Hanging Out to Dry

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS POST DISCUSSES RAPE…MY RAPE(S)…AND IT WAS REALLY HARD TO FUCKING WRITE…AND I DON’T FEEL GOOD…SO YOU SHOULD PROBABLY NOT READ THIS.

This sorrow holds me down like they did; the men, separate and the same. Choking. I can’t get it out of my mind – that peculiar salty mix of tears and snot and cum that I was forced to swallow. The heat of the issue: the heat of my mind, my mouth, the moment.

The utter disgust.

The filth I am painted with now. The filth they left in my mind. I can never be clean of it, no ablutions can take away what’s under my skin at this point. I am tattooed with sickness and perversion; fantasies of force and heat mix when I masturbate, but fantasies only: the truth of that titillation is ugly and disturbing.

Do not see me; I will pass as a ghost, unloved, untouched. Do not love me; it frightens me so to hear those words. Do not touch me; I flinch as if struck.

I hate most those who see my tender spot, who manipulate by sheer instinct. I am polarized to attract these manipulators, and anyone who comes my way must now first prove they are not sadists drawn to my masochistic side. Most do not survive the test. They fall under my Gom Jabbar.

How hard it is to write.

Lost virginity: he didn’t know. He asked for too much. He expected too much, and I at 15 didn’t want to disappoint. I complied. I bled. I hurt. I never heard from him again.

A crush; a girlhood crush. Endless flirtations. One opportunity to satisfy that itch: rushed, hurried, in a car under a street lamp. Head forced down. Salt, unclean. Tears. I try to pull back, he is forcing my head down and I choke on him. Back to the bar. Will I come in for another drink? No. I leave, my head down and my soul sick all the way home.

Bad date: fancy dinner, older man. Back at his place, on the sofa. Forced down. Legs forced open. Pain; I am dry and unwilling. He humps on me and grunts. I leave and never see him again.

Abusive boyfriend: he wants. He nags. He pushes. I comply to get him to shut up. I am unmoved and sick; I am not needed for what he wants. I am not there. It happens to someone else. Everything he tries makes me sicker, makes me feel more dirty. I never let him touch me again.

And later, attempts at normal sexuality. I am unmoved, it is a bad idea. It is painful on my joints and I derive no pleasure from the act. More than ever, I feel I am not needed in the process; that only my body is there.

I am disgusted by sex. It is filthy. My desire is filthy, but better taken care of by my own hand than anyone else’s. I never force myself or ask too much of myself. I never hurt myself. After masturbation, my hand is still there, by my side. Never a question of it leaving me or not returning a phone call.

So much easier to wash my hand than wash my mind.

In the rinse cycle: squeezing the water out, feeling shrunken and smaller. Hoping that I’ll stretch after I dry out. Sick. Sick with cycling, with spinning. Sick with remembering. I need to bleach out the stains. Apply some goop that will suck them out of me once and for all.

No resolution. Just hanging out to dry on a rainy Sunday.

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8 thoughts on “Hanging Out to Dry

  1. This is sad and intense, a trip through thought that was and in ways still violated, you aren’t alone here, others have come before and will come after, nameless women who will never have the strength to purge the thought on paper, yet spin in the words knowing I am her, she is me. Your truth is courage to write this and for that you remind us all what a sad and ugly world we live in, that respect is only earned and the theft of the psyche is a loss never forgotten nor purged.
    Peace, K

    Liked by 2 people

    1. It’s a long time coming, Kim. I feel I’m only at the tip of the iceberg with this issue. Can’t even begin to wrap my head around the rage that accompanies the thought that this has happened, is happening, and will continue to happen to women around the world. This and so much more, so much worse. There are days it’s very hard to not campaign for complete castration of the male populace.

      I guess no one ever ‘gets over’ rape. We only learn to cope. That, too, is a disturbing thought; that someone hurt me so deeply it’s changed me forever. I lost some phantom limb I didn’t know I had, call it innocence or naivety; it doesn’t matter. I didn’t know I had it, now it’s gone and I just have to deal like any other amputee. I don’t want to deal. I want my phantom limb back.

      And there I remain, until I can deal with it on a deeper level.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I understand and I hope you know you inspired me to finally talk about it, to write about it and put it there for the world to see. Granted , my other blog is not known by my family, not ready to go,there yet so I don’t link it to my gravatar. What you said touched me, I denied its existence for too long but your sadly beautiful piece made a difference to someone. Peace and blessings, K

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Hey InfiniteZip: for some reason your last comment isn’t coming up in my browser to reply to. 😠 So I hope you get notification of this comment. Because I really want to comment back.

    Ugh. Ugh that this resonated with you. Ugh that you too kept it buried. Ugh that it happened in the first place to either one of us. I’m honored – truly – that this touched you so much it’s given you courage to talk about your own experience. I find it hard to discuss my experiences because I’ve heard from women who’ve had so much worse happen to them. I remember one friend..I got a call from her; she was in hysterics. When I went to see her, her family was there, and with good reason. Her husband had beaten her within an inch of her life. I barely recognized her; her face was so bruised and swollen. That kind of thing isn’t in my experience. I got punched in the side of the head a lot, places it didn’t show. My rape experiences are similar: one thing that torments me more than anything is the possibility that had I fought harder it may not have happened to me. I ALLOWED it, which is what I’m having a hard time living with. I know that stems from my poor self esteem. I know that. It still sickens me. The physical reaction that’s coming up lately sickens me, too. I feel unsafe with myself, unsure that I’ll be able to call up this warrior inside and BE her to save the inner me. That, too, is torment.

    I’ve got to learn how to forgive myself for what happened. To let the past be the past. This never has to happen again to me, and I’m holding onto that each day right now.

    I’m so sorry that you’ve had similar stuff in your past. So, so, sorry. ❤ Anytime you need to rant or whatever…I'm here.

    Like

  3. Hard to read but a necessary evil to get it out of your mind and I really value your decision to write this. You’re beautiful and smart and witty and deserve tenderness and love – you really do. I love the fact that you’re not ashamed to talk about self-pleasuring, because that’s where you remind yourself how you need to be touched and that reminder will lead you to healthy touch, to a healthy partner and relationship. It’ll happen. Already with Ben you know what you don’t want, you’re protecting yourself.
    Self-care, self-care, self-care. It’s so hard to do when you feel disgusting. But look at all that you ARE doing to take care of yourself. Dust those things off and put them on the mantle to display proudly.
    Be well my friend xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. It’s not easy to talk about any of this, masturbation included, but I felt it was necessary. Necessary to get it out of me – all of it. Or at least start to do that. I’m pretty sure I don’t want a sexual relationship in my life. At all. If I could find a long term partner who just isn’t into sex I’d be happy. Which, I guess, is why I’m living with my bro. He provides that for me: the support I need emotionally (and let’s face it: financially) without anything else. And for right now, that’s ok. I’m letting it be ok; it’s the way I’m taking care of myself. It scares the fuck out of me, too…but that’s ok as well. Just trying to tell myself it’s okay to be scared out of my wits. Telling myself that WHATEVER I feel is ok; it’s a process. That includes the disgust I feel – which is abating as I let go and just say it’s okay to feel however I feel.

      Can’t tell you how much your support and everyone else’s has meant to me this last week. ❤ xxx Thank you.

      Like

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