This weekend I was grateful for feeling…
Grief and sadness as I feel the weight of my past. I don’t know if I had a dream or what but I woke up heavy. In the Reclaiming Pleasure book, it goes over the definition of abuse terms so the reader can label and identify the name of their experience. I was shocked to find I was raped. That’s the word for some of my abuse, rape. I’ve used it jokingly, or in a dissociated way. This weekend it really hit me. I’m a victim of rape. A survivor of rape. I’ve been raped. That word is mine. Just like all the other words that left me breathless: incest, victim, survivor, assault. They’ve always been mine, the only thing that has changed is the awareness. I feel sullied, like my body has never really belonged to me. I feel sorrow for being attached to them and proud of living through them. I feel fury at my father for giving me these awful words; words that, by definition, are never a choice for the recipient. I hate him. And I am uncomfortable feeling that much hatred.
Excited and hopeful when I consider my current sex life. I asked Cubu and he agreed: the past couple months have been the best our sex life has ever seen. There has been more pleasure, more acceptance, more consent. We’re both less scared of certain things and there’s less unknowns to trip over. This morning we had what could only be tantric foreplay. I’ve never been one for foreplay because the sex act is such an anxiety-producing one. This time the pleasure was all about me though, and he didn’t touch me anywhere that I couldn’t handle. It was all un-traumatized areas. When he was finally in, he was clearly going slow so I could work on myself but I communicated that I just wanted to be taken today, that touching myself would ruin it for me. I just wanted a sexual encounter that was exciting and it barely triggered me! I don’t know if I’ve ever had such an exciting, pleasant time sober. I really hope this is the way that sex can feel in the future. I have tasted a tiny piece of what I’ve been missing and I want more.
Anxious and sad as Cubu and I filled out our therapy-mandated Gottman Institution couple’s assessment. We each filled one out and it took two hours to complete. For most of that time I was feeling good – of all the issues a couple can have, we have so few of the things the assessment was checking for. But the ones we did have felt like they had my name stamped all over it. “Has your partner kept you from seeing family or friends in the past six months?”, “Does your partner try to control your actions?” It was awful seeing my behavior reflected in these clinical inquiries, and even worse knowing that I have hurt someone I love like this. Even looking back, I can see how most of that assessment was a win. We have overcome or not encountered so many issues we could have. But all I can focus on are the bad parts because they’re my fault. With all the work I’m putting in, I know I am a partner I can be proud of. But someday I’d like to be a partner that can say they are no longer controlling.
Despair and anger. The vibrator bullet came in and after an inner battle to open it, I plugged it in to charge. After that I realized my body felt wired as shit. I started saying out loud that I promised I’d never put it in me, I promise I’ll never put it in me, over and over until I began to cry. The crying did not stop until it became screaming, until I was moaning, until it became dry heaving with my head in the toilet. I had no idea the reaction would be this strong, it was like a tidal wave. Along with the horror, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that it had happened more than once. The vibrator is hidden now, and I can tell I’m not scared of it but rather that it will be put inside of me. I’m exhausted.
