"What? You Think John* Hasn't Ever Had To Keep Jane* In Line? You Think I'm The Only One Who Does This?"

"What? You think John* hasn't ever had to keep Jane* in line? You think I'm the only one who does this?"

* a couples friend of ours. Names changed.

I learned to keep house impeccably. Not only to keep you from becoming agitated, but also to keep my mind and hands occupied on simple, mind numbing yet mildly satisfying tasks.

Busy hands do not shake, and a busy mind does not dwell on that bruise on my shoulder from last night.

Sexual Abuse - tw for sexual assault

I have survived a series of predatory sexual experiences. Examples relevant to this post:

1. In highschool a boy asked if he could fist me. I said no, but he tried anyway. It hurt quite a bit and he did not succeed. I squirmed away.

2. While on vacation in Brazil, my friend's roommate got me ridiculously drunk on tequila (4 or 5 double shots) then proceeded to perform oral sex on me. I vaguely recall this occurring, but i distinctly remember him putting his dick in my mouth and forcing it down my throat. I proceeding to puke all over him, the couch we were on , the floor, the rug and myself.

 It was a really difficult thing for me to get over. I have since called it sexual assault.  He - my ex- called this my "Rough Deepthroat."

Sometime after he found out that I had been unfaithful, he demanded to have "all of me" - to perform all of the sexual acts that i had done with other people with him. Confusion ensued; I had explored with him well beyond what I had done with anyone else.

Funny thing was he wasn't just referring to consensual sex acts I had been a part of, he meant, among other things, the two above. I rationalized that this was the kind of punishment I deserved for the crimes I had committed, and reliving these experiences couldn't be so bad because I knew he loved me.

I agreed to the "Rough deep throat" first. He sent me home twice that night. Once I was dressed too "plain" and the second I was dressed too "slutty". I am ashamed that I begged to come back the second time.

Can you call it sexual assault after you've begged for it? He skull fucked me with no mercy. He said he wanted to have me like I meant nothing "just like they did". I vomited into a garbage can we had handy for the occasion. He told me he couldn't " be like them" anymore and I didn't have to finish him off like that. He felt too bad. Plus he was annoyed that I wasn't tilting my head back like he was asking.

So he rolled me over and fucked me till he came. Then asked me to leave. We'd save the fisting for another time.

My mind has done a superb job of fuzzing up some of my most horrible memories, but the emotions I felt this night are still vivid. I remember telling myself to smile and look pleased the whole night while the pain and panic and misery built up in me with steady pressure. I was so proud of myself that I kept it all bottled until he couldn't see me anymore. When it broke though, it came with the force of a broken dam.

I sobbed hard on my way back to my car. Ashamed I had let him do that do me. That i had asked for it. That i had begged for it knowing it was bad for me. But he had my best interests at heart; he was doing this all so we could be together again. So why and how could this be hurting so bad?

This was a terrible one for me to share. I have avoided the term for a long time. I have said he was physically abusive and certainly emotionally abusive. But his use of shame and past trauma mixed with sexual acts that any reasonable human being would know I would not want to do leads me to only one conclusion.

Confession

A few days ago while at the mall, I stopped in at the store that sells his cologne. I pretended to browse for a gift, but really I just needed a fix.

The “kicking” in question was me telling him he downgraded. Contrary to the message above, he made sure I was aware then exactly how much I’d hurt him by hanging up on me twice and reminding me what a good man he’s been to me despite the fact that I am a horrible person.

My comment was petty, I’ll admit that. Other than that, though, I did what he loves: stroked his ego.  Keeps things peaceful, and yet, I got to wake up to this last week.

Um.

What they don't tell you about the grief stages is that they aren't a linear progression. They kind of splatter all over the place.

Today I saw a bit of rage - I got in a screaming "Fuck You" match with someone over a parking space. I think if she had come near me I would have stabbed her with the pen in my pocket.

I am certain this goes without saying, but it wasn't about the parking spot. * Insert cringing emoji here *