I had the perfect opportunity to come out today to two of my friends, and I passed it up. They were talking about who they had crushes on, and one of them asked me if there were any boys I liked. Of course I said no, and she kept trying to get an answer out of me, until finally she jokingly asked, "Jenna, are you a lesbian?"
I could have said yes. It would have been quick and painless. But I let out an awkward laugh and denied it a bit too eagerly. And the subject of the conversation instantly changed. Perfect chance to be open, and I was too cowardly to seize it. I've been telling myself lately that if someone, even a close friend or family member, asked me about my sexuality, I would be honest. So much for that. I guess you could say that I'm ashamed of my own shame, if that makes any sense.
My dad was drunk when he picked me up to take me to his house this weekend. He spent the whole car ride rambling about how he's a self-made man, and he deserves everything he owns, even though he's gone bankrupt. He went on about my mom being a spoiled brat, about him being self-reliant even though his girlfriend has him on an allowance. He said he's a good father because he pays child support, puts food in my stomach and clothes on my back. That's his definition of fatherhood-- a monthly check.
Newspaper girl wasn't at school today. Which might've been a blessing in disguise, because it would've been hella awkward if she'd been there to witness me almost coming out but failing epicly. We're doing the whole secret Santa thing in journalism, and we drew names from a hat, and I REALLY wanted to shop for NG, to put a smile on her face. But of course I didn't draw her name. Damn it all. I've been having dreams about NG a lot lately, which is never a good sign.
We're learning about memory in AP Psych, and apparently scientists are doing research that will allow a pill to target a specific memory and obliterate it. They plan on offering this to people who have witnessed or experienced traumatic things, like rape or murder or war atrocities. This made me wonder: if I was raped or something equally horrendous happened to me, would I want to take a pill that would wipe away that memory completely?
My answer would be no. Our bad experiences, even the extremely traumatic ones, help us learn. They define who we are. Enduring the emotional fallout from a traumatic event would make me a stronger person, and it could teach me important lessons. I wouldn't want to wipe away awful memories.
I mean, if it's affecting your mental health to an extreme, then sure. Like a victim of an incredibly violent rape who can't even function properly because she's so traumatized. Sure, erasing that memory would be an option. But if that same woman can still function properly, and is trying to move on from that memory, and is continuing with a normal life, then no, it's not necessary to erase that memory.
I dunno. Would you want to erase a bad memory if you had the option?