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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.

Devolving

But I'm guessing you already knew that.

Repulsion and longing.

Purging old paperwork as part of my ‘self care’ routine. Lots of documents to remind me of when I used to be a functioning adult with a mortgage and electric bills and such.

So much of it with both of our names on it.

Anthem

While working in the basement one day, I did something that upset him (likely the board I was holding wasn’t straight or flush enough for him, or something we screwed together wasn’t square).  He pushed me to the ground and I hit my head.

He stood over me, triumphant and imposing. I locked eyes with him for a moment, stunned.  Then he sang “Who runs the world” in a mocking voice; he sang Beyonce daring me to get up.

“A feminist would never do what you have done.  You have turned your back on that which you claim is so important to you.  How would other feminists react if they heard how you degraded yourself?  How would they feel if they knew that you make shitty money at a shitty job?  Aren’t you supposed to be an independent woman?   Then why are you in a position where you couldn’t make it on your own?  Why are you such a fuck up?"

“Your looks are the only thing you have going for you.  And even your beauty is fading.”

This is probably one of the most embarrassing things I’ll ever post.  This was My List that he gave me to complete in order for us to date again.  Complete this, and I would be forgiven. I believed it too, and allowed myself to be tortured in the pursuit. 

A dodged Experience.

I found a female - a stranger - who agreed to have a threesome with us.  I was trying to check off the list and one of the sexual experiences he stipulated was a threesome.  I’d already agreed and participated in one with him 12 years earlier.  He kept saying that wasn’t a “real” one as she and I didn’t interact enough for his liking.  So it just didn’t count.  

She agreed to meet us at a hotel out of town.

On the way, I told him I was feeling very anxious about it and insinuated that this wasn’t really something I wanted to do.  He told me he was offended. I had agreed to so many sexual requests of others, how could I deny the man I said I loved?

We met her, and we went for dinner.  She was lovely, and funny. I liked her, and we were all getting along swimmingly.  We stopped at a gas station and I went in to buy some drinks to take back to the room.  When I got back into the car, the laughter was gone and there was an uncomfortable silence.

When we got back to the room, she said she really liked us and found us both attractive, but didn’t think tonight “was the night.”  I was  relieved, but I could tell he was doing his best to keep his temper at bay.  We talked more before going  to sleep.  We parted the next day and were never in contact again.

He had all sorts of theories about her and why she didn’t want to be with us, always painting her negatively.  I’m sure he would have loved to try to blame it on me had she not explicitly stated that she was most interested in experimenting with me.

He said something to her in the car when I was buying drinks that irked her. The tone change in the few minutes I was in the store was palpable.  But I have no idea what it was. 

He’s going back on some parts of our separation agreement, so I have been looking for texts in case I need to submit evidence. It’s not relevant to our  agreement, but I found this.

Context:  I told him that I was going to be participating in my local Take Back the Night event. I was raped when I was 19, so it is close to my heart.

He sent me this message after kicking me out of the house again after I visited him. It happened a lot.  My memories can be foggy at times so I am not completely certain why I was vacated this time.  However an educated guess is it was one of the times I protested him telling other people about my assault. He used it to garner sympathy from the girls he wanted to sleep with - I was a monster and this was one of the reasons.  He wanted so much to help me, but I was a lost cause.  

With the event so close, the feelings were raw. I may have gotten a bit sassy.  I told him it wasn’t his story to tell.   So he’d shove me violently toward the door and tell me to “Leave!!”  Then proceed to spam me with hate for the following hour.

I haven’t had one of these nights for a while now.  But reading this again punched me in the gut.  The worst part is, later on in the conversation I excuse him because I knew he “only denied [or doubted that I was raped] when [he] was really hurt.”

This one hurt really bad then; I remember driving home and being worried I’d crash my car because I couldn’t see through my tears. Or my misery. I’m ashamed that it still hurts now.

He could not wash dishes. He'd get a rash on his hands ( possibly eczema or psoriasis). No solutions would placate him. He only ever had problems, never solutions.

Ruined Weekends

He often complained that I “robbed” him of his weekend when he kicked me out of the house. That was because he’d have thrown me out before I had the opportunity to do his dishes and clean his house. And he couldnt go out or do things if his house wasn’t clean.

My fault.

This worries me.

I can’t tell if I don’t like kissing in general or if I just don’t like kissing him.

Hazard of being with someone who crushes you every day of your entire adult life.

The truth - a realization

I was amazing in bed because I was hellbent on getting you off quick and the hell off of me.

An Ode to Truth - the missing piece of my heart.

One of the most horrible things he ever made me do was excommunicate one of my nearest and dearest friends.  I love her, and considered her one of my soul sisters. I feel ashamed of a great many things; this may be the top as I have not yet been able to even discuss it with my other friends.

The story that I have available to me is this:

In June of 2016, she asked me point blank if he’d ever hit me.  In a moment of clarity, mania, whatever you want to call it, I was honest.  After all, he kept telling me over and over I should always be honest.

In a moment of stupidity, I told him that I had told her.  I don’t completely remember what he said to me at this time as my brain fogged it up and I no longer have that phone to review the texts.

The gist was that I was a stupid cunt who was trying to shift the blame for my actions to him and that I had just sealed my coffin shut.  He told me that he called her ( and I have no confirmation that this is true) during which time he says she was rude to him (something along the lines of “Don’t call me!  Don’t ever fucking call me!”) and that this was my problem to fix.

Why was I  continuing to smear his reputation and make him look like the bad guy?  What was so wrong with my brain that I could not take responsibility for my actions? The usual chorus of I’m useless, slutty, stupid, etc ensued… You get the picture.  

He insisted that I recant.  I asked him how this fit into being honest all the time.  Exasperated he told me there are certain things you just don’t say; that this would be something we could fix after I had made myself into a “normal” human being.  

I tried to recant.  She,  being a reasonable human being, would not accept the alternative version of events I presented.  Nor the excuses I provided for him. Nor my demand that she support me in my decision to be with him.  She is a bold, brave, headstrong and fierce woman - I have always admired these qualities in her.

Knowing this, he said I had only 1 option:  He called her a bitch.  He told me her boyfriend would eventually leave her and cheat on her because she is unreasonable.  She was going to kill everything around her with her toxicity.

What he meant was that she was dangerous to his position as my lord and master because he could not bend her to his will.

So.  Months later, MONTHS later (November, as a matter of record) after he’d harassed me about it incessantly and told me the my dallying was evidence that I didn’t love him, I sent her a horrible email.

In it, I accuse her of not being supportive or having my interests at heart.  I tell her that anyone who does not accept him, doesn’t accept me, and that I could not call her my friend anymore.  I am accusing and defensive and abusive.  I’m fucking awful.

I wanted to die when I sent that email. Yet I sent it anyways. She never responded.  Who could blame her.

I miss her.  And while I think there are a number of relationships that can be repaired, I don’t think I could ever really make this one right again.

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.

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.

IT WAS THAT BAD

When we were working on the basement last summer, he got some concrete work done. So there was  some time where the floor in the basement was all broken up.  He told me if I kept upsetting him he’d bury my body there and cover me up with concrete.  

No one would ever know.

The sister.

Trigger Warning: vague reference to  sexual assault and referring to assailant by title. Slut shaming.

My ex and I resumed dating a few weeks after I was assaulted. I was eager to put what had happened to me at the back of my mind, so I dove right back in without hesitation.

We were out one night at one of our regular haunts located in the heart of nightlife hub in my city.  He stepped out at some point for a smoke and I went out with him to keep him company.

I saw an entourage of women coming down the street led by none other than Rapist’s sister. I screamed on the inside and then went dead.  I couldn’t move, like my feet were cemented in place. She was also with a woman I recognized from school.  I knew her name, but I didn’t know anything else about her. 

Well, apparently she knew a few things about me.

She stopped as they were walking by and said to my ex “You know you’re dating a slut, right?”

His response was “Oh yeah?” And he looked at me suspiciously. The girls, including Rapist’s sister, laughed at his reaction and likely how I was standing there dumbfounded.  They moved onward toward where ever they were headed.

I was stupid enough to hope that he would have said something soothing in that moment.

“A slut, hmm?  I always wondered what you were doing those nights when you didn’t answer your phone.” He threw his cigarette butt at me then walked back into the bar.  I was still cemented in place.

I did manage to talk my way out of it.  The girl who was vocal was not classically attractive, and I, embarrassingly, used that to my advantage (”She’s jealous” “She wasn’t well-liked at school” etc).  So things moved on. 

I’ll admit that this event was nearly as traumatic as the assault itself. 

Interesting things I figured out later from social media:

1. The woman who called me a slut appeared to be attracted to Rapist and must have been jealous he’d paid me attention. 2. Rapist’s sister became a social worker.  She apparently did work on sex trafficking and sexual assault.  Oh the irony. 3. There is at least one other woman that he did this to who received similar treatment by his sister.

Interesting subsequent event:

I’ve seen the woman who called me a slut recently.  She lives in my neighbourhood.  We were each walking toward one another, she with her multiple kids, me on my own.  

At one time I would have dropped my head and avoided her.  Not this time.  I looked right at her, and she was the one who avoided my gaze.

I never would, especially in front of her kids, but I could have easily gotten revenge.  I could tell that she was well aware of that. 

I wonder know exactly how she felt being the vulnerable one.

I remember watching this 4 or 5 years ago.   I didn’t want to see, hear, or acknowledge it because her experiences were eerily familiar.  But I kept watching, and that voice kept screaming.

He was in earshot.  He laughed at the burger part.

There were weeks where I would go without taking a deep breath lest I make too much noise and attract attention to myself. Being in an abusive relationship means trying to live as silently as possible, creeping about, mastering the art of crying silently and stifling the voice screaming in your head.

This is really humiliating.

And slightly disgusting.

I have a hang up with seeing people on the toilet and vice versa. I know it’s not common for someone to really like that, but often couples or close friends sort of ‘get over it’ and do it if the situation demands.  

I can’t.  It makes my skin crawl.  Multiply it by 1000 if they are pooping.

He took every possible opportunity to force me to come in to the bathroom while he was taking a dump.  Be it he was out of tp or he just wanted to tell me something.  

He walked in on me a handful of times. I felt vulnerable and powerless most of the time, but never so much as those moments.

He knew this.  He knew I hated it so much.  He knew it would drive me to drink and that it actually made me cry once.   Even now I’m having to break to pace the floor.  But he thought it was funny.  He also liked that I’d have to smell his shit.

I am so angry.