Wednesday, 6 July 2011

The Accidental Rape: Another Fable

Your name is Brenda. One night, at a particularly eventful party, you suddenly get into a bit of a situation with your long-time best friend John. You see, while both managing to have become spectacularly intoxicated, you and John partake in sexual intercourse. John believes, incorrectly now, that you two are an item, and that this was a great thing. But now you think about it, you don't actually remember ever giving consent to this. In fact, you remember saying 'stop' a couple of times. The problem is, John was too drunk to hear, so it wasn't as if it was entirely his fault. But at the same time, he's gotten the wrong message. John has definitely done a bad thing - but he didn't actually know he was doing it at the time. So my question to you is, how the hell do you, Brenda, tell John that he did this without ruining your friendship?

I think you all know where this is going; dear reader, you really are Brenda. In fact everyone in the world went through the same situation as Brenda, though they may not know it. A long time ago, without the knowledge of the perpetrators, you were harmed. Though your parents did not know it, by bringing you into existence they directly caused your future suffering. My question is, how the hell is one supposed to come about one's antinatalism - how does one tell one's parents about it, without deeply scarring them? I for one, am never going to do it. As much as they did harm me, and brought me into a life I don't want, I still love them, and in doing so, I'd rather protect them from the truth.


  1. It is terribly difficult to do- FAR more than I had assumed before I actually tried it. It's a lot like suicide that way, and for several of the same reasons. I don't think I'll try it again any time soon.

    How to deal with this deep-seated anger and resentment toward somebody you love very much, who in turn cares deeply about your well-being, for something terrible they did to you that they nevertheless sincerely believed and continue to believe was an act of pure love and sacrifice? It feels like there's no right answer, which of course is probably the case.

  2. 'It's a lot like suicide that way'. You're quite right about that, in more ways than one. You have to guts to get over the fear of it, it's tempting, you feel bad about it on your parents' end, and even if you try it your parents may not actually take you seriously. And yes, I'd agree that the dilemma doesn't really have an answer. It's another one of those 'you're damned if you do but you're damned if you don't' situations. Thanks for the comment.

  3. My mom is somewhat of a pessimist, and I do think she at least understands the idea that it is better not to have kids because you don't know what their lives will end up being like. So she understands why I have never wanted to have children, even though she would really like some grandchildren.

    My father is so optimistic, healthy, and enjoys his life so much that he can't even comprehend someone not feeling the same way. Although he does believe that no one is under any obligation to have children, and that there is no purpose or destiny for the human species.

  4. You can actually enjoy the good bits of life - and still be a pessimist.

    And that post was very good. It got linked on The View from Hell:

  5. Wow..this is a post that just strikes a chord within me. I felt really evil and mean for feeling this way (hating my mum for bringing me to this world, and yet not being able to hate her because, well, she like most other humans think that life is something to cherish and enjoy)and have made this comment a few times to her. In addition, I did tell her that I wished another Great Flood (not a Christian, but she is, and I'm just using that analogy for her to cut the long story short) would come and she berated me for thinking that way. I do honestly think the human race would be saved if they got wiped out.

    And she calls me a spoilt brat. She is an optimist and would never understand people like me/us.