I Use Objects Sometimes. Toys, Enhancers, Paraphernalia.

I use objects sometimes. Toys, enhancers, paraphernalia.

I use just my hands other times.  Or a blanket, or a pillow.

I take my time. I explore. I learn.

I smile when I’m getting close.

I laugh through my orgasms.

I feel no guilt.

I feel sexy. I feel power. I feel whole.

Never again will this body be bound to you.

From December to Now.  This is what progress looks like.

I masturbate now.

Since you found out the depths of my depravity, I found myself feeling sick when the fire within me flickered.

Not anymore. I will nourish the flame without guilt.

And then I remember something like how he would force me to share a towel with him after a shower if he was angry...

"to save money"

She’s dating someone else.  It’s Facebook Offish.

I’m not heartbroken, but I’ve been annoyed about it for about 15 minutes. 

If there is one positive thing I can say about leaving a totally horrible relationship it would be that it puts other things like this into perspective. 

One day I will find a good one. And then I will chase them away with my crazy.

A Snapshot

He was furious that there are few pictures of us over the years.

I tried to explain to him that I really hate looking at myself - that it wasn’t about him, it was self-loathing.  

This wasn’t a lie.  There’s probably a good 10 year period where I can count on one hand how many pictures of myself I took. Thankfully I have a friend who photo-documents quite literally everything we’ve ever done, otherwise there would be no evidence of my existence those years.

He stated that I was “making excuses” and that this was further evidence that I didn’t love him and was never invested in our relationship.

He’s still on about it.  I have a text from him in March lamenting it.

I kiss with my eyes open.

Symptomatic of the Person I Love and the Person Who Hurts Me being one and the same. 

... as skinny feels.

TW - ED, self harm 

I’ve had part of this drafted since I wrote part one.  I’ve come to the conclusion  this left more scars than I was inclined to admit.

Quick catch up: He exacerbated an already problematic cognitive pathway in my brain and exploited it to manipulate me.  In short (and very simplified): Bad Thing Happened means Pain = penance = possible redemption.

So I found interesting ways to punish myself that wouldn’t raise flags.  Severely limiting my calorie intake was perfect: it made him shame me less and caused discomfort to punish myself for things that I was doing at the time (ie, cheating)

I am still struggling with the idea that I had an eating disorder;  the narratives I’ve read don’t appear to apply to me. But some things definitely match.  I have some form of dysmorphia, for example.  I have never been diagnosed.  But I can’t look at pictures of myself without cringing, and my self body image is definitely distorted.  

I got very thin. I dropped down to a point that was unhealthy. I never weighed myself because I didn’t have a scale.  But things stuck out.  Yet still, I felt there were things that required shaving off.

He loved me that thin.  Couldn’t get enough of me. But he wasn’t the only one.

I never received so many compliments as I did when I was literally in the throws of some of the most self destructive shit I’ve ever done.  For months, my daily intake was 500 calories a day or less . I went a few whole days without eating anything and was so proud of myself when I got into bed those nights.

The whole experience was extremely disturbing looking back on it.  I refused to eat outside of 11am and 3pm.  I was obsessed with food - I still know the calories in almost everything I eat. And if I don’t, I still check. My muscles always hurt. I was always cold, sometimes shaking, and always thinking about the next meal.  I got dizzy easily, and giddy delirious.  In my head, these side effects were great - a free high.

I don’t know why I stopped, but it was always temporary in my head. I felt like if I just reached the sweet spot with a perfect 6 pack that he would be nicer.  That he would treat me like he loved me.

After he had kicked me out and I had commenced with therapy I told him that I talked to my therapist about it.  He told me two things that night: 

That I made him look really bad because he didn’t notice that his spouse was struggling with an eating disorder, and, a few hours later 

that he and I always ate dinner together (lie, he was on afternoons and had dinner when he got home at 11pm or midnight, see the Hours of Acceptable Eating above) and I always eat a lot.  So this was a figment of my imagination and I was a liar.

Not only did it never happen, I took the opportunity to, once again, smear his character.  That night ended in violence.