in the minds of people that do that.
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