It's come up over and over lately, at least in my own head. Things I hear, see, read, and even smell trigger memories in me. Probably the most dangerous trigger for me is touch. Touch has been used to hurt me more than I can even recall. I know why it's so raw in my mind, 6 years ago I chose to terminate a pregnancy that was the result of rape by a man who would assault me for the longest 21 months of my life. I look back on that choice with nothing but distain and self-hatred. How could I so simply decide to take that action? How could I lay there, emotionless during it all and "it all" was a very long and painful process, pain I still feel psychological twinges of today. I did what I felt I had to do at the time. Had I kept the pregnancy, no one would have believed I was raped and hit, belittled and humiliated, controlled and forced to submit... No one would believe he threatened my sister's life if I left, and no one would believe he was the cause of many injuries-not gymnastics... Unfortunately, no one knows about the baby that isn't, and no one believes the reality of those 21 months. That baby was destroyed for nothing other than my own selfish wants, my shallow fears, and my inability to communicate with anybody. 8 months later I would miscarry. He took my birth-control from me, told me I didn't trust him-he never used condoms. I couldn't get more, my prescriptions ran out. I took antidepressants, he said I was weak and a whiner. I cut, he said I was attention-seeking. I purged, he told me "good, at least you won't be so fat" and "God, how much do you eat, no wonder you look like a turkey." I cut myself every time he raped me and every time he laid a hand on me. If I could scar my body he wouldn't want to touch me-who wants an ugly girl? I still cut, no one should want me, I'm used, abused, and cast away to the curb like the trash that I have always been. I cut the other day, when I was drunk. I'm sad I did that. One is fairly deep. I have not cut so impulsively in a long time, rarely without thoroughly considering what I was doing. I have made myself uglier than I was the day before.
I digressed. There are so many emotions I have regarding the abortion I had when I was only 18, emotions I can't put words to and certainly can't tell others. I'm not sure I can even express them in my own thoughts. They're there, the hate I feel toward myself is so raw and so real, I want to scream-bury my face in a pillow and scream until I can't anymore. Maybe then the tears can come. There are so many unshed tears from the time I was with AY. I have never cried about the abortion or my first miscarriage-which I undoubtedly caused by means of bulimia. The physical and sexual abuse were minor compared to what I went through emotionally. I can handle physical pain, a lot of it, I could numb out the sexual aspects, but I couldn't ignore the fear. Looking at it now, I have a lot of intimacy issues that stem, undoubtedly, from the abuse AY did to me. The flashbacks are terrifying-they bring me to a place I barely remember in the conscious, but, when my mind takes control I remember every single second, every touch and every word.
Those 21 months destroyed the little shreds of life I had left. The 5 years that have followed have burned the remnants to irreparable ashes. The pain he caused was like causing paper to just glow with fire, how it continues to slowly smolder until nothing is left even after the fire is taken away. That is what has happened to my life-he started the fire of fear and worthlessness that has continued to burn away any tiny pieces of me that might have still been there.
How is it that I hate myself more than the man (face it, he's not a man or even a person, one wouldn't do the things he did) who beat and raped me, who threatened my family to keep me with him? Maybe because I was weak enough to believe him... Because I let him control every aspect of my life and manipulate me like some little chess piece (he played on some national level) to get what he wanted-dominating sex...
This is as disorganized as my mind-I hate trying to decipher my thoughts some days, now you get a chance to try... good luck-at least there was some editing here before it got to you.
What is rock-bottom?
I may not be a drug addict, but this skims the surface of what I have been thinking about
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