There is a 14-year-old girl who was forced to be a sex slave right here in Wake County, NC.

I encourage you to read this and other news about human trafficking going on in our country, and in our state. The abolitionist group I'm involved with has a wiki set up that includes state and national articles (see "Media Reports")...including a story from the N&O today about a sex trafficking case right here in Wake County.

ramble and muse..

I just had an interesting question/thought.

Since my "depressive period" three years ago, I have had to make a continual and active effort to never return there, to never indulge in those lines of thinking that I know can lead me there. In times of crisis it is necessarily a more concentrated effort, and that is where I find myself now, with my lovely big health insurance nightmare.

Anyway, my tendencies (or I think that's actually too strong of a word...but I can't think of a lesser one for now) being something I'm more conscious of these days, I've had the subject of depression on my mind more - well, because of that and also just because it's a subject that kind of fascinates me, as a matter of psychology and sociology.

ANYway, just now in the midst of one of said musings, it struck me how there would be so many more healthy and happy people (or at least, perhaps, healthier and happier) were it not for shame. When I look back on my own experiences, finally learning to be open with others about my hardship was hands down the first and biggest movement toward a recovery. The thing that prevented this step for nearly half a year was, quite irrefutably, shame. People thought I had things together. I didn't want anyone to know I was broken.

And then it struck me how so many women involved in some kind of abuse or trafficking or exploitation don't seek help because of shame, because the pain they live in somehow seems better than the pain of being exposed. Some cultures actually even hold to the belief that, for example, a woman who is raped has been shamed and she should rather die than be exposed and bring shame to her family. As if it was her choice to start with.

And so my question is, WHY? If our culture(s) didn't denigrate people who have fallen victim to depression, abuse, mental illness etc., I truly believe many individuals would feel so much freer to seek the help they need, be it medical, legal, or maybe just a conversation with a friend.

The real shame is how people respond to the broken. Brokenness in certain forms is disturbing to "non-broken" people who don't know how to deal with with it, and so they don't want to hear about it. And that's the sentiment that our society has built itself on (maybe it's better than 50 years ago, but there's still a long way to go), and those who are broken know this, they feel it, and so they keep quiet in their own little mental dungeons.

And the funny thing is, I don't actually believe that "non-broken" people exist. I'm not sure why over time, certain things got singled out to have shame attached to them, why there are some things that people just don't like to talk about. It took me over a year, I think, to be able to talk freely about depression, and now it's no big deal - to me. But I still get the feeling that for someone to speak freely about something like that, to someone who has never experienced anything similar, it is a bit shocking and uncomfortable. And I think that's a problem.

Slavery STILL Exists (i.e., if you want to stay in the dark, don't read this)

I have been digging through the world of human trafficking for the past half-year, and am continually becoming convinced that one of the greatest shames, one of the greatest tragedies, is that so many people in the United States and throughout the world have no idea that this is even going on.

Almost every one I know in this fight has a story similar to mine, and it's one with a common theme of shock. I mean, I'd always known about "sweatshops" and "sex slaves" and the like, but really, I had no idea...I didn't think about it much. I didn't know it was like this. I didn't know the trade of human beings is the third most active criminal enterprise worldwide, next only to drugs and firearms. I didn't know that numbers-wise, slavery captures many more lives today than did the transatlantic slave trade of a couple centuries ago.

* * *

Though not technically visually graphic, this video is disturbing, as it should be. But if you can't watch it, at least watch the second one, for Radiohead's "All I Need."

Communitas.

There's a big push in the Christian world (at least, among my generation) toward all things "community" and "relationships" and the like. I am intrigued by it all, from New Monasticism to Nieu Communities to less-hardcore versions like my church's "journey groups" (intentional, spiritually-focused relationships between three or four of the church body).

I can't say I embrace it all though, at least not practically. Part of me thrills at the thought of being refined by fire (as it surely would be for this girl, who loves her privacy dearly) through an intimate community of believers that reaches out to the surrounding community-at-large just as much as it grows closer and more connected to each other and God from within.

But...

The problem with the other (bigger) part of me is that, ironically, I have finally achieved what I have been aiming to achieve for the last 24 years. I am settled in a nice apartment in a lovely part of town with a great roommate and a wonderful church and great friends and a good job, and am heartily time-invested in several causes that are important to me...and the last thing I want to do is to shake all that up.

And I will admit something that I have never before dared to admit beyond the confines of my own mind: for several years, I've had a Jonah-esque fear that God may one day ask me let him shake my life up, and move me far, far away to who knows where, to do who knows what.

I've never admitted that aloud, because I have this dumb idea that I will jinx it into happening if I do (as if I could trick God into not asking, simply by never mentioning it...)

I think that's one reason I have been pretty adamant about not ever making big life plans for anything further than 6 months out - because if God did want me to do something totally uncomfortable, at least it might be less painful than if I had to be absolutely ripped away from the roots I had been so focused on growing..

That, and (and this might sound stupid, but it's honest) I have this idea that doing anything for God - like moving to a rural South American community, or joining a ministerial community in my own state, or what have you - means begging people for money, and the very thought of that makes my insides cringe. Fundraising makes me miserable - it rubs hard against the grain of my very personality, and I never want to have to do it.

Ah, me. Call me a coward, but I'm just not going to think about any of that much, for now.

proceso, no producto...

orrr, not.

I normally love that philosophy I first learned from from my favorite Spanish teacher, "process, not product." But as far as this new knee goes, I'm all about getting this process over and getting the final product.

However, good news is that apparently "I must be a fast healer" as my PT said today, as the process is going very well. Though, if there's one word that I would use to describe this whole process, it would be, irrefutably: weird.

Weird, because...

• One's first surgery experience is necessarily so, I think. I don't remember falling asleep, or waking up. And I never thought I could possibly be so glad for a bedpan as I was at about 2pm on April 24. Thank goodness I was on inhibition-reducing drugs, or else I would probably have refused it...and that just couldn't have ended well.

• When everything you do requires very slow, incremental movements (or in the first week, hardly any movement at all), you get into a time warp. I have been in a time warp for 12 days, almost two weeks since my surgery!! What?? How? (Everything takes so long to do, and with so much concentration and carefulness, that time actually goes by very quickly..and yet I never seem to be getting much done.)

• It's so strange that one week of sitting in a chair weakens you so much that you'll take months and months to recover your strength.

• I feel like an elderly person. In addition to my crutches I have a walker in the kitchen, a cane in the bathroom and a chair in the shower (the last three of which belong to my grandma...who apparently is getting around much better than I am these days). And now that I'm weaning off of one crutch, I am walking (shuffling) even more slowly now.

• Perhaps the strangest (and most wonderful) thing is that I have experienced next-to-no pain this whole time, and with minimal help from strong meds (which I quit after about six days anyway, because they were making me sick!) I think I can only attribute that to the prayers on my behalf, because that definitely makes no sense! So thank you if you prayed!...the doctors did a phenomenal job, or I have a super pain-resisting body, or something, but I am so grateful that on top of the many inconveniences, the only bodily discomfort I've really had to deal with was side affects from the drugs during the first week. Even PT isn't very bad...I didn't even remember to take Tylenol beforehand today and I was fine.

12 days down, about six months to go...but I seriously think I've about finished the hardest part, thank God!!!!!

(that picture was actually the day of the surgery...the Robogirl leg has been gone for about a week now, replaced with a very misshapen-but-getting-stronger-every-day appendage. I'll take that.)