libberding (libberding) wrote in _survivors_,
libberding
libberding
_survivors_

[Last night:]

I'm shaking and I can't stop.

Forty-five minutes of sex in new ways is apparently not all good. 

[Back Story:  Yesterday, I rattled off my ex's phone number to a friend for prank calling purposes as a joke, and was shocked that I still remembered the number, nearly two years after I left him.  Curious, I Googled the phone number, which gave me a phonebook entry, with his address, the same one that he's been in since he moved here three years ago.  I don't like remembering things like that, and it feels like I need to bleach out that part of my brain, the near year of emotional abuse and manipulation leading up to assault and rape.]

[Back to last night - new boy:]

He comes back from the shower to find me curled in a tight ball around my bear, one hand on my laptop, eyes peering just enough to see the motions of the mouse. I have to upload pictures to print for class.

He climbs into bed and I struggle to sit up, then stand and turn out the lights. When I get back into bed, I face away from him, curled up around my body pillow, still shaking. He asks what's wrong, and I shrug my shoulders, forgetting that he probably can't see me in the dark of the room. And suddenly, there they are, tears. From out of nowhere I'm shaking harder and now crying and he slips and arm under my head and the other around my body. He's touching a place I'd rather him not, so I grab the hand stroking my abdomen to still it, and he mistakes the gesture for needing a handhold. Which I suppose I do.

Eventually, I roll over and cling to him, crying even harder. Why do I always end up in tears around this man? At least they're not because he hurt me. He asks what's wrong again, tells me I don't have to be shy for him, gently prods while I take deep breaths and try to think of how to say it. He pets and sucks on my hair, hugging me, and my bear, close.

My breathing is almost normal, but deliberately slow. I muffle my words with his armpit and he asks me to repeat it.

"That last time just now... I can't help it... in the back of my head, I'm thinking, 'if I say no, would he stop?' 'if I start pushing, would he get off me?' And I can't help it. It happens almost every time, with every person."  I want to apologize for being such a basketcase. 

As I say it, I realize it's full truth. Besides the flashback I had during sex this time, I realize that I put myself in these situations and all I'm ever doing is testing. Testing myself, testing my partner, testing the cosmos, daring them all that when I say stop, everything will, indeed, stop.  What are the limits of my power?

I keep thinking I've processed it all, tucked it in the farthest, hardest to reach part of myself, tidied up, moved along, etc. Yet, every time I start to get a handle on things, bam, a flashback, a breakdown, a warped sense of everything, a panic attack, one step closer to losing what's left of my mind. 

What I need to realize is that I haven't even processed the tip of the iceberg.


x-posted to personal journal
Tags: processing, safety, sex
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