I Am Not The Lies My Brain May Tell Me.

I am not the lies my brain may tell me.

Taking time to affirm and appreciate yourself everyday is so important.

I forgot, people under 30 in NA can’t read cursive at the best of times:

All the Things I Deserve According to {HIM}:

- to be gang raped - to have acid thrown in my face - to be murdered - various forms - the be gang raped (to death) by my exes and buried in a shallow grave bc that’s what shitty people deserve. - to get Aids and die - to get cervical cancer and rot from the inside out alone in my 1 bedroom apt after my parents have given up on me. - to be punched in the face - to be miserable forever - to have multiple kids w/ multiple dads and have the world know how much of a slut and loser I am. - to always wonder if {HE} sticks w/ me bc he can’t do better or if he actually loves me. 

He told me write out all the things I deserved to reference any time I deigned to feel good.  I kept it under my mouse pad at work up until yesterday when I brought it home.

I can’t date this specifically, but I’m thinking Fall 2016.  I remember writing it.

Excuse the handwriting.

Ammo #2 - TW sex. assualt

Hi - graphic and horrible below, sexual in nature. TW - sexual abuse, assault/rape.

For context:  I don’t like anal penetration.  I’ve been able to get to the point where it doesn’t hurt, but it’s never felt good.  So between that, the prep, stress, ridiculous amount of lube required, and clean up, I just don’t want to do it.  I have no moral objection - If it’s your thing, great - but it’s definitely not mine.

At 19, I had tried anal sex, but it still hurt. So I really didn't like it then. 

My ex had broken up with me.  At that time I was devastated, as I didn’t know it was temporary, which was compounded when he told me he was actively dating.

So, my go to coping method was self destruction. And I had a knack for seeking company with the absolute worst humans with air in their lungs.

That’s how I met Rapist.  And he and I had a whirlwind fuckfest that did absolutely nothing to heal me, or make me feel better, but it did allow me to detach from my reality further and just stop feeling altogether.

Make no mistake, I knew within 5 minutes that Rapist was human garbage - he’d been to jail for violence, pushed drugs on people he knew couldn’t help themselves, regularly snorted cocaine to be aggressive, was violent with women and was harassing his ex.  He treated his mother, who I suspect survived Rapist’s dad’s abuse, terribly, and tried to control his sister.  He seemed proud of all of this.

He was also super aggressive with a cat and dog he owned because he wanted to make them “mean.” That doggie was so sweet - Hooch was his name. He used to hide behind me when Rapist was picking on him. I hope he got away.

Rapist invited me to a party at his house. There were 20+ people there, but I didn’t know anyone but his sister, who I’d met a few days prior.  She turned out to not be an ally anyway - story another time.  He and I were exchanging sexy talk most of the evening and I was content with it until he said “I’m going to take your ass tonight.”  My demeanor dropped immediately and I said “ Not you’re not.”   He responded with “Yes, I am” and walked away.

Why I did not leave at this very instant I’ll never be able to explain.  I don’t really know. It was cold out, and dark, and the walk home was about an hour. And I guess I’d hoped he was kidding?

So, when the time came to shove me into his bedroom, I was about -105% turned on because I thought he was going to try to fuck me anally. He was aggressive undressing me and pushed me onto the bed.  There was half a second of relief when I realized he was aiming for my vagina but that ended very quickly.  There was no warm up, and my fluids were definitely not flowing naturally. Furthermore my muscles were so clamped down that I’m surprised he succeeded (He remarked later that he loved how tight I was - now a trigger).

When he pushed violently in, I yelped. Not a sexy yelp.  Like an animal caught in a bear trap kind of yelp.  He proceeded roughly as if nothing had happened.  

I, somewhat mercifully, don’t remember a lot.  I remember saying “No, stop, you’re hurting me” at lease twice, likely three times.  Rapist didn’t even acknowledge that I had spoken.  He choked me a little and slapped me.  After I had realized that this was going to happen anyways, I remember trying to think of ways to make it end quicker.  I tried to please Rapist.  Mostly though, I just laid there, stunned.

After he finished and rolled off, I cried.  Rapist didn’t understand and I did not attempt to explain.  I layed there until it was morning enough to leave.  I never contacted him again.

I have always been active and I am a formidable woman. I hate myself for not fighting back. It prevented me from acknowledging it as rape. It took me 8 years to get the courage to go and talk to someone about it.

He found out about this experience two years ago when he was snooping through my things.  He found a letter I had written “to Rapist” that was part of my therapy with my social worker at the time.

When he found it at the beginning, he told me that I should do the world a favour and kill myself.

As time went on he used this experience to torture me in other ways.

I realize that this could be textbook gaslighting, but he used to tell me that I was awful to him.  He told me I was neglectful and emotionally abusive. And when he first kicked me out he threatened me with a restraining order, a peace bond and legal action. 

I don’t remember doing anything sufficiently to warrant these allegations and threats. But maybe some of what he’s saying is true.  Maybe I’ve just  blocked it out or not recognized that my actions were abusive.

These are the things that keep me up at night and curled into a ball during the day.

I went out dancing again last night, but I didn't feel quite as at ease as the first time. I was with some younger folks, so there was some drama that had nothing to do with me afoot; the interruptions that ensued were admittedly annoying.

But no, my memory was jogged because I had been in this bar before. Halloween 2016. He wanted to go out, and he had no one else to go with( I was last choice, you see, and he wanted to make sure I knew that).

So we went. However he was there to pick up girls, so we couldn't actually spend time together. He said he wanted me find us a 'third'. I said I would try.

I didn't. I have difficulty starting conversation at the best of times and as I had recently stopped drinking at that point there was no hope for artificial courage. I meandered around mostly.

But no matter, he was fine on his own. When I headed to the washroom, I found him sitting with a woman sprawled across his lap. He smiled at me as I walked by, enjoying my discomfort. I went to the washroom, regrouped mentally and decided that I couldn't stay. So I went to sit in my car and texted him to tell me when he was ready to leave and I would pick him up.

Later when he was in the car he told me that I should have stayed. He wanted me to watch. It was punishment. Justice. And if I actually loved him I would have endured.

When you're reaching out for help, a " I'm sorry, the girl who leads that program isn't here right now, can you call back tomorrow?" will set me back at least a week.

It may seem petulant, but when you get up the nerve, it may be fleeting, and you need someone to catch you. Right then.

I don't think you'll understand this if you've never been in crisis mode.