![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Iran: The straw that broke my back.
Jun. 22nd, 2009 01:21 amYou may recall a short post yesterday where I said I was taking a break from the twittering of Iran's crisis. I'll continue to be careful about what I see, because my panic, depression and PTSD is easily triggered by violent imagery.
( What I saw that upset me - TRIGGER WARNING )
When I went to bed last night, I hugged my Mum and Dad goodnight. I felt so damned lucky to be able to go to bed with that warm glow of having my family around me again, complete and whole. To know I could hug my sweet, wonderful mother. To hear my Father's stories of his travels of the past three months. To sit down to dinner with them and my brother and enjoy a good talk together. To know I can do all these things and I don't have to fear for my life, for their lives.
Somehow, it feels criminal. Why am I so lucky? Why can't these poor Iranian people be as lucky as I am? And it occurs to me that they fight so that they, and future generations, can have what I have here and now. I know how sweet it is to be secure and to have your family and friends relatively safe and sound, to know you can speak your mind without retribution or censorship. I know too well why they fight.
I mourn those poor people that have been the victims of this oppression. Over 200, all told, and rising as the protests go on. I mourn that they will never get to enjoy the change that they fought for, that they gave their lives for. I'm angry they had to sacrifice so much at all.
I won't forget their lesson. I won't forget them, and I won't take my freedom for granted ever again. I was thankful before, but I know why I'm thankful now.
( What I saw that upset me - TRIGGER WARNING )
When I went to bed last night, I hugged my Mum and Dad goodnight. I felt so damned lucky to be able to go to bed with that warm glow of having my family around me again, complete and whole. To know I could hug my sweet, wonderful mother. To hear my Father's stories of his travels of the past three months. To sit down to dinner with them and my brother and enjoy a good talk together. To know I can do all these things and I don't have to fear for my life, for their lives.
Somehow, it feels criminal. Why am I so lucky? Why can't these poor Iranian people be as lucky as I am? And it occurs to me that they fight so that they, and future generations, can have what I have here and now. I know how sweet it is to be secure and to have your family and friends relatively safe and sound, to know you can speak your mind without retribution or censorship. I know too well why they fight.
I mourn those poor people that have been the victims of this oppression. Over 200, all told, and rising as the protests go on. I mourn that they will never get to enjoy the change that they fought for, that they gave their lives for. I'm angry they had to sacrifice so much at all.
I won't forget their lesson. I won't forget them, and I won't take my freedom for granted ever again. I was thankful before, but I know why I'm thankful now.
