First Memory

25 10 2012

I was in my mother’s arms, and the light was dim and yellow as the box grew closer. Looking down there was  a shape, pale, olive skin poked out of a loved 3 piece, brown tweed suit with a simple white shirt to compliment, and a red tie, possibly silk. I don’t remember the smell. But I was given an old Avon bottle in the shape of a Gatsby era car, its a bright canary yellow, that is what he wore.

His cheeks were slightly sunken in and had a tiny bit of white hair a top his dome. His nose was pointy. His hands were long and boney, used, useful hands at one point. Did they betray him in the end? Or was he able bodied until he quit? The way the elegant things laid there was as if they had succumbed to exhaustion due to excessive twiddling.

And his mouth seemed to have some strange smile, as if it were all a joke.

I don’t know  how old I was, I am told that I was two. Its the only time I really remember being carried and held that way by my mother. I know I was much more, because that’s the kind of person she is, but I don’t remember any other moments outside of peering into death.

I want to say I remember wearing mary jane shoes, but I can’t remember if they were the white ones or black.

I know I’ve written about my first memory several times, perhaps not on here, but I have all the same. In high school we watched The Three Faces of Eve as a way of sorta kinda learning what people used to think of dissociative identity disorder, or multiple personalities. And that was her trigger, that she had been made to kiss a dead person. In that terrible Mary Higgins Clark book it was because the girl had been molested. Which I remember thinking that, that seemed way more feasible  even though apparently the movie was, “based on a true story”. I remember thinking how silly it was for some one to be triggered by kissing a dead relative and that essentially being the “reason” for their undoing.

But my first memory is not too unlike the one presented in Three Faces of Eve, I don’t remember if I was made to kiss him or not, but I do think it has impacted me more than I’m willing to admit.

Sometimes I think that, that’s why I’m not afraid of dying and why, for me, death is just another part of life.  Other times I wonder if  that memory is the reason for my melancholy. But life isn’t that simple as being just one thing.

Advertisements




If only there was blindness.

22 10 2012

I think I know what my problem is….I’m bored by masturbation. I always know what I’m going to do. And that predictability bores me. I can’t very well trick myself. Also spanking oneself is rather difficult. I can slap myself in the face pretty easy, but I usually do that compulsively when I’m super upset… so that doesn’t really ring, “turn on!” for me.

But will this keep me from it…. *sigh* sadly  not. Will I try new things, knowing that they will still not surprise me, because I know what I’m thinking??? *Sigh*  Yes.





Alabama Shakes: Girls & Boys

21 10 2012

I remember I once danced with you to this album… now I just cry. I cry, cry, cry.

How do I stop loving you this way?

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1UF5o7yDeU





Gross feelings.

21 10 2012

I talked to the ada… and its him.Its Him and I see his face when I close my eyes, and then I try to think about AB instead, and I realize that I love and miss him.

Maybe more than I realized.

I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the aged creature before me. I have aged at least 5 years and probably more within a week.  This whole news has obviously consumed me more than I was willing to admit.

I don’t know how to do this. I feel alone and powerless against my raging subconscious.

All I really want is a hug. From AB specifically. But from any safe person would be nice really.

I really don’t want this to rule my life, but right now I’m so raw and torn up inside….I don’t know if I have the capacity to focus and  just go on, just yet.

But that’s exactly all I want to do; go on with my life. In both instances.

I don’t want to be bothered by the shitbag that raped me two years ago.

And I really don’t want to be in love with AB anymore. And I keep thinking that I’m like sooo totally over that, but that just isn’t the case.

I spent so much time confiding in him now I feel as though I have no one. Here. In Boston.

But I also confided in C I could turn to her. I could turn to her and seek her out. But Isn’t it too much for one person? I Just want to be safe and hugged.





Closure?

15 10 2012

***TRIGGER WARNING***

 

I got some weird news on Friday. It’s not really bad news, but just triggering. My best friend found an article about a French African native that was convicted of raping and stalking women from 2007-2010. The article had a photo. She had no idea that I was actually on my way out of work to head to my counselor, but I’m very glad that I was. As I rode over, I tried to remain as calm as possible, but my breathing was heavy, and I’m unsure how fast I was pedaling  and I know I did some maneuvers that weren’t that wise.  By the time I got down to meet my counselor I could barely breathe, let alone talk, but after taking off all my outer layers I was able to tell him what was going on.

I told him I had to know, that there was a photo in the article, and I needed to know. It was him.  I dropped my phone, and I knew it was him. I became 80% sure it was him. The stranger that raped me in June 2010. The one that I didn’t understand, the one where I started disassociating before it even was happening. As soon as he touched me, taking my hand, I started to fade, and become a shell.

I completely lost it for a few minutes. I felt as though it was happening all over only this time I knew what was going on and I didn’t see the mountain top. I didn’t know what to do but my therapist was able to remind me that I was safe, that it wasn’t happening now.  He was able to help me calm down, and call a friend to meet me after counseling.

He’s in prison. For twenty years. 19 now. But I’m not going to count that down. I’ve read several articles about the whole thing, and I’m now 90-95% sure that it is him. Nothing mentioned how tall he is. That’s the only detail that I feel like I need to really confirm it with myself. I know that there’s no tacking on to his sentence. But I recognize the shape of his mouth, the shape of his head, and he made this one face, when some one was talking during the world cup. The things that he said in the article, and the description of the actions. If its not him, there is a strong uncanny resemblance. I don’t know what this means for me. I don’t really know if this will bring closure really. My dad said that I should celebrate. But so far its just made everything present again.

To me this just tells me even more, that you don’t really get over being raped, you just learn how to carry it, and eventually the strength you gain makes it seem small and far away. One day I will be able to carry this again in such a way that it won’t be so painful.

“We must imagine Sisyphus, happy.”

I’ve contacted two reporters, the associated press, and the NYC DA office, I’m trying not to obsess, but I feel like if I know either way then I’ll be able to go on and bo back to not being a raw ptsd nerve.

I have work today so that will help. I wish I could listen to music in my head phones at work, I feel like I’m going to be hearing his voice all day with out that. I haven’t started with the nightmares or hallucinations, so I’m not going to worry too much.

I’m just going to listen to some angry/sad girl music, and I’ll be okay. I’ll probably watch Pride and Prejudice a million times, too.





Enter Lelo

6 10 2012

Sexual Hiatus, yes not a time of abstinence or chastity, but a sexual hiatus. Because Lelo, you my friend are about to get worn down.

The thing is I know sex is waay more than the P in the V but I really like to have my pussy filled with cock.  And while Lelo can do some amazing things for the clit, I’m not so sure about its abilities on the inside. Maybe I need to get a wall dong…. but I feel like I should give Lelo a chance  before I go blowing all my money  on more self pleasuring sex toys.

An internet friend of mine called me a pervert the other day and I did not take offense, I mean it was meant as a compliment, I knew it and felt it, and enjoyed that compliment. Because of this… high libido, strong sexual appetite, or whatever you want to call it, I find it hard to believe that I will actually not have sex on my hopeful sexual hiatus. I have kinda poor impulse control when it comes to this.

I mean the longest I’ve gone with out sex…. I believe was three months. Since I was 20, you know after I was married. And then when I was separated, I kept feeling my ex inside of me, feeling him crawling on top of me, and it made me feel sick, and drink too much, and then one night I had beer goggles, and enter me having one night stands…I had very few standards at first. I basically only had to be mildly attracted to them, not even like them, and I would fuck them. Because I could still feel my ex.

But then I actually did have a crush, and then had sex with him, and it was FUN. So much fun, and we communicated and during Christmas break had sex basically every day that I was in town, multiple times.  Suddenly I felt like this was it, this is what I wanted, fuck buddies. But he wanted more, and I lived in another town. We did have sex a few more times when I was back in town, until one night I got super drunk and told him he deserved to be with some one who was capable of love. I mean I really liked him and said that as well, but  it didn’t  matter because he deserved more and I wasn’t capable of love any more, that my ex (who he knew vaguely) had ruined that out of me. I don’t remember his reaction, and I barely remember saying that, I had accidentally chugged ever-clear the night before. But I do know that in the morning he did seem different.

 

Then there were a few more mistakes of having sex when I was waay too drunk, with one person who I really did n’t like. Then I had the realization that I become a monster when I’m black out drunk, evidence found through horrid text messages I sent some one I barely knew, and I decided to real in my crazy and not get black out drunk any more. So no more mixed liquors and no more shots. Because its not that I can’t hold my liquor, I mean I can chug ever-clear for christs sake, but holding that liquor leads too often to crazy monster me and I don’t like crazy monster me.

Then I found another consistent fuck buddy and that chilled me out for a moment, but I still wasn’t able to get all the pleasure I wanted, it was the same thing every time, the biggest variety was taking me from behind, but hey, it was still sex, right?

Then there was couchsurfing yoga guy, with the magic dong. All we did for a week was, yoga, sex, and food. I mean it was amazing. Yoga as foreplay is still something I am hoping to find in another partner, one day.  Yes this kid had the biggest consensual dick I’d seen, but more importantly he knew how to use it. Because frankly if you don’t know how to use what you’ve got it doesn’t matter how big it is. I mean really use and control, he could control his ejaculation and dry cum. It was kind of fascinating. He was only in my life a week but he taught me so much about my own pleasure. He taught me not to be afraid of what I wanted sexually. And for that I thank him and call him my first teacher.

I didn’t really have that many new repeat partners the last year I was in Abilene, just one, but he didn’t live in Abilene. It was my last semester, and I tried to pursue a relationship. I also found myself in a number of kind of sad drunk and horny scenarios, but nothing happened.

This new person who I met I had admired from very far away for some years. He’s older and an artist, one who I really dig, and now we are something possibly like friends. We talk, we fuck, he gives me advice. I enjoy his company, and he seems to enjoy mine, but we aren’t together. I think I’m more or less a fantasy to him. Though he does say that I am more than a sex object, sometimes I’m not sure.

Then I moved to Boston… and my impulsive nature gave in again. I was able to chill out a bit after a few months but I think I had sex with three different people in the matter of a week and a half? Which probably isn’t nothing, but for me, it was a little alarming. Then…in February the same thing happened.

Then A came into my life and taught me how to feel, and was such a good lover. He opened me up, and sure we did fuck do not doubt that. One time we were going so slow and he asked me, ” Can I fuck you?” and get chills just thinking about it the way he said it, it was mmm really nice. I know that’s nto the dirtiest thing any one has ever said to me, but damn. I really wanted to hold on to him, the way that he felt, but then when I saw him last week, and it hurt so much, I decided to make some bad choices, by going to that frat party. And now that’s done.

I do feel a little ashamed of my last weekend exploits… I don’t really tell people I know that I had sex. And I certainly won’t tell him I had sex because I missed some one and then cried the whole way home on the train.

And so because of the shame that I feel, that’s why I am taking a sexual hiatus. Because sex should never feel shameful.

And I still love him. Though it hurts a lot less today than it did last Friday on the train.

 





Catch-22

3 10 2012

This past weekend I went to an art party and met a person who I ended up being really into, and we talked and at the end of the night we kissed.  There was a big part of me that wanted to invite him to stay, but on top of my room being disastrous  I really do not want to be a sex object any more. So I said good night.

Last night we hung out again, and then he said as we were parting, ” I don’t want to lead you on, you seem really nice, but I think its unfair that I’m mostly just interested in you because of your body.”

Honesty. So often does it hurt. And yet, still feels better than being lied to.

“I am painfully aware of what it means to be a sex object, and I do not want that anymore.”

He said a few more words, about not wanting to be strangers and getting to know me and things like that, and then I said a few more words then he touched my leg and ass.

“Do you not want to touch me or do you want to touch me?”

I also told him that I had no expectations, and had been pretty well disillusioned to true love, monogamy, and that I was not possessive or jealous.  What I know is that I seem to like you, and that I am attracted to you.  But again, I’m not interested in only being a sex object.

We hugged, we parted ways.

And I cried the entire way home. And for a few hours after being home. I don’t understand. I really don’t. How can I not be a sex object?

If I scrapped my face, tits, and ass off would I then be able to be a human being?

The guy that tells me he wants me more than my body breaks up with me when things get busy, and another guy tells me all he wants me for is my body so doesn’t want to bother.

Maybe I should start taking testosterone and grow a beard.

I feel like such a huge contradiction, I don’t want to be objectified, but I still get a stupid smile on my face when a person I think is cute tells me I’m striking.

 

I really want to love myself, to love my body, but as of late, I don’t even want to be inside of this skin.

Maybe I’ll take up mma, and have my face smashed in.