I'm starting to feel negative about guys. I keep having bad experiences with them. I hate to throw away an entire gender, but why the heck do I always wind up with jerks? Why is it that all of the guys that I meet just seem to want sex and don't understand emotions? I guess perhaps I am looking in the wrong places. I'm starting to feel that people in general do not care about each other. I feel like I am always being used for something. I rarely ever meet people of pure heart. I try to be fair. It's getting hard though. I've had some very bad experiences within a very short period of time and they all ended in heartache, pain and torturous memories. The general feeling is that I am tossed aside. I am regarded as disposable; as less than everyone else.
I am having such negative thoughts right now. I went out drinking with my roommate a couple of nights ago and I met a guy. I had met him before at the same place. I knew that he knew Simon, an ex-friend of mine. Of course, I thought he was cute. He asked me to dance with him, so I did. It got a bit carried away. Eventually I started to feel tired. I was wearing high heels and I started to feel like my ankles were gonna give out from the fatigue in my muscles so I asked this guy, whom I will call Aaron, to sit down with me for a minute.
He started asking me about school and other such things. Just small talk at first. Then he asked me if I would go back to his place. I refused. I knew that it would be a terrible idea to go with a strange man to his house all alone. I didn't want him to be in a power position and I didn't trust him to not hurt me. I asked him if maybe we could just hang out some other day when I was sober. He said that it wouldn't be as fun. I was pretty drunk at this point. I kept telling him that I really would rather to hang out with him when I was sober. He kept telling me that he promised he was a good guy. Same thing they all say. Holy fuck. How many times have I heard that line in the last two months? Anyway, he asked me what I was doing on Tuesday and I said nothing, so he asked if I would like to go see a movie with him. I said sure. He still insisted on hanging out with me that night though.
I asked him if it would be ok if he came to my place instead of me going to his. I felt that it could be an ok compromise because my roommate would be there and it would be him who would have to find his way home alone if things didn't go well. I felt that I would have a little more control and safety this way. He agreed to it. He said he would go home and charge his phone for a few minutes and then he would text me and come over. He did exactly what he said. I changed out of my dress into my pajamas because I was tired and I didn't plan on staying up that late with him. It was already around 3 in the morning. I planned to shut him down if he wanted sex because I made it clear to him when we were at the bar that I didn't care for that. I told him several times that I didn't want to have sex the first time I met him. He seemed to be okay with that.
I let him into my apartment. He told me he was hungry and asked if I would go with him to McDonalds so he could get some food. I told him I would. I was wearing a nighty which looked quite a lot like a dress, so I just put my jacket over it and pulled on my boots again. I felt that I was taking a risk getting into a car with a strange man by myself. I felt like maybe I was being a little too paranoid though. I felt I should give him the benefit of the doubt and just pray that he didn't try to do anything to me. Perhaps I would have just been smart not to go with him. I guess I was just extremely lucky this time. We went through the drive through and he ordered a Coke for me and three burgers for himself. We got back to my apartment and he offered me a burger. I turned it down because I had already told him that I wasn't hungry.
I wasn't really thirsty either, but I figured I would take the coke because he might think it rude for me to refuse his attempt to be nice. He just sat there for a minute looking straight ahead and not saying anything. He kept looking at the burger and back at the bag. I couldn't figure out what the heck he was thinking, so I laughed and asked him if he was gonna eat. He had told me that he was starving after all.
He ate his burger and then he got up and walked around for a minute. He turned to me and asked if he could see my bedroom. I felt like that was soooo predictable. I figured that meant he wanted sex. I was a bit annoyed. I was especially bothered because that's basically what my rapist asked me before he raped me. I thought that maybe I should try trusting Aaron though. I thought again that maybe I was just being too paranoid. I thought I would literally just show Aaron my bedroom but make it clear that I didn't want sex. I went to the door of my bedroom. I told him he probably wouldn't like it. I told him that other people had complained about how small my bed was, then I flicked on the light, walked across the room and flopped down on my bed. I pulled my pillow into me, curled up and closed my eyes for a second. He walked over to me, made me scoot over and lay down next to me.
He started to try to kiss me. I reciprocated, but I felt wary still. I wasn't sure if he would be mad now if I shut him down. He stopped kissing me and he started to look around the room. He spied one of my paintings and asked me if I had painted it. I said yes and he turned to me and very aggressively launched himself at me, kissing me very hard. I started to panic. I wasn't expecting it. He was now on top of me so I felt like I was at a disadvantage and he was very strong. He grabbed my shoulder and kissed it. He grabbed it so hard it hurt. I guessed that I would have a bruise or two the next day. Then he pulled my night gown down and sucked on my breast. It hurt a lot. He was not even a little bit gentle about it. I wondered if this was his idea of passion because it sure wasn't mine. I didn't see how this could be enjoyable at all.
He kept kissing and grabbing me. I pulled my head away and he went to grab my head to make me kiss him. I caught hold of his arms and pushed them away. I had a death grip on him now because I was so afraid and I was preparing to fight for my life. I couldn't look at him. I felt like my eyes had gotten wider. I felt adrenaline. I couldn't breathe right and I felt that my whole body had tensed up. He stopped altogether then and after a minute or so he told me I could let go of him now; I did then.
He grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch. He undid his belt partway, but stopped there like he was waiting for me to do the rest. I still wasn't planning on sex. I thought I could just give him a blowjob or something and that would be ok. I didn't want to make him angry. I was curious about him too of course because I thought he was attractive, but I was afraid that I might encourage him. I hesitated and took my hand off his crotch. He grabbed it and put it back. Then he grabbed my arms very hard and kissed me again. I think he was still waiting for me to do something, so I finally undid his belt, unzipped his pants and grabbed him. He let out a moan and straightened up to look at me and to pull his pants off. I wish I had said what I was thinking. I really do. I was thinking that I was worried that he was misunderstanding that I wanted sex.
I felt slightly annoyed at how eager he was. He was obviously very turned on, but I didn't understand why because I had hardly done anything. I was doing the absolute bare minimum and trying not to hurt his feelings at the same time. He took my panties off. I figured if he was gonna do that, then I might as well take my night gown off too because it wouldn't stay on much longer with him around anyway and I'd rather it be taken off gently. I had a feeling he wouldn't be gentle about that either. I started to give him a blowjob, but it seemed like that only made it worse. He seemed to get even more energetic and he wanted me to lie on my back again. He told me he wanted to fuck me and he put a finger inside me. He kept inching closer and closer until his penis was right over my vagina. I felt uncomfortable now.
He started trying to get it in me but I stopped him. He didn't even have a condom on for god's sake. I was so annoyed that he would be so irresponsible. I told him I wouldn't have sex with him unless he had a condom. He told me again that he wanted to fuck me and started to kiss me again. He tried yet again to get inside me; he was moving around but not looking at what he was doing so he was not getting that close. I put my hand over my vagina so he couldn't enter me. I was really scared now. I thought he was going to force me any second. I told him "No, not without a condom. I won't have sex unless you put a condom on". I was a bit louder this time because I wanted to make sure that he really was hearing me. He got really angry with me then. He straightened up again, looked at me disapprovingly and told me that I was a tease. I felt outraged. I felt it was not fair for him to say that. I made it very clear to him that I wasn't planning on having sex with him that night. I am not a tease for setting boundaries and sticking to them. I had already given him more than I had originally planned to anyway.
He started looking around for a condom in his pants pockets. The longer he searched the more visibly frustrated he got. He asked where his wallet was. I got up and found it on the floor. I handed it to him. He looked inside and announced that his condom must have fallen out. I looked around again, found it on the floor and handed it to him. He put it on in record time. I let him fuck me for a while, but it hurt so so bad. I thought it was because he was bigger in width than anyone else I had sex with before.
We tried doggy style for a while, but that hurt really bad too so I eventually turned back over onto my back. I touched my vagina to see if it was wet enough and it felt sticky so I brought my hand back up to look at it. It had blood all over it. I was shocked. I was not expecting blood at all. It looked like my period had started, but I had my period a week before. He asked me if I was on my period. I said no and I told him that I had it the week before. He said he thought I must be on my period and I told him that was impossible because I just had it. I was getting annoyed with him. I walked to the door and asked him to open it for me because my hands were covered in blood. He did and I went to the washroom to wash myself up. There was a large amount of blood coming out.
I went back into my room and he was still just standing there. He went to the washroom, took the condom off and came back into my room. I told him I was sorry and that I didn't know what was going on with the blood. He said again that I must be on my period. I got really annoyed this time and told him "I am not on my period! Ok?!! I just had it last week!" I felt like he was calling me a liar or something. He started putting his clothes back on. I figured that meant he was done with me. He couldn't fuck me so he was leaving. However, he climbed back into the bed with me and pulled me into him. I had a flashback to my rape. I felt like it was happening in the present. I felt the same as when my rapist was lying next to me. I just wanted him to leave. I felt disgusted like before.
Aaron fell asleep almost instantly. He had my face pushed into his chest and his head on top of mine. I couldn't breathe. I pulled myself away from him and he never even budged. I got up and climbed out of bed. I went into the living room and pulled the couch out into a bed. I thought I would sleep there because for some reason I couldn't bear to sleep next to him. It felt too much like déjà vu. I finally thought to myself that this was a bad idea from the get-go and that perhaps I should just ask him to leave. I thought it was silly that I would feel that I couldn't sleep in my own goddamn bed.
I made the decision just like that. I did what I do when I jump off the little bridge by my Dad's place into the cold water. I shut my mind off and didn't allow myself to change my mind. For the moment I tried not to care how much it would hurt him because I felt like he had hurt me as well. I felt like him calling me a tease should have been the last straw and I had given him one too many chances. I went into my room, turned him over and shook him. He woke up and looked at me. I told him I wanted him to leave. He looked at me, shocked. I instantly regretted my decision.
He looked really insulted. I thought that I just wasn't being tough enough with myself because I felt terrible. He said "What?" looking bewildered. I told him to "please leave". My voice sounded seething with anger and about a half octave lower than usual. I was surprised at how angry I sounded and how angry I felt too. I felt like he had been less than respectful of me and that he didn't deserve my empathy. I told him that I felt like he had just come for sex. He looked at me indignant and told me "That's what you think of me? You don't know me. You don't know me one bit." He proceeded to lecture me about how hard he had worked to come to Canada and to get an education. I had no idea what this had to do with him wanting me for sex. He sounded like he was trying to convince me how horrible of a person I was. Eventually it started to work. I felt very bad after a while and I wished I could go back in time, sleep on the couch bed and just wait until the morning for him to leave. I still felt that he had not been very respectful of me, but I felt that I had handled the situation wrong nonetheless.
I've never felt like more of a bitch in my life. Sometimes I go overboard with the standing up for myself thing now. I think it's because when Andrew raped me, I had hardly even tried to fight him. I had just waited it out and I felt that I should have at least given him a black eye for what he was doing to me. Now I feel that if anyone wrongs me, I must react swiftly and with much vengeance for fear of regret and a lack of justice. When a guy like Aaron comes into my home and almost does exactly what Andrew did, I treat him exactly like I wished I had treated Andrew. I treat every guy like a potential rapist now. It's not necessarily fair to them, but it's an understandable overcompensation on my part. It is very difficult to trust anyone now. It is even more difficult when they get carried away, act forcefully passionate or aggressively. It makes me think that they are just like Andrew. The fact that Aaron didn't want to understand that when I tried to explain it to him told me that perhaps he's not worth the time anyway.
I had told him of my past experience, but he made no adjustment to be easier on me. He held my arms down to the bed and acted quickly and forcefully instead. Exactly the opposite of what he should have done. I suppose you could liken me to a deer or a rabbit now. Any sudden movements and I panic. How could you expect for that not to trigger me? Why wouldn't you take into consideration the fact that I had been forced into sex before and that this might feel a little too similar? I felt in the moment like it was going to happen all over again. I felt dread, guilt, fear and sadness. I felt like I had been unbelievably stupid to let him in and to let him get that close to me. I felt stupid that I had allowed myself to be vulnerable to a complete stranger. He didn't seem to understand that I felt exposed and threatened. He rathered to take it as an insult. A personal attack on his character. The fact is, I didn't know him, as he so kindly pointed out to me, so he could have been a rapist for all I knew. He could have been thinking very evil thoughts and acted kind on the outside. I don't know what lies in the darkness.
It's not monsters that I’m afraid of; it's people. Any person I meet has the potential in my eyes to embody my deepest fears. I know it's hard to remove your ego from a situation sometimes. It takes practice, but I thought that Aaron might have already had practice doing that considering that he told me he was studying sociology. I figured if anyone would understand it should be him. I know it's difficult not to feel insulted when someone says that they thought you might have had the capacity to be a rapist because if you believe that you would never do that, then of course you will feel a bit hurt by that assumption. That's especially true if you're one of those people who tries extra hard to be a good person. I just thought that perhaps he might be able to take a step back and put himself in my shoes to understand my motives. He didn't though. I don't believe that he even tried. That tells me that he does not believe in compassion or that I just wasn't worth the effort. It hurt.
Eventually he decided to leave. I think I apologized to him several times. It wasn't easy either because that requires both admitting that you are fundamentally wrong and it requires you to swallow your pride. He left anyway. I asked him if this meant I wouldn't be seeing him again. He said he'd let me know. I don't believe that he will. I believe that I truly burned the shit out of that bridge when I came to it. I don't expect that I will be seeing him again anytime soon; unless it is in a bar, in which case it will be very uncomfortable. I think I probably hurt him badly enough that he'll want to puke if he ever sees my face again.
Anyway, the reason I am writing this is because I will never get to sleep if I don't. My mind will not shut the hell up about it. I am so exhausted, but I can't sleep worth a damn. I hope this helps. At least it's in writing now.
Where am I? I feel like I have no sense of direction; like i'm walking in circles with a dizzy head. I want to get somewhere but I don't know how. Sometimes I wish there was a better half of me that would just suddenly turn on and I'd just know what to do with myself for once. I often think that I have so much potential to be something or help somebody if I could only make the first steps in the right direction. I feel stuck right now.
There's always something stopping me from living up to my potential. Perhaps I just need to stop being such a perfectionist. I keep looking for information and people who can help me learn how to clean up the mess in my mind. It always ends up making me even more confused. I get conflicting information from different sources on what to do and what not to do and now I realize that there are some things that work for most people, but it is all really subjective too. I don't know where to turn. I know I need a job, but I have no motivation to go out and get one. I have no confidence in myself so I keep fearing that everyone I go to for a job will find out that I'm stupid or something. I often feel incompitent and think that I can't do things for fear of embarrassment and failure.
I have this little voice in my head that tells me that everyone else manages to be compitent in daily life, but I can't. I know that I am smart in other ways, in fact I know I am much smarter than most people I meet in terms of psychology and self awareness, but I still find myself kicking myself right in the soul because I don't believe I am that smart in daily life. I don't know why I fear stupidity so much. I guess intelligence is one of the traits that I want the most. I admire intelligence and my parents groomed me to believe that intelligence is an important thing, so you must not be stupid. I just worry all of the time that because of my problems with rudimentary mathematics, I will be seen as stupid and will be deemed to be incapable of most jobs. Math is my biggest weakness and I worry about it all of the time. I feel like it's just something that is deficient in my brain; like my brain is not wired to understand it so it just short circuits when I have to do mental math. It gives me great anxiety throughout my life. I feel like I need an exceptional teacher to help me master some different techniques so that I can get better at it.
The other weakness I have is that I am shy and I think slowly because I am an introvert. My mind is always filled to capacity because there are so many stimuli to decode. I feel like my brain has more information being taken in than that of an extrovert brain so it takes longer for me to do everything because, if you think of it in computer terms, more of my CPU capacity is being used all the time. It's like I've got five downloads going, multiple tabs open on my browser, pictures and videos being uploaded and several games and questions going through my mind all of the time. It makes for a very overwhelming experience. My brain is meant to handle it, but the quantity of processing requires a sacrifice in speed. I am never just focused on one thing, so I respond more slowly. I have to take energy from one area of my brain and divert it to another whenever someone asks something of me. Especially if that something is a thing that I've never done before.
I love my brain in many ways, but it can be a hinderance at the same time. The way I work is different from how other people work. I feel like these days everyone expects you to be outgoing and extroverted. They expect you to think fast, be intelligent 100% of the time, solve problems, be friendly etc. etc. It's hard to live up to those ideals day in and day out. I try my best, but I feel like I just cannot succeed.
Anyway, today I was planning on getting some phone calls overwith and going out to drop some resumes at some nearby stores. I think my anxiety about work is holding me back. I keep telling myself that I'm gonna do it and then sit at home for the day watching movies and distracting myself any way that I can even though I know how important this is to my future. I need to get through this barrier, whatever it is.
So earlier today I went to an appointment with my therapist. I left for the appointment earlier than usual because it was icy out and I figured it would take me longer to get there. It didn't take nearly as long as I expected, so I ended up waiting around 45 minutes for my appointment.
When I entered the waiting room, there were four people in it. A mother and daughter, a middle aged woman and a young man. I took off my coat, set it on the chair next to me and sat down. People don't normally interact in the waiting room because it is a mental health centre. How do you start a conversation there? It seems absurd considering all of the reasons that people would be there in the first place. They likely don't feel much like talking.
I sat there in my seat for several minutes just looking around as I normally do. I sometimes make a game of trying to find what has changed or moved since the last time I was in the room. I noticed a plant that had not been there before and a few new brochures and magazines. I also noticed from the corner of my eye that the young man on the other side of the room was staring at me.
The middle aged woman next to me got up and left. Shortly after that, the young man got up from his seat and came over to where I was. There was a little table with magazines on it a couple of seats over from me. He started rifling through them until he found one that I guess he deemed to be suitable. He sat down in the recently vacated seat which was two seats away from me. He kept flipping pages in the magazine but not settling on any page for more than a couple of seconds. If I weren't so intrigued by his bizarre activity, it might have been annoying.
The mother and daughter who were sitting a few seats got up and left. You could probably count about 8 seconds after they left and the young man turned to me and asked me how I was. I looked at him and made a so-so gesture. I said I was alright considering. I told him that I thought that was a funny thing to ask given where we were. He agreed. I asked him how he was. He said he was alright too. I felt really awkward so I got my phone out of my coat and sent a message to my mother. He commented on how cold it was outside. I agreed. I didn't feel much like starting a conversation with a complete stranger at a mental health centre. I mentioned to him that this was an odd place to try to make friends. He told me that he didn't have any friends. I asked him why that was and he told me that he had been an addict and that all of his friends were also addicts. I told him that I supposed that made sense then.
I felt weird because I had never met an addict or a recovering addict before. I didn't really know where to go from there. I also felt uncomfortable because his eyes looked so much like my rapist's eyes. I felt like I was looking at Andrew. He was also somewhat quiet and awkward like Andrew. He was odd. I couldn't really figure out why he would think it was a good idea to start up a conversation with me in a waiting room that was purely for therapy patients. I felt paranoid. I always have this feeling that someday Andrew is gonna try to get me back for slandering his name. I don't know how he will do it though, so I am always watching for people who might want to harm me or people who ask strange questions. I keep thinking that one of these days I am going to meet one of his friends who knows what I look like from facebook pictures. It scares me to think about it, but I can't get it off my mind.
After a few moments of silence the young man turned to me, extended his hand for a handshake and told me that his name was Roger. I told him my name. He smiled at me and then looked down at the magazine in his lap. Finally, his therapist came out to call him in. Roger walked away, but not without turning around to tell me that it was nice meeting me. I told him likewise. As soon as he was out of sight, I started grinning. It was the funniest exchange ever. I couldn't help but to feel giddy. I couldn't wait to tell my therapist about my strange waiting room experience. It was so funny to me. Something about the strangeness of the whole situation just struck me funny. I did tell my therapist and as soon as I told her that he sat down next to me, she said "Oh wow, hit on in the waiting room of Falmouth Centre". I laughed. She got it exactly right.
It's funny how little moments like that can make your entire day. I just kept thinking about that every now an then throughout the day and it would make me laugh again. Sometimes I am really glad for strange people.
God, I wish this depression would go away. I feel worthless again tonight. It's a similar feeling to when I tried to kill myself. I feel like there is no use; like I am this stupid little girl who has deluded herself for years into thinking that she was worth something and that she was an asset to the world in some way when really she has no value to anyone. I just want to love and be loved, but I feel like it's impossible. Who could love me? What do I have to offer?
I feel like there are just so many aspects of my personality that are disgusting. I feel like those little flaws make it impossible for people to love me. It's as if somehow when people abandon me, hurt me or take advantage of me, it's all my fault. There is just something about me that makes me worthless to myself and to other people so they don't mind hurting me and they feel crazy for even liking me for a little while. I am worthless and invisible to the world. I am disposable and unlovable.
I keep thinking about all of the things that I hate about myself. My love handles, the darks circles around my eyes, the scars on my body, the sound of my voice and my breathing, my neuroticism, my self-righteousness, my bodily functions, all of the fat on my body, my feet, my weak mind, my hypocritical ways, my ignorance, my seriousness and lack of wit, my spending habits, my selfishness. I hate all of myself right now. I even hate the things about myself that I normally think are my positive traits. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just be me and be happy with that? Why am I so sensitive? Why am I so bad at showing my affection and making people feel loved and appreciated? Why don't I give more of myself and act more selflessly?
I feel like I am swimming against the tide all the time. I am so tired of life. I am so tired of being tired of life. I'm sick of everything. I just want it all to go away. I just want to float endlessly in space all alone until I implode from sadness and disintigrate into trillions of particles never to be remembered or thought of again. If life is what you make of it, I am so screwed because I fail at making anything out of myself. I am basically just this useless blob who has nothing to offer anyone and no purpose in life. What am I doing here? Why was I even born?
I feel like I was dealt a bad hand and I might as well throw down my cards now and walk away from the table. There are no winnings for me.
I spent last night in the ER at my local hospital. I decided after some consideration and some advice from my therapist that I should go see if I could get myself checked into the mental health ward at the hospital. Unfortunately, you have to go through emergency to get there. I waited for four hours to be seen by a doctor. By the time I got in, it was after 11 at night.
The doctor asked for a history so I gave him a brief breakdown of my mental health situation and my suicide attempt. My father was there as a witness and I wanted him to be there as a sort of advisor as well in case I needed help making up my mind about something. The ER doctor told me that the psych staff had gone home for the night, but that I could wait at the hospital until morning if I really wanted to talk to them and that I could wait in a quiet room if I thought that I would be a danger to myself. He told me that my other option was for him to get me an appointment with a psychiatrist from another health centre. By that point I felt frustrated and I felt that I had already waited long enough. I wanted to go home. I decided that I would like an appointment with a psychiatrist.
The ER doctor told me that he would be right back and he went to book me an appointment. It was at the same health centre that I already go to for therapy. I mentioned that to him and he said that whereas right now I was going to a psychologist, this time I would be going to a psychiatrist. I agreed to go. He said that you would usually be put on a waiting list, but that in the case of emergency they could bypass that. It sounded good to me.
The appointment was set up for 9:00 this morning. I was just getting ready to go when my therapist called me. She said that another therapist had approached her to tell her that her client (me) was scheduled for an appointment with him. She called me to tell me that she thought it was a bit redundant for me to go see another therapist who has less background on me when I already have her for that. I told her that I had been under the impression that I was going to see a psychiatrist. She said that in fact I was not going to see a psychiatrist and that I had to be put on a waiting list after all. She said that she would do that for me if that was what I wanted. It was indeed what I wanted so I told her to go ahead and do that.
This meant, however, that I had spent four hours in the ER last night for nothing. I had sat for four hours with puking children and adults, people with broken bones and people who looked gravely ill just so that I could be told that there was nothing they could do and get a fake referral that did absolutely nothing and was no help to me at all. I am so annoyed. My father told me that he thought I should have stayed the night at the hospital but that he had held his tongue. I was so annoyed with him because the doctor had given us time to discuss the options privately and I had asked for my father's opinion on what would be the best decision. He had told me that it was up to me. That really didn't help because I was really looking for something that would help me make up my mind. I asked him if he would like me to stay at the hospital and he gave no indication that it was what he wanted. Then today he blamed me for making a decision that looked like the simplest and quickest option at the time.
So basically, according to my father, it is now somehow my fault that I didn't get the care that I needed and it was me who was being stupid. I am so pissed off. My therapist told me that the ER doctors have a common misconception that they can send people straight to a psychiatrist. She said that it was not true and that all they can really do is to set up appointments with psychologists. Aaagghh. Why are they so bad at communicating?!?
Not a good start to my day....
I was fortunate to grow up with both a mother and a father. I have three siblings. The youngest of the family is my little brother. He is seven years younger than me, so I had seven years of being the youngest child. My father grew up in a family of eight with a Scottish/Irish ancestry and my mother grew up in a family of thirteen with Irish ancestry. Needless to say, I have a lot of aunts and uncles and even more cousins.
My childhood was a pretty happy one. My father homeschooled me and my siblings for a very long time. He taught us a lot about being good citizens of the world. His family had been quite focused on how best to get along with as many people as possible. They were Catholic and believed in the idea of being Christian and loving everyone. That way of thinking was passed on to me and my siblings.
I started drawing when I was three or four years old. My father would buy reams of paper for my siblings and me to draw on. He encouraged us to do what we loved. My sister and I would spend hours every day sitting on the floor in our room singing along with pop songs on the radio and drawing. We had an area in our ba
We would wake up at 8:30 every day. My father would make us breakfast or help us make it, then we would eat and after that we would put our dishes away and start school. My father would sit us at the table and give each of us an area to work in. He would ask us to write about subjects or give us workbooks to do. He would get us to write Christmas plays together and to make our costumes. He would get us to memorize poetry and would do mental arithmetic with us. He spent time with each of us teaching us the basics of English, Mathematics, Health, Science and Geography. We studied ornithology by sitting by the picture window and watching the birds at the bird feeder. He would give us bird field guides and get us to identify the birds that we saw. We memorized pretty much every bird in the book.
He would put music on and encourage us to sing. He took us to music lessons, dance lessons, art lessons and all kinds of things. He would take us on field trips to museums and historical sites as well as taking us on nature walks and helping us to identify trees, plants, animals and insects. He and my aunts and uncles encouraged us to think before we spoke and to listen to opinions. We were quiet kids. We played quietly and had a wonder for the world. Everything was an adventure to us. Swimming was one of our favourite things. I say 'our' because my older brother and sister and I were so close that I cannot separate them from my childhood experiences. We did everything together and shared every experience and that is the way that I like it.
My father encouraged us to express our opinions on things. Our house was more or less democratic. Dad was the ultimate authority though. There would be no acting up with him around. He was about the most consistent parent that you could imagine. If he promised us something, he would follow through on it no matter what. He did what he said he would do. No threat was an empty threat coming from my father. He was fair though, for the most part. However, he was not immune to frustration, disappointment or anger. He always made sure to tell us though, that if he raised his voice it did not mean that he didn't love us.
We spent pretty much every Sunday afternoon and my father's parents' place. My father's whole family would be there. They would be laughing and talking or debating something. There was never a dull moment. Food would be brought out and there were any number of interesting conversations going on at any one time. We were taught to sit and listen to the conversations. We were not allowed to go play without asking permission first. Our aunts and uncles would sit and chat with us. They would ask us about all kinds of things. We could never feel ignored. They all thought we were the cutest little children and no doubt it would seem that way. We all had big round blue eyes and button noses. We were smart, happy, polite and quiet. We were appreciative of anything that was given to us. We never complained about having to go anywhere because we knew that it was not all about what we wanted.
The Sundays that we weren't with my father's family, we would be with my mother's family. They doted on us as well. We love our grandmother on my mother's side. She would always spend lots of time talking to us. I don't remember that much about her now. It's been such a long time since she passed away. I was only 7 at the time and my grandfather on my father's side had died a year before that so I remember even less about him except that we could not enter the house without getting a hug and a kiss from grandpa. He would pick each of us up, sit us on his knee, talk to us for a minute and then pick up the next child. He had a way of making us feel very special.
My childhood was filled with love and excitement. As I got older it felt like it faded. The rose coloured glasses came off eventually. I miss wearing them. I think about my childhood a lot. It influenced me very positively. I only wish I loved life as much now as I did then. The world got a whole lot darker and more sinister the older I got. I started to see the problems and the holes in the fabric. By the age of thirteen I started encountering societal standards. I started being pressured to pluck my eyebrows, wear makeup, wear certain clothing and talk a certain way. School became a job.
My father had gotten older, so he was no longer as energetic as he used to be. He stopped teaching me and left me to my own devices. He would give me books and tell me to read them and do the problems on my own. I was basically a teacher and a student at the same time. My little brother had gotten old enough to start school. My father was now running concerts every Sunday and the upkeep on a building. He had basically become a volunteer event coordinator for my community. He would go on trips to get supplies for the building and the events. He would spend hours every day trying to arrange things with musicians.
My older sister and brother had decided to go to public school when we moved in 2005. This meant that I was at home with my little brother and my Dad. I pretty well had become the responsible adult of the household at the age of 13. My mother spent the entire day working an hour away from where we lived. She would get home late in the evening after a long day and would not feel like doing much. She suffered from depression, so I certainly can't say I blame her. Relations between my parents began to break down just before me moved to our new house. They argued a lot, mostly behind closed doors, but it was evident that they couldn't make decisions together anymore.
My mother was an inconsistent presence in my life from the time I was little. It meant that she was the favoured parent because we didn't get to spend as much time with her, but it also meant that I never knew her as well as I knew my father. She never talked about her childhood if she could avoid it. Her childhood was a fairly unhappy one. She grew up with an abusive alcoholic war veteran for a father and she was the youngest of 13 children which made life very lonely for her. Her father got worse and worse as the years went by so she ended up getting the brunt of her father's tantrums. She doesn't like to talk about it, but it shaped her as a person in many ways. She was bullied throughout her school years because she was considered chubby by the standards of the day and she war thick coke bottle glasses and was very smart. I get the feeling her life had never been particularly happy. Her closest sister whom she lived with for a time had become an alcoholic in college as well.
She met my father and I guess although he was opinionated, stubborn and a bit forceful, he probably seemed like a piece of cake compared to her family. They grew up fairly poor although not as poor as my father's family. Their mother was a nurse and a teacher. Both my father and mother had experience with alcoholic fathers and hardworking religious mothers. You can sort of see how they would have felt that they had a lot in common. They had similar musical interests and many similar opinions.
At home, my mother was loving enough but somewhat distant. She was a workaholic so I think she found it hard to slow down and spend time with us. It's not that she didn't ever do that or try to do that; she just couldn't compete with Dad's 24 hour attention and care. She worked late into the evening and she would often be too tired to do much with us. She would read us some stories and send us to bed. I never felt as much love from my mother as I did from my father. She didn't express herself very well. She is better nowadays, but she still keeps a lot of her thoughts and feelings to herself. I guess she doesn't think anyone cares enough to hear it and she's too gentle to offend anyone. She was always the good cop during disputes. She was the one we went to when we had difficult situations to discuss. She was the one who tried to understand and be supportive and who was gentle when you most needed it. She was a good mother, but she needed to be with us more. She was the breadwinner of the family though. She funded the life that we had. My swimming and dance lessons were paid for by her. She indirectly allowed us to be loved and educated fully.
When I was 13 things started going downhill for me. Dad enlisted me as his secretary and maid during the daytime. I spent a few hours doing school work; a couple of hours helping my little brother do his and then the rest of the day was spent cleaning and cooking. I took calls for my Dad while he was away and jotted down messages from all kinds of strangers that I had never met. Dad would be travelling most days and the days that he was home he would spend most of his time reading news articles on the internet or talking on messenger with long distance friends. I think he had become depressed as well.
My older siblings would get home in the evening from school and they would either start a fight with someone, clean or go to a friend's place. I was left to babysit my brother and cook supper. I often felt like a real life Cinderella, but I didn't complain much. I would take my little brother out to go for a walk or I would play with him. There were many years between us, but I often felt bad for him because he had no one else his age to play with. I was his support. His backup friend. We usually didn't get along, but when we did we made a formidable team. We still do.
By the time I was in grade 9 I had already been through a couple of good bouts of depression. My sister would come home and tell me to shower or critique my clothing choices, my hair and my appearance. She would tell me I was annoying, she would tell me to shut up. I was still her confidant though and she was mine. We shared a room from the time we were toddlers, so we were quite used to sharing space with each other. That certainly didn't mean that we never fought, but it was ok.
When the second semester of public school was about to start, I made the decision that I wanted to go to public school. I was tired of being the maid and playing a matriarchal role. I knew I was too young to be chained to those kinds of responsibilities. I wanted freedom and that came in the form of public school. I informed my mother of what I thought. My father was vehemently against my decision but my mother supported me. I think she was using me as ammunition in their relationship. She was tired of not having her opinions respected. She was tired of my father being the self-appointed head of the household and calling all the shots. She made and independent decision to enroll me in school.
I started public school in the second semester of grade nine. I was relieved. It was a big change, but a welcome one. I liked having a bit of structure and routine in my day. I liked not having to be an adult and having the stressful weight of responsibility on my shoulders 24/7. I liked seeing my friends every day and being able to talk to them. My Dad was then forced to actually try to teach my little brother instead of giving him problems and expecting me to help him do them. I felt that life had gotten a bit better.
Later that year, my mother announced that she had gotten a job offer and if she accepted it, then she would be living and working about 1,500 kilometres away. After much deliberation she decided to take the job. It was in a major city in my country. She said that we (my siblings and I) could go and live there for 6 months and try it out. We would see if we liked it. We had considered living in that city before because we had visited it and we thought it was nice.
My mother was to work in the city for about a year on her own. She would come back to visit us every month or two. This was the beginning of a big change. At first we missed her. After a while though, we got used to it. My little brother still missed her, but the older three of us didn't mind so much. We were preoccupied with school and teenager issues. Our family was quickly growing apart.
The next year we moved to the city. My father came with us at first, but then he and my mother fought again and he went home and lived alone with the occasional visit for the next four months. It was a very stressful period of my life. My parents were fighting and I was in the midst of the worst bout of depression I'd ever experienced. My grades were suffering, I didn't like city life, I couldn't make friends and I couldn't handle so much change all at once. Suicidal thoughts became commonplace. I would lie in my bed for hours wishing that I was dead.
My parents eventually decided that they officially would not be living together. They never got a divorce, but they are separated now anyway. It's been quite a few years since that crisis now and it has become pretty normal feeling to me. I see my mother every couple of months and I see my Dad every couple of weeks. I don't remember what it was like when they got along now. I don't remember what it was like to live with both parents.
I remember though that when I heard this song when I was little, it made me glad that my parents were together. I felt sure that that would never happen to me. Life happens though. The ob
I was given happiness when I was a child. Now I have to learn how to create my own. It's a challenge.
Perhaps one day I'll figure it out :)
I have been a feminist all of my life. I never knew it though until about a couple of years ago because I was misinformed as to what feminism actually is. I would say what a lot of people say. "I support women's rights, but I wouldn't call myself a feminist. I don't go around burning bras, my legs aren't hairy and I don't sling hatred at men." I didn't realize how silly it was for me to say that. Supporting women's rights makes you a feminist, plain and simple. Wanting equality for both genders makes you a feminist. Wanting equality for everyone makes you a feminist. That is the whole point of feminism. The cause in its truest form is not meant to bash anyone and it is not meant to make any group's needs any more important than any other one. It only seeks to put us all on a level playing field so that we are all given equal opportunity in life. I hadn't realized how much my opinion of feminism was negatively impacted by what I saw on TV and what I heard from other people. It wasn't even on my radar for a very long time and then I finally started paying attention and educating myself.
The definition of feminism has grown a lot since the beginning of the movement. I've never taken a gender studies course, but I would if I could. I don't know the history of the movement that well. However, I do know that the idea is similar to the idea of unionization. The idea of unionization was thought up to give the under privileged of the working class a chance to be treated fairly and to demand with the power of numbers the type of respect and proper treatment that they deserved but were not receiving. The feminist movement is similar. It seeks fair treatment and demands respect of a group of people who have been stepped on for a very long time. The same with the occupy Wall Street movement.
These movements all seek the same thing: Fairness and equality. Quite simply put, in my opinion, the people who are fervently against feminism occupy movements or union movements are also against equality. If you are against them, it tells me that you are no better than the 1%. You are comfortable where you are and you enjoy cushy treatment, so you see no need to change anything because as you see it, what is actually wrong? These people are just complaining because they are not being chosen as favourites. They are demanding too much and endangering the rights of those who already have rights in the process or threatening to take away privilege from another group in order to have rights for themselves. It's selfish right? I'm sorry to tell you, but that's not what is happening. There is enough wealth, kindness, jobs and common sense in the world to share with everyone. The problem is that right now it is still unevenly distributed.
I have experienced sexism in my life from the time I was a baby. People bought me dolls for Christmas when I would have much rathered play with toy cars. I was told I couldn't play soccer and various other sports simply because I was a girl and that meant that I would automatically be no good at it and would be less skilled than my male counterparts no matter how hard I tried. I have been told that I would "make someone a good wife someday" as though I am a commodity and that my most important job will be to take care of a husband someday. I've been told by other women not to learn to barbeque because that is a man's job. I've had boxes taken out of my hands without invitation because "that's too heavy for you, dear". I have been humped from behind by random guys because I was "dancing like I wanted the d" when really I was just moving in time with the music which I consider to be fun.
My female friends who are lesbian get less respect than my male friends who are gay. I've been questioned about my ability to do a job because I was considered to be frail due to my gender regardless of the fact that I have proved again and again that I am very much physically capable of doing manual labour. I've been catcalled by guys in cars when I was wearing baggy jeans and a winter jacket with no makeup on simply because I had the nerve to walk somewhere by myself. I felt the need to explain just now that I was wearing baggy jeans, a winter coat and no makeup because people expect that because a girl wears a dress and leather boots, that automatically gives them justification to call you a "pretty little whore" and that you asked for it simply by making an effort to look good for your own pleasure.
I've been taught over and over by media, friends, family members and employers that my appearance is my biggest asset and that my body is not mine and it will be subjected to whatever other people see fit and judged non-stop because it doesn't fit society's unrealistic image of beauty. It is a vessel for sex, a thing for men to look at, a baby making machine and a thing to be used for other people's enjoyment no matter what impact that may have on my life.
I've had my opinions dismissed in discussions simply because I was a woman and so I can't have good ideas, but as soon as a man paraphrased what I had just said, it was suddenly a brilliant idea and they got the accolades. I've been told to smile because it "makes you look prettier". I've had my emotions dismissed because I was just a crazy woman who was overreacting just like all other women.
So I see the need for feminism. I always have. I knew the injustice of sexism as a child. I tackled manies a boy for sexist comments and I was never messed with again by the same person. I know the feeling of being excluded for a trait that I was born with. It is still an insult to men and many women to be called girly or effeminate. Society still favours men. We still see men as the strong capable ones. The constructors of our world. The protectors, the valiant fighters, the civil ones. Women are still treated as second class citizens, no matter what you might think.
I have always refused to subscribe to the idea that I was the lesser gender. There is no such thing as a lesser gender. I always knew that even as a child. It's amazing that I've made it this far without having my self-esteem completely crushed. It's only damaged. I know many women who gave in and believed what people told them about themselves and their gender. They believed it when people told them that they could not be whatever they wanted because they had a role to fill. I know many who fully subscribe to society's depiction of women, who molded themselves after media stereotypes and are now forcing those stereotypes on the women and girls in their own life. I was lucky to have guidance from my father and mother who believed in me as a human being with lots of potential. They taught me early on to value my personality over my appearance. They taught me that no matter what anyone else says or believes, I am worth as much as any other guy and I do not have to change who I am.
In high school there came the emergence of the "get back in the kitchen" and "go make me a sandwich, bitch" 'jokes'. I put the word jokes in parentheses because they weren't even jokes. I found them so offensive, but was told to lighten up because it was just a joke and they weren't serious. I know that people don't necessarily believe that it is my duty to be in the kitchen, but it is not that that bothers me. It is the fact that we are so comfortable in our perception of women that we make these jokes and egg each other on while choosing to be oblivious and insensitive to the true struggle of an oppressed group who is still no longer at a point where they are considered truly equal. I'll admit, all of those things that happened to me, all of the sexist comments and attitudes that I've run into over the years, those are not as bad as what some other women have experienced in other parts of the world. Sexism is not as blatant as it once was, but now it is just quiet warfare which is just as damaging.
When my mother told me a couple of years ago that we still had a long way to go with regards to women's rights, I didn't know what she meant. I hadn't done my research and I hadn't thought much about it. I realized then that I've been stewing in the broth for so long that I no longer remembered that I didn't belong there. I had been told to shut up about injustice so many times that I gave up and believed that this was as good as it gets. I believed it when I was told that I was an equal. If I were an equal though, I wouldn't have felt those injustices. They wouldn't exist.
If it's that bad for a middle class-low income white girl, then I can only imagine how it is for other women who weren't born with the privilege that I was born with. I can recognize that my life has been naturally cushier than many others' have been. I grew up in a country where I had access to rights that many people in many other countries don't have access to. I grew up being a part of the race that has had an unfair advantage over others for a very long time. I didn't choose to be white, but I am and so I have natural advantages that sadly go with that. This is not to say that I haven't endured human suffering. This does not mean that I have not encountered sadness or unfairness in my life. I have still dealt with plenty of that.
I was raped about four months ago. It was a terrible experience and it threatened to make my outlook on life a very cynical one. It has influenced me in many ways. It also opened my eyes to a whole world of suffering women who have endured what I have plus more. It forced me to understand. Rape is an invisible crime. We see it in the media, but only when the case is fairly cut and dried, however even then the victims are blamed. Even when it is totally clear that it was not the victim's fault. It makes it all that much harder to speak out about what happened. I had little fear because as I said before, I live a much cushier lifestyle than many do. My family is supportive and understanding and so are my friends. I feel much less fear of being blamed than many women do. I've heard stories of women who have told their families and were basically told that they were being overly dramatic, told to leave, told to shut up, or told that they were to blame. It happens. You just have to educate yourself enough to see it.
Rape is one of the most underreported crimes in the world, yet it is one of the most common. You are pretty much guaranteed to meet at least one woman who was raped every day and I would argue that you'll be meeting more like 5-15.
Why does this problem plague women more than men? Because we are still thought of as ob
Rape has been supposed to be the number one most serious crime in the world even being ranked higher than murder. Why is it then that most victims don't receive justice? Why do we treat rape as though it is no big deal? It is just something that happens. You didn't die so what are you complaining about? Why are we so tolerant of rape and so intolerant of murder? Why is it that female victims' testimony is trusted even less than male rapists’? Why do we question whether a rape was 'legitimate' and don't ask if a murder was? Think about that.
This is why I believe that feminism is still necessary. This is why I am willing to publicly label myself as a feminist. In my opinion, all that people need to be feminists is a sense of right and wrong and some proper education on the subject. My eyes were opened to it after high school. I was friends with some people who took gender studies classes and were quite interested in feminism. I slowly started to understand why I should see it as being important as well. I read articles about it and started getting interested in the critical thinking aspect. I started to realize how some of my own habits that I'd formed over the years had been a product of lifelong conditioning and were actually hurting me and other women. I started to understand what patriarchy was and why it was hurting everyone. I understand now that we are all a part of it no matter whether we try to be or not and whether we know it or not. We each have responsibilities as individuals to bring about change in the world so that everyone can feel safe and be treated fairly.
That's why I'm a feminist.
These are a couple of articles and videos that were pivotal in the development of my opinions.
Because this still happens
Because commercials like these are necessary.
We are not living in a world where women are equals. Hell, we are not even living in a world that is safe for women. The world is still a war zone for women as this article proves. I couldn't even make it through half of it because it made me feel so terrible.
So, if you had read my last couple of posts you'd know that I attempted suicide a week ago or so. Naturally, I have been thinking about that quite a lot. I talked to a couple of people about it although I still haven't gotten to see my therapist because there was a snow storm the day I was supposed to meet with her and my appointment got cancelled. I have come to the conclusion that my medication is wreaking havoc on my mood.
I have never gotten to the point of actually attempting suicide before. I have certainly had lots of those thoughts, but normally I am still in a state of mind where I can think semi-logically and talk myself out of it. This time I was not able to. I didn't feel like it. I was sick of trying. Every time you have suicidal thoughts it's like a test of your endurance for life. Every time I have those thoughts I get a little less willing to talk myself out of it. This is because I can remember all of the times that I had to do that in the past and I can regognize that the fact that I'm having to do it again must mean that my life has not gotten a whole lot better since the last time. One of the tactics that I normally use is to tell myself that I should not give up hope that the future could bring good things because I simply don't know what the future holds. However, each time I get suicidal, I am basically being proven wrong. It's like, "Ok when is the good stuff going to happen? Because I don't know how much longer I can take this."
It gets a little darker and a little harder each time, so this time it got to the point where I flat out gave up. I wondered why it had gotten that bad though. After all, I have been on depression medication which is supposed to help to relieve those symptoms. I realized that since my doctor decided to up my dosage in December, I have not been feeling any benefits from the medication. In fact, it has been worse ever since then. I was hoping that it was just that my body needed to adjust to the dosage, but now I'm pretty sure that it's just that the dosage is too high and so now it is having a negative impact rather than a positive one.
I am going to talk to my doctor as soon as I can to see if she will approve lowering the dosage or if she might want me to try another brand. Who knows? I just want this to be fixed.
I still hate having to go to bed at a certain time and if it's at all possible I will sleep in as late as I can.
I've been awake all night tonight. Same as last night, the night before that and before that etc etc. I keep thinking about all of the hurt I feel. I have three names repeating over and over in my head; just cycling non-stop. Andrew, Simon, Chris. Andrew, Simon, Chris. AndrewSimonChris. AndrewsimonChris! It's driving me crazy! I keep thinking about the three of them and the common thoughts that I connect with them. I think of Andrew because he was my rapist. I think of how I want answers, how I want him to make me understand or how I want him to apologize and make me believe that he feels sorry. It's never going to happen. I very much know that. I just keep fantasizing about it. I think about Simon because of how I ignored my instincts when I met him. I knew he was bad news from the beginning, or at least my gut knew that. I ignored it and learned the hard way anyway. I think of Chris because my instinct told me nothing. I felt I had no cause to worry. Boy was I ever wrong. Or was I? I may never know.
I keep wondering what's wrong with me these days. My life is so fucked up. You know those Facebook scams that people post that say that if you don't repost it in so many seconds you'll have 7 years of bad luck or something? Yeah, I feel like blaming my bad luck on one of those right now.
But is it really bad luck, or am I subconsciously letting this stuff happen to me? Do I subconsciously think that I don't deserve to be happy and then find ways to fuck up my happiness? Sometimes I wonder. How much of this can I really control? Because it sure feels like it's out of my hands.
Sometimes I wish that I could show people the real me. This is the only place that I can be myself and expose my true thoughts and feelings without worrying about who I might hurt or whether I need to augment the truth, omit things or tell lies to avoid shame or guilt. I am tempted sometimes to show people my blog so that they can see who I truly am. I thought about giving Chris access to it. I don't know if it's such a good idea though. It could end up being very bad. There's a reason people filter themselves. Once the cat's out of the bag it's too late to take it back. I have put some very personal and potentially creepy or hurtful things on here. None of it is unbiased. It is all influenced by my emotions.
I was contemplating my personality tonight. I was thinking about how if I met someone who was exactly like me, I could never get along with them. I would be driven crazy by someone like me. How do other people ever like me, let alone love me? I have so many problems. I think some of them have even been with me since I was little.
I was the youngest child in my family until I was 7. I think I have a touch of the youngest child syndrome. Some combination of a lack of confidence, a need for love and attention, a compulsion to prove myself as worthy and a touch of self-pity with a sprinkle of selfishness on top. I don't know how I got to be like that. I feel like the youngest child always has to deal with being allocated the least amount of attention. Your older siblings always seem to come first, so you learn over time to pander to them and to try your best not to cause conflict if at all possible. You learn that the only way you can get attention is to take it forcefully; even if that means that you're stepping on someone's toes. It could also mean being manipulative. I am the most sneaky of manipulators. I do it through kindness. I don't usually feel that I am manipulating and often times it is not meant to be that way, but sometimes it is a deliberate strategy.
I guess that's where the selfishness comes from. It's a sort of survival method I suppose. A way to make up for the fact that you will always be less developed and less capable than your older siblings. You will always be a step behind. In order to even have a chance to compete with them the only thing you can do is to try to gain an advantage somehow. My way of doing that was to be as nice as possible to my parents. The more co-operative you are the better for getting what you want. Being polite and submissive has its benefits.
It sounds manipulative when you put it that way, but I'm just trying to see it in black and white. I need to figure out why I am the way I am and why I am so self centered sometimes. I know I have that weakness and I am constantly trying to control it. I always have to try to even out my manipulative, evil side that wants to take advantage of people, say horrible things and act impulsively. I think everyone has a little bit of that, but what makes a person is whether they can triumph over their dark side or not. I think I often come across as not being that self centered. Or at least I try not to come across that way. This is because I have tried all my life to be the peacekeeper in my family. It was the role I was always meant to fill. I always felt that it was my duty to try to be as reasonable and logical as possible. I don't discard opinions without at least considering how the opinion was formed and whether the evidence that was used was trustworthy and if the person at least TRIED to be unbiased. Of course, in the end it usually comes down to whether it fits with my moral values or not.
I've always liked to believe that I am more or less a good person. I take pride in being as just as possible. I really do try not to add more bad to the world than good. The world is a terrible place and it does not need me to make it any worse. It could benefit from a few more people who actively try to make it better without doing it purely for their own gain. In my experience, those kinds of people are few and far between. They are the people that I admire and look up to. I can't really explain my desire to be good. I just want to be. I am human and I make mistakes. I make all kinds of them in fact. My life is a minefield of mistakes. I just hope that those mistakes will never ruin anyone's life. I don't want my actions to affect people as much as theirs affect me. Sometimes I assume, because I think of myself as unimportant, that my opinion is unimportant to others as well, so how could it possibly hurt them? I never consider that anyone else might take my opinions and words as seriously as I take theirs.
I have to admit though, in my quest to be morally good I can get a bit self-righteous. I can go a bit overboard with it to the point that I start severely judging other people. I then have to take a step back and try to readjust and deflate my ego a bit. It can be quite a difficult task. I have always felt that my moral compass is usually spot on and my instincts are pretty accurate too. Ever since I was very small I had a very acute sense of right and wrong. I hold myself to the same standards that I hold everyone else to. In fact I think I hold myself too much higher standards than I hold other people to.
I think that should have been a warning sign. It has caused me much distress over the years. It is probably some of the cause of my depression. Much of my personality can be considered a double edged sword. I hold myself to high standards which can make me a better person, but if I ever fail to live up to the standards that I've set for myself, I spiral into a pit of depression and start believing that my failure means that I am a bad person.
I'm truly not sure if I was born this way or if I somehow learned it. I have a feeling that my Catholic upbringing had a hand in it. My father was also an extreme perfectionist. He set very high standards for my siblings and me as well. He expected us to be upstanding people, well educated, conscientious, good communicators etc etc. He was strict and quite hard on us sometimes, but expecting a lot of people can sometimes motivate them to meet the expectations. As long as those expectations are not too unreasonable and as long as you are rewarded for living up to them (which we were).
He encouraged us to think critically and to use our good judgement. He tried to instill in us a love of people and a sense of unity with humankind. He did not do this in a hippy sort of way, just in a Christian sort of way I suppose. Catholics get a lot of flak for the beliefs that our religion totes. Not everyone agrees with those beliefs, but we are whitewashed all the same. I believe that no matter what anyone says, accepting and love are the core of the religion. So therefore there is no excuse not to accept all people with love. Catholicism even told me that you should try to love your enemies just as you love your friends. That seems like an impossible task, but I understand how it can be done. It doesn't necessarily mean that you have to like them, or get along with them, but to understand that they are people too and no matter what they do or say, they deserve the same as you.
I learned a lot of things from my childhood that have carried into my adulthood. Some of them have been damaging and some of them have been good. My perfectionism has proven to be good and bad at the same time. I fail myself constantly and beat myself up for it, I am constantly pushing myself to be better which stresses me out and makes life very difficult sometimes and I still feel a need to prove myself every day as being worthy of walking on this earth. I see myself as lesser than others in many ways, but in other ways as better. Then I beat myself up for ever thinking that I could be 'better' or 'worse' than anyone as I feel that I am supposed to believe and understand that no one is worth less or more than another.
Life is a constant struggle. I am always trying to learn about myself, the world, my emotions, others emotions and how to navigate this crazy life. Nothing makes sense, but I try to make sense of it nonetheless. People always tell me not to worry what others think of me, but if I didn't then I wouldn't be me. I might end up being insensitive and hurting people for no good reason. Our species is a social one. We survive together by cooperation. We survive by keeping the wellbeing of the pack in our minds at all times. We are hardwired not to be an outcast. We need each other and the continuation of the species depends on us getting along. We are also, as far as science knows so far, one of if not the only species that is aware of our own mortality. It's a good argument for why religion exists. It's the only way our monkey brains can truly come to terms with and comprehend the fact that one day we will cease to exist and we don't know what happens then.
I often wonder what our fate will be. Will we destroy our planet and our species along with every other species for the sake of greed and short term gratification? Will we ever get along? Will crime ever end? I get so frustrated with the amount of evil that there is in this world. It makes me feel very tiny and insignificant. I feel like all of my life will not even register as a blip. I will have made barely any difference in the wellbeing of other people. What does it all amount to? What does being successful in life really mean? I suppose I will have to settle for doing small things with much love. That is all I can do.
Good night EP.
About a month and a half ago or so (I can't remember the specific date), I met a guy that I really liked. I went into a bit more detail about that in a previous post. This guy was gentle and kind, funny (in a corny sort of way, but cute nonetheless), attractive and oh so sweet. I guess I should have known that it wouldn't last. I should have guessed that it was too good to be true. No one is ever what they seem or what they say they are.
I had full confidence in him. He was the first guy friend that I felt truly safe around since I was raped. He knew about my history. He knew I had mental health problems. He knew a hell of a lot about me. He never gave me the impression that he couldn't handle me. I never guessed that I would be scaring him off, but I think that might be exactly what happened.
The guy I was with before him was bothered when I talked about my rape around him. If I ever brought it up for any reason he would tell me that he wanted to change the subject and that he didn't want to talk about it. I don't know what the reason was. He never told me. My only guess is that it was just too much for him to handle. It hurt me though that I couldn't confide in him about something that was such a big thing in my life. So when Chris came along and didn't seem bothered if I wanted to talk about it, I thought he was ok. I thought I would notice if he was uncomfortable with it. I tried not to bring it up too often, but I feel like that one event has influenced me so much that it's almost impossible not to. It's the explanation for a lot of weird things that I say or do, so I often have to explain my strangeness so people aren't so confused or so they aren't hurt by something. For example, sometimes I would avoid intimacy because I felt uncomfortable or certain things would trigger me so I would ask him to stop. He would, but I felt like he was sensitive about it because he believed it was something to do with him. Therefore, I had to explain it to him so that he wouldn't take it so personally. It would kind of ruin the mood a bit, but it usually got back on track fairly quickly. At least that's how it seemed to me.
I think he held in a lot of his thoughts and feelings. He probably told me more of that stuff than he told most girls, but I still would never hear the most serious stuff. He had issues being vulnerable around people. He hinted that he had been hurt in the past. He never told me the story, but I didn't ask him to or push him for it. I think he just had problems trusting that I wouldn't hurt him. I guess he doesn't deal with emotional pain very well. Aren't I one to talk? I just tried to commit suicide a few days ago.
Anyway, he started getting distant a couple of weeks ago so I started asking him what was wrong. He wouldn't tell me until I started wondering out loud to him whether he actually liked me that much or not. Somehow I forced his hand. He came over to my place to talk to me. He had told me days earlier that he had something to tell me. Something that his sister told him. I was so curious. What could his sister have said to him that would have made him go quiet with me all of a sudden? You can imagine that I would start to jump to conclusions. I was driving myself crazy wondering what the heck was so wrong with me that even his sister didn't want him to be with me. Finally he dropped the bomb. He told me that we couldn't be in a relationship because his sister had applied to a rugby academy for him and he happened to get accepted, so now he is moving across the continent from me. He apologized and said that he would never have started anything with me if he had even dreamed that he would get accepted. He said it is a prestigious school and he had put it out of his mind and forgot about it because he thought his chances were very slim.
I told him it was ok. I asked him to gather up his things from my apartment. He did and then he left. I thought it would be the last time I talked to him, but I caved a few days later and started talking to him again. Lather, rinse and repeat. We kept seeing each other on and off for the last few weeks. It kept ending and re-starting. One of us (usually me) would decide that we missed each other. We would go to each other’s' apartments and hang out, have sex etc. I felt like the last 8 times I saw him were pretty much just sex. It was starting to get very tiresome and I had been feeling like all he cares about is the sex. As long as he can still get some from me, he's ok to talk to me.
This is my problem now. I have almost become obsessed with sex. I have a feeling it's a subconscious way of taking back control after my rape. It's like if I never say no again, then no one will have the ability to force me to do something I don't want to do because I've already convinced myself that I want it. We've all heard the ex
I went from a complete virgin to semi-promiscuity in a matter of three months. That is not to say that I have really been sleeping around. I certainly was never sleeping around on Chris. He was all I would ever need. I never so much as flirted with another guy while I was with him. Then last Saturday night my roommate asked to go out to a bar. We went and I ended up seeing Chris there. I spied him from across the room. The last time we had talked I think I had broken it off and resolved never to talk to him again though, so I figured I would be weak to go and talk to him, not to mention it would feel awkward. I felt like he was now officially off limits. That doesn't mean I don't have feelings for him though. This is where it gets messy. My roommate was excited to see him. She dragged me over to talk to him. They talked and I held her drink and ignored him. He never saw me at all, even though I was standing right in front of him. I could tell he was very drunk. I had never seen him so drunk.
Finally, my roommate felt awkward because we had not even acknowledged each other, so she dragged me off to a different area to dance with me. Later on, she asked if we could go find Chris to dance with him. I turned around to look for him. He was pretty easy to spot. He was the only guy in the place who had a girl pinned to the wall kissing her. I felt instantly hurt. Simultaneously angry, sad and confused. I felt angry because I wondered how long he had known this girl. Had this been going on behind my back the whole time? Had they been banging? I felt sad because if this was how he treated me, first of all it meant he wasn't the man I thought he was. Second of all did it mean that I wasn't good enough? Was I bad in bed? Was I not meeting his emotional needs? I was also confused because I felt like I had no legitimate right to feel betrayed. After all, we had never officially been dating. That in turn made me sad again because I wondered if it was actually ME the whole time who was the side dish.
I was also angry because he had said he didn't want a relationship because he was moving. I felt like he had lied by omission and that the reason he told me that was because he didn't have the balls to tell me how he really felt about me. I do believe that he really is moving but I don't think that's the reason he didn't want to be together. If I wasn't his type, shouldn't he have said something instead of leading me to believe that we really had something and were just being separated because of bad timing? I felt like if he was kissing this girl, it must mean that he would date her but he didn't want to date me. I had always felt like if he cared so much about me; if I was the girl for him, then he wouldn't have assumed that him moving would be the end forever. I felt so hurt.
All of these thoughts went through my head instantaneously of course, but I tried to block out my emotions by justifying it. I told myself that I had no reason to be upset because he was never mine to begin with. It didn't stop it from hurting, but it helped a bit just so that I could cope and try to act normal for my roommate. I didn't want this to ruin my entire night and I sure as hell didn't want to ruin hers. She seemed more upset than I was. She almost stomped over to him and broke it up. I stopped her and made her dance with me. I said it wouldn't help and I told her what I had been telling myself. She went along with it. We kept moving from place to place in the bar and I kept seeing him still making out with this girl that I didn't know.
Finally it was last call. I was in terrible shape. I had been humped by a random guy while I was just dancing (which by the way is sexual assault and it made me feel gross. I hadn't asked for that and I didn't want it.), I had seen my lover kissing another girl, I had been hit on by a guy that I knew was friends with the guy before Chris whom I had had a giant argument with two or three weeks earlier. It felt like everything negative was suddenly bubbling to the surface.
I got home and felt utterly distraught. I felt unhappy with my life, unhappy with my body, unhappy with my personality, unhappy with my future, unhappy with everything. I couldn't stop thinking about how unlucky I had been over the last year or two. I started to feel suicidal. So finally I thought "This is the last straw. I'm getting it over with tonight. My life will never be normal and it will never be good. I will continue to be miserable, so I might as well just die already". I took a knife and cut a slit down my arm and several more smaller cuts. I took aspirin, depression meds and sleeping pills in abnormally high doses. I cried and cried. I wrote a note to my family and then I passed out.
I woke up the next day in the afternoon. I felt horrible. My arm hurt and I was woefully groggy. I had expected much worse, but I also hadn't expected to actually wake up. I felt depressed that I had. It's messed up that you would be disappointed to be facing another day of life. I felt stupid. I had failed at life and I had even failed at giving up on life. How dumb can you get? I convinced myself that next time I would do my research and next time I would get it right.
Of course I hadn't planned to have to conceal the fact that I tried to commit suicide because I had assumed that I would be dead by the next day. Therefore, I had not considered how hard it would be to hide a five inch gash in my arm from my roommate. I went to the drugstore and bought myself some polysporin and gauze bandages. I put the polysporin on and wrapped my arm up. Now to conceal it. Dammit, I have to wear long sleeved shirts. I am going to be wayy too hot now. I ended up wearing sweaters for the first couple of days.
The next few days I just avoided letting her see my left arm. I know she saw the bandage peeking out from the cuff of my sweater, but she hasn't asked about it, so I don't plan on telling her anything unless she does. I don't want to freak her out. She doesn't understand mental illness anyway. I tried to explain depression to her the other day because she asked 'why' people get depressed. I think she thought that it was just a way of thinking. She thinks of it less as an illness and more like some kind of mystical anomaly that only weird people get. She thinks of it as something that could be easily fixed or something you can just 'snap out of'. She's the first person I've met who knows so little about it.
Anyway, my gash is beginning to heal now and I don't feel so suicidal anymore. I miss Chris though. I want him back so badly. I wish what he did could be undone. I feel so hurt by him and so lonely without him. I told him the other day that I thought he was a dick. I took it back though. He had just told me that he knew how I felt and I went off on him telling him that he didn't know half of what I was feeling right now. I apologized because I don't really know for a fact that he doesn't understand. I don't know what he's been through.
I told him about my suicide attempt. I explained that I was feeling pretty irritable. He got back to me the next day. It was 4:00 in the evening. He said he had slept until three. I asked him why and he told me it was because he had taken a pill at his mother's request that had put him out for that long. I wondered what kind of pill could have possibly done that. He said he had gone to bed early the night before and woke up at three the next day.
I secretly wondered if he had attempted suicide too. His explanation had seemed a little strange and flimsy to me. I also wondered if he had been awake all night worrying or something. I felt like there was a lot of stuff that he wasn't telling me. He seemed to be genuinely sorry for what he did, but refused to take full responsibility for his actions by telling me that it was his first time drinking and he didn't remember doing it. Same story my rapist gave me the week after he raped me.
I'm not saying he's a rapist. A cheater or a liar will never come close in my mind to a rapist as far as hurt is concerned. There is a similar theme though. A betrayal of trust. It leaves a similar trail. Chris told me though that he had been feeling angry because work hadn't been going well, he said his friends wanted to get drunk and he got peer-pressured into drinking too much. He said he had never been drunk before. He said this was why he hadn't been drunk before; because he figured something screwed up would happen if he did get drunk and 'now look what happened apparently'. He said he figured it must have been something bad because I had flipped out pretty bad at him. I had told him after I had gotten home that he could come and get his hat that he left at my place the next day and that I never wanted to see him again or talk to him again. After he told me his side of the story I didn't feel sorry for him. I just felt like he was trying the 'poor me' card with me. I felt like he was making excuses. I tried to empathize a little bit. I tried to imagine his position. I tried to trust him, but I just couldn't.
Because I had wondered about whether he was telling the truth about the pill thing or not, I asked him how he was doing. Facebook said that he had read it, but he didn't reply. I got fed up of waiting so I deleted the majority of the messages from our conversation, except for the ones that I deemed to be important for use in some future argument as a paper trail of what he told me. A way to catch him lying I suppose. I blocked him on Facebook then. I told myself this was it; I am never going to go crawling back to him again for any reason. I am not going to let him sway me again. Who knows how long it will last....I hope I can stay firmly planted this time and hold my ground for real. I don't want to feel pathetic again. Not for him. Not after the trouble he caused me. So far it's been about two days since I talked to him last. It feels like an eternity, but I suppose quitting him is like quitting anything else, it will get easier with time.
I've decided that I really need to focus now on getting a job and getting myself better. I really hope that life starts to get better soon. It's getting harder and harder to hold on and be optimistic.
Wish me luck.
Last night was the worst night I've had so far, as far as mental health is concerned. I think it is because I have been feeling like my whole life has been an uphill battle and I'm not getting anywhere. I feel so hopeless. Like if only I were a better person, I'd be making some progress. I'd be graduating this year and going off to study fashion already. I feel like my life is beginning to consist of only disappointment. That makes me want to not even try. Last night I lost my hope. I've never done that before. I've always had a shred of hope to cling to that my life will get better. I totally lost that last night. I thought about my family, but even that wasn't enough to make me want to live anymore. I got a knife and I cut a very nice gash down my left arm. It bled quite a bit, but not enough so I started making more and more gashes all over my arm and wrist. It still wasn't working, so I turned to my sleeping pills. I took about six of them which wasn't enough, but it sure whacked me out. I took 4 of my depression pills and 6 acetaminophen which are supposed to react with each other. Nothing happened. I cried and cried and wrote a note for my family and friends. I put a bucket by my bed because I was sure the reactions would make my stomach sick and I didn't want someone to have to clean up that mess. I eventually got extremely dizzy and passed out. I woke up late in the afternoon today. I was so bummed that I was actually waking up. It's weird to think that waking up to start another day is a shitty thing to happen. I don't know what brought on this mood I've developed, but it's dangerous and now I'm going to have physical scars to match the way I feel on the inside. My inner demons are crawling out onto my skin. So, I feel like there's a good chance I will try again someday, but for now I am trying to stay on the side of sanity and not make any more rash decisions.
I take advantage of my adulthood to eat chocolate chips out of the bag instead of baking with them.
I hadn't realized how long it's been since I talked about anything on here.....Oh boy. There's a lot to talk about now. A whole three months' worth of happenings. I don't even know if I can remember it all now.
Well, my November was rather uneventful. I just worked, moped around home and went to school. December was a bit different though. One day, I came home from work feeling stressed because my financial situation has been bad since about March of 2013 and I've barely been paying my bills. My parents have been helping me out and my Mother ended up paying two months' rent for me. It makes me feel like a failure to do that to my parents. So this day I came home and decided "I'm tired of having to pay this much in rent and being alone in the apartment where I was raped is not good for me either. This apartment has been nothing but trouble from the get go." So I decided to move. I put out an ad on Kijiji and got quite a few responses from people who were looking for roommates. Not many of them looked very attractive to me because they all seemed to live just a little bit too far away for my liking. Finally I talked to one girl who wanted to go apartment hunting with me. We friended each other on Facebook and started talking about apartments and sharing ads with each other. I made a few phone calls and a couple of days later we went to see some apartments. Two days later we found one and paid the damage deposit for it.
I called my landlady to tell her that I'd be moving out at the start of January (this was mid-December). She said that I couldn't move out without giving her 30 days’ notice. I felt so worried. That meant I would have to pay not only the rent on my new apartment, but also the rent for my old one which I would no longer be living in. It made no sense to me and if I couldn't afford to pay for my old apartment by itself, how would I ever have been able to afford to pay two times for rent? I explained this to my landlady and she basically told me "tough, you should have given me more notice". Then she said that if I found someone to take over my apartment before the first of the month and she found that person to be acceptable, then I would be able to leave.
I put out a post on Facebook saying that if anyone was looking for a one bedroom, then they should message me. A girl that I knew from high school messaged me the next day asking if she could come see the apartment. I agreed. She was looking to move out that week. She explained that her roommate was a bit of a psycho and that she wanted to move out all at once so her roommate wouldn't start smashing all of her stuff. Her father and mother came to the viewing with her a couple of days later. Her father offered to help move me out while they were moving their daughter into my apartment. I figured "why not?” I knew them anyway and I was only moving two streets over, so it wasn't very far. They wanted to do it the next day, so I agreed and asked my father to come and help me move the remainder of my stuff in the afternoon.
The next day we simultaneously moved literally everything of mine out and everything of hers in all in one day. In fact it took about 4 hours in total. By that night I had my new apartment pretty well set up. A couple of days later my roommate moved her stuff in. So here I am in a new apartment with a roommate from out of town that I just met and I love it. My roommate and I just clicked instantly. We get along great.
She and I have been going out to the bars most weekends and having a blast. Only problem with that is that I have very little money to be spending on that kind of stuff so I have to be very careful.
Just a couple of days before Christmas I met a guy. I thought he was great. I had sex with him and he was very respectful and nice for the most part. It was my first time having sex since I was raped. I was so worried that it would hurt the same amount as it did the last time. It didn't thank god. It still hurt though. My doctor told me that I have vulvodyinia which is a condition where the vulva or vaginal area is overly sensitive and the brain interprets any kind of pressure on the nerves in that area as pain instead of pleasure. Any kind of penetration hurts (even just a tampon or a finger). It is a kind of burning, tearing feeling. I don't bleed anymore, that was just the first time, but it feels like I should be. I often feel like I need a break.
This guy, whom I will call Simon, had sex with me 3 times. I told him at the time that I didn't want a relationship with him because I was worried about how my mental state was going to affect it. I think I was right to feel that way, but he was not happy with that response I guess. The first night I met him I was drinking. I couldn't believe that I was taking him home with me because that was exactly how I got raped before. I felt like I was being stupid to do it again. Thank god, he was not a rapist like the last guy. I had told him about my experience and he was very sympathetic and understanding about it. He always checked in with me to ask if it was "too much?” I felt like finally, here was a guy who actually had a conscience. It got complicated very quickly though. He started to be sort of passive-aggressive. Then one day he asked to hang out. I said sure, then my roommate asked me if I wanted to go and get some new clothing for our New Year's Eve outing that we had been planning for a while. I hadn't been shopping for about a year, so I felt like it was long overdue. I told Simon that I would hang out with him in the evening and my roommate and I went to the mall to do some shopping. I had told Simon that I would be home by 6:00 and we could hang out then. At 6:00 I was still at the mall and had to bus home, I told Simon I would be about a half hour late. It was pretty accurate. That's about how late I was. I felt bad about it. I had asked him if he wanted to meet me at the mall and go from there, but he said no. When I got home, I told him we could hang out now. He told me that he had "gone out for supper with the boys" and that he wasn't sure if he could come over now. I felt hurt. I felt like he was upset with me for being late but I asked him if he was and he said he wasn't.
So then I had a big long chat with him about it. I went to see him at work one day just to say hello. He and I worked in the same mall, so I had some extra time after one of my shifts and went to go see him. He didn't look at all glad to see me. He seemed quite apathetic really. I gave him a hug and we just made awkward small talk for a little while and I left to go home to eat supper. I felt really shitty. He kept telling me before how much he liked me and pestering me to go out, but his actions didn't really show that he cared. I explained that to him later and he denied everything and said "not my fault". So I sorta gave up on him. He then asked if we could hang out a few days later. I felt like it was useless to try again, but I said I would anyway. He told me at 12:00 that he would be at my apartment in a half hour. Half an hour later he was not there. I waited two hours. Finally I texted him to ask him where the hell he was and he said he had missed the bus twice because he had been playing video games. I felt like he was trying to get revenge on me for the last time. I was annoyed. He finally came over and we hung out for about an hour. I had met another guy who I like more than I liked Simon, so I told him that. I imagine that sucked for him, but I see no point in going out with someone if you wish you were with someone else the whole time. That's not fair to either person. I expected him to be angry. All he did was shrug and say "Well, there's nothing I can do about that I guess. Not my fault". He told me he wanted to just be friends anyway. He said would prove to me how good of a guy he was.
I told him he had to leave shortly after that because the guy I liked said he was coming over. I expected it to take him a half hour to get to my place as that was usually how long it took. He texted me to say he was on his way, so I told Simon that he should leave soon. A couple of minutes later the guy I liked, who we will call Chris, showed up at my apartment and buzzed my door. I panicked. My brain went nuts. He was not supposed to get here so fast. I told Simon he had to leave now because that was my boyfriend at the door. He started to put his shoes on, but he was going very slowly. He was taking his time and I got the feeling he was doing it deliberately. I couldn't make Chris wait at the door forever so I just let him in. My roommate had come home shortly before this. So I sat down at the table with her, Simon and Chris joined us. I introduced Chris to Simon and said that he was a friend of mine. They seemed to get along ok. Simon said he had to go then and he left. Chris asked me how I knew him. I told him I met him at a bar. I can't lie worth a shit so I figured I might as well tell the truth. Simon was still there when Chris asked me that, so I shushed him and told him that we'd talk about it later. It felt so uncomfortable and I felt like a terrible terrible person. The worst case scenario was happening. Simon left hurriedly. I knew he was hurt. I hugged him and apologized. He said "You never told me he was black too!" and "Don't tell him anything about us because he will be angry". I asked him why it mattered that he was black. His explanation was that "black guys don't get along very well". He was always full of these strange notions about genders and race. He would often make blanket statements about white girls' habits and black girls' habits and about black guys' physical features and habits. I found it weird and awfully narrow minded. Chris was not angry at all. He trusted me completely and I was glad for that because I would never have wanted to hurt him.
I had met Chris in the midst of all this mess with Simon making me feel crappy. He made me feel special. He was better. He was nicer and sweeter and I felt like I could talk to him about anything. We had an instant bond. I had met him once before. He was walking down the street going to the same bar that my roommate and I were going to and the sidewalk was really really icy. My roommate and I had decided to just walk in the street because it wasn't as icy and we were wearing heels. He was walking on the sidewalk and he slipped and almost fell. I think he was embarrassed so he exclaimed loudly. I said he should come walk on the road because it was easier, so he did. We ended up talking and walking to the bar together. We danced all night. It was great. At the end of the night we parted ways and just went home. A couple of weeks later I saw him again at a different bar. I waved to him. I wasn't sure if he would recognize me but he did. I have to admit, the first night I thought he was a little weird and awkward and I wasn't really that interested in him romantically. I had honestly thought he might be gay at first, but he wasn't. The next night I felt a little better about him. He was very friendly and he said he didn't think he would have ever seen me again and that he was happy he had or something to that effect. He stayed at my apartment that night. He slept in my bed with me, but we didn't have sex. I didn't feel like he really was pressuring me to either. He just cuddled me all night. I was so happy because I was beginning to think that all guys ever wanted was to fuck and leave.
The next day he hung out with me and my roommate all day and then invited us over to watch a movie that night. We did and it was nice. He introduced us to one of his best friends via Skype. It was all very laid back and it felt natural somehow. He seemed eager to welcome us into his world. Like he really wanted us to be a part of his life. He and I got to know each other over the next few weeks and I have to say I had developed some major feelings for him. He kept almost showing me off to his friends like he couldn't wait for them to meet me or for me to meet them. It was nice to get that kind of affection from someone for once. I had never experienced that before. I felt hopeful that even though I had been raped, I could still function normally in a relationship. Or at least mostly normally. He was very gentle with me when we had sex. He knew about my past experience and he always made sure that I was into whatever it was he wanted to do. I was happy to do it because I really adored him and it was the first 'normal' sex I had ever had. Nothing else compared. We could be ourselves. There was no pressure to be perfect. Funny things would happen and we would just laugh and continue on. I didn't feel like I had to go along with anything if I didn't want to. I felt like I could be honest with him and he'd understand it exactly the way I meant it. I felt like no matter how imperfect he was, I would still like him. I've never felt that strongly about any guy in my entire life. Every relationship I ever had just felt like an exercise in futility. This one didn't. It's sad though because a couple of weeks ago he told me that we couldn't be together. I believe he dreams of being a professional rugby pla
In the meantime my depression has been getting worse. I've been slipping backwards into it on account of my friends being gone, my current relationship woes and my being alone for most of my days. My work hours got cut back really badly so now I only work roughly 3-6 hours a week. I am forced to look for a new job. There are no jobs right now either, so it's proving very difficult. I have nothing to do anymore. I feel terrible. My mind has been wandering to memories of my rape now. I met my rapist a couple of weeks ago when I was out with my roommate. I was at a pizza place and he showed up there with a girl and a guy. He apparently didn't see me. I saw him though. I finished eating my food, which was a feat because I had quickly lost my appetite once I noticed him and started sweating like crazy and feeling panicky. I pointed him out to my roommate. I said I wanted to punch him in the face. She said I could go do it and that she would back me up. I laughed. The last thing I want is for him to be able to charge me with assault after what he did to me.
We walked out of the restaurant and I started feeling conflicted. I felt like I needed to go talk to him. I stopped and just stood there feeling torn. I felt like it would do me no good to talk to him, but I knew that if I left and didn't talk to him then I would drive myself crazy wondering what could have happened or what I would have said to him. I guess I was hoping to bury some of my anger in him, so I went back to confront him. He was sitting at a table talking to some girls. I felt outraged. Why was he allowed to be walking the streets and talking to girls? A rapist calmly sitting at a table talking to girls who are blissfully unaware of what he has done. I felt sick for them. Like he was trying to con one of them into coming home with him. It turned out he already had a girl on his arm though. I felt bad for her. I never said anything to her because I felt like it was no use. She would not believe me even if I did tell her. I would just come across as a jealous bitch being vengeful. Jaded perhaps.
I walked up behind him, put my arm around his shoulders and asked him to step outside with me. He stood up. He looked surprised to see me and said he would not talk to me. I had a stand-off with him. I told him again to come outside and talk with me. He said no. I said yes. He said no again. It continued like that for a little too long. I felt like a child again, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't drag him out because a) he's much bigger and stronger than me and b) it would have caused a scene. I didn't want to draw attention to the matter in public. I just wanted a quiet discussion. I stood there for a minute and just stared at him disapprovingly. I observed the wrinkles around his eyes. He looked tired and much older than he actually was.
After a while I could tell he was getting exasperated with me. I didn't care. He tried to make me leave by telling me that my friend looked like she wanted to leave. She didn't. She was just waiting patiently. I rolled my eyes at him. He asked me what was new. I sighed. He asked me if I was still in school. I said I wasn't. He asked why not and I said because of him. He sighed in an annoyed manner and cast a glance sideways. He said he had to go. He was drunk, I could tell, but he had sobered up quite a bit once he saw me. I said I knew he didn't have to go. He told me to text him later in the week. I stopped him and told him that I knew he wouldn't text me back so I wasn't going to do that. I was getting very annoyed with how petty, immature and stubborn he was being. He stared at me ex
I asked him if he had talked to a lawyer and he said yes. I said "and I suppose he or she told you to keep your fucking mouth shut, didn't they?” He said no. I knew he was lying though. I told him so. He pursed his lips and looked away. He stared off into space for a good while, not saying anything. Not moving. Not talking. He was like a statue. I asked him why he would not talk to me. He told me he was angry. I said "and you think I'm not? You think this is easy for me to be talking to you right now?" I crossed my arms and cocked my hip. I felt angry now too. He stared at me for a second and then looked away again. He looked at his girlfriend then (or whoever she was) and pushed past me. He had broken the stalemate. I felt like I might have won a little bit. Like I had succeeded in holding my ground and proving to him that he couldn't ruin me or make me look weak. I walked with him to where his friends were standing nearby. I looked at his girlfriend. She was pretty and tall with dark brown hair. She was looking at me and I was glaring at him. His guy friend said "Hi! Have we met?" I said that we hadn't and he shook my hand. He introduced himself to me and I returned the gesture. I felt annoyed though. He had totally undermined the whole situation because he didn't understand just how serious it was. I was not in a lighthearted mood at all and I had no intention of being friends with my rapist's friends. My rapist locked arms with his girlfriend and said "let's go". They started to walk out and I decided there was no use in pushing for dialogue anymore. I was tired and wanted to get home now. I had done what I had come to do and now I could leave.
My roommate and I walked out and we walked behind them for a while until we changed course and lost sight of them. My roommate stopped to light up a cigarette and hugged my arm. We walked home and went to bed. Ever since, he's been on my mind. I remembered the other day how he tasted like metal when he kissed me. It tasted bad. Like I was licking a metal pole. He was a welder. I looked up on google what reasons there could be for a metallic taste in your mouth as he had told me that he didn't smoke and I know that was the truth. Turns out there is a metal toxicity that welders get from working with welding rods all day every day. It is called Manganism. They get it from inhaling manganese in the welding fumes. I think he has it. It can cause permanent neurological damage. I sent him a message on Facebook to tell him about it. He never looked at it. Too bad. He will just have Parkinson’s for the rest of his life. I guess that is his karma for what he did.
I've been trying to find ways to distract myself from thinking about him lately, but misery is so tempting sometimes it seems. My brain is so used to being in that blackness now that it happily returns to old habits. I've been going to a group therapy session every week that is ba
My therapist also suggested that I go to group therapy with the rape crisis centre in my area. I thought that was a good plan, so I am going to call them to arrange something soon. I've also been trying to get a little healthier lately. I've been walking and I've started swimming. It's good to swim again. I think I will make a habit of it.
Anyway, that is my long dramatic saga for the last 3 months. A lot has happened in a very short time. I can only hope that this year will get better. I have faith that it will. I am no longer going to school. I have decided to take a break and try to work to earn some money back. I've been so poor for so long, I'm sick of it. I've been in bad health as well so it's hard to go to school with all of that weighing on you. I need money so that I can get back to living a lifestyle that is good for my health. So I can buy healthy food and go to the gym, go take some fun classes and meet people. Whatever I do, it must start with having some income. Then I will try to start fresh at school in the fall.
Wish me luck.
Today is my Birthday and all I feel is sad. I don't know why, but this always happens. Every single Birthday I've had for the last several years has always just been a depressing event. I'm not totally sure what makes it so depressing, but I think it has something to do with the fact that the idea of celebrating a day that is about me just makes me realize how alone and unextraordinary I really am.
It's also depressing because everybody wishes you a Happy Birthday, but I never feel like they mean it. Not that they want me to have a horrible day or anything, just that it's more of a social obligation to wish someone a Happy Birthday than it is a heartfelt "congratulations for making it this far, you are a wonderful person and i'm glad you were born" kinda message.
No matter how many people wish me a Happy Birthday, I still just feel sad and unwanted. It's like I'm nothing special for the rest of the year. It's just this one day that people actually notice that I exist.
Anyway, it's sad but I can't wait for tomorrow so I can go back to normal 'blend into the wall' life. I just feel like spending the day in bed today.
I had a test earlier today in my HR course which was also a sad reminder that I am not special and life continues as usual whether I like it or not. Tests will not be rescheduled because they happen to fall on the anniversary of your birth, even though it marks the most important day of your life; the day you were born. I'm not complaining or anything. If things had to be worked around people's birthdays, then nothing would ever get done. It's just a little depressing to think about is all.
Anyway. Happy Birthday to me I guess..... Somebody give me a hug.....
So, today was a relatively busy day. Not compared to most people's schedules I guess, so perhaps I should just say it felt eventful.
The reason I'm saying this is because I was volunteering at my local animal shelter this morning. The way the shelter works is that each volunteer schedules themselves for the days and times that best suit them so that they can easily work it into their schedules.
Yesterday, I decided that I would volunteer today (Saturday). Bad idea. I didn't realize that the bus that normally goes to the shelter does not run on Saturdays and Sundays. The shelter is a bit out of the way, so I can understand that. It just meant that I had to walk 3 or 4 kilometers from the bus station to the shelter and it made me late.
I got there and immediately took a dog out for a walk. She was sweet and very obedient. A Border Collie mix. Beyond cute. She has huge brown eyes and she wags her tail so hard her whole body wags with it. Anyway, that was fine. Then after I did some of the laundry (Cat blankets and whatnot) I asked one of my fellow volunteers if she needed help. It was only my second day volunteering, so I still don't really know what i'm doing.
The girl I had asked said that she did in fact need help. I agreed to help her before I realized that she was volunteering with the cats, not the dogs. I had only signed up for the dogs and I was only trained for that. I ended up going along with it though. I asked her to tell me what to do and I ended up cleaning two cat rooms (which included scooping out some massive kitty turds). It wasn't bad. I don't hate cats, I just thought I'd be busy enough with the dogs. The excrement is not a problem for me anyway because we have to scoop up dog poop outside anyway and I had two dogs that never got the hang of potty training so I'm plenty used to cleaning up bodily fluids.
It was later in the morning that things got exciting. As a dog care volunteer, I am supposed to take the dogs for walks, feed them, water them, play with them and just generally spend lots of time with them. The staff even say that you can take a book in a kennel with a dog and just read it to them. They say it calms them down.
I went in the kennel with a huge Great Dane mix. She is a beautiful dog and is so friendly and nice even though she's the size of a small horse. I sat in the kennel with her for a while and just petted her and talked to her. By this time the shelter had finally opened and people were coming through to look at the dogs. I had already spent some time with a few other dogs to play with them and such, so I was basically just making the rounds. I decided that I had spent enough time with this dog and moved to the kennel next to her. That kennel had a particularly annoying dog in it. It was a terrier mix that tended to like to taunt the Great Dane. I spent some time playing with her and then a man came over and started talking to me and the dog.
The Great Dane started barking then. She was tall enough to see over the concrete wall that separates the kennels. I was standing up and she was staring at me. She looked none too pleased about the fact that I was not paying attention to her anymore and had betrayed her to go be with another dog. She looked a bit agitated and her barking wound up the terrier mix. It started jumping up on the side of the wall to get a better look at the other dog and started growling at her. It quickly escalated and they began lunging at each other. Good thing there was metal wire between them. I was a little bit mortified because they were misbehaving in front of one of the potential adopters. It didn't look good. He didn't seem all that concerned with it really.
The dogs all have stickers on their kennel sheets so that the staff and volunteers know what dogs to walk. I am not allowed to walk dogs with yellow stickers because I am a new volunteer. I am only allowed to walk the ones with green stickers for now. The ones with the red stickers are the ones that nobody is allowed to walk. There are none of those yet.
The sticker on the terrier mix's kennel was yellow. I am not allowed to walk her, but I am allowed to socialize with her. When she started lunging at the Great Dane I grabbed her collar and calmly put her back down on the floor. She got the hint and stopped what she was doing, but the Dane started barking again and it started all over again. This time the man started talking to me as I was going to grab the terrier mix again. I put my arm around her front to push her off the wall and she quickly made a snap at my arm. I wasn't looking directly at her at the time, so she got me pretty good. I now have my first shelter battle scar lol. A nice big bruise and a couple of tooth sized punctures in my forearm.
I guess that's why she has a yellow sticker. She doesn't get along great with other insecure dogs. I got the feeling they were fighting for my attention, or in a protective way perhaps. I think the fact that I was there spurred them on. It likely wouldn't have happened if I wasn't there. Normally the Dane just ignores the yappy little terrier. Not this time. I don't have much experience in training dogs with aggressive behaviours, so this was a bit of a shocking experience for me. It would have been much worse if the dogs could have actually hurt each other. I've experienced that before. One of the dogs I used to own was very nervous and insecure and if he saw another dog, he would immediately go after it barking and growling and try to tear its face off. He was little though, so he didn't really cause any damage. I was just always worried he'd get himself killed. He always seemed to pick on the biggest dogs. One time he attacked a Rottweiler mix and ended up knocking one of his teeth out. It's lucky that's all that happened. I managed to separate the two before it got serious. The Rottie wasn't really interested in fighting anyway.
After I got home today I had a shower to get the smell of dog pee off me and went to a little coffee shop downtown. I had told the guy that raped me that I wanted to meet him there this afternoon. He didn't say he would, but he didn't say he wouldn't either so I decided that I would go anyway. The worst that could happen is that I would be sitting there by myself. I didn't expect him to show up, so I brought a book with me. I ordered a hot apple cider when I got there and sat down with my book. As I had predicted, he didn't show. That was OK anyway. I enjoyed my mug of apple cider quietly and read some of my book. I waited for about a half hour and then I went home.
I wasn't really disappointed. I think that was because I wasn't really expecting much anyway. I had debated whether I should even bother going, but I decided I would because I could use some "me time". It felt nice just to sit there quietly with a hot beverage and read. It was also a lot less stressful than if he had actually showed up.
I think my plan now is to go to my Dad's house tonight and stay for the night. I haven't seen him since his Birthday, which was the day before yesterday. My Birthday is the day after tomorrow, so I think it would be nice to get up to see my family before then.
Oh my life. It's so weird. Probably really mundane to everyone else, but interesting to me.
I can't wait 'till 2013 is over. It seems like it started off bad and it only got worse. I was hoping in the spring that it would get better later in the year as my depression started to clear up. It hasn't gotten better and if the past me could see what my life is like now, she'd probably have just killed herself then and gotten it over-with.
I can't believe how much has gone wrong in such a short amount of time. I guess it isn't the end of the world, but it sure feels like the end of my world sometimes. I've had a few nice little meltdowns in the last month and during those meltdowns I always feel like I should just get it over-with and die already. It feels like there is no light at the end of the tunnel. It never lasts, thank god, but it certainly tests my courage and my will to live.
I've ended up in the fetal position several times while feeling like my insides were collapsing in on themselves. Like I was gonna melt or something. Perhaps like my soul was dying a horrible painful death and I was desperately trying to hook it up to life support. I definitely spent a night lying on my living room floor clutching my knees to my chest and sobbing, but I was so dehydrated that no tears were coming out. I felt like if I were actually capable of willing myself to stand up, I'd probably try to overdose on my sleeping pills. Luckily, my weak, sad, dehydrated little self was pretty content to just stay there and stare at the beams of light that the street lamps cast on the floor.
Oh how I wished for a savior of some kind to just come and take away the pain. I even wished that my rapist would come to my apartment and murder me. Like somehow him murdering me would solve things. I felt like it would be better than what he was doing to me now without even knowing or trying.
Today it sort of felt like I was gonna have another little meltdown. I haven't been feeling great all day. I felt so depressed. It feels like my brain is in a fog. All I could think about was the guy who raped me. He texted me last week and it said:
"I don't think we should have any further communications because your allegations are completely contrary to my recollection."
That almost killed me. His first text had sounded somewhat empathetic. This one just sounds mean and it also sounds like it came from a lawyer. I would imagine he's been consulting one. After all, I did tell him that if he didn't talk to me before last Saturday, I'd take him to court. That text didn't sound like something he'd say though. It sounded too brainy and there were no spelling mistakes.
I think now that I put the pressure on him he's choosing not to admit anything in case I use it against him in court. God dammit. I hate this. All I want is for him to tell me in as much detail as possible how he felt that night and what he was thinking. All I wanted was some kind of an apology or something. Is that so much to ask? It's also funny that his response mentioned his "recollection" seeing as he told me he didn't really recall anything. Har de har har. Funny, dude.
Anyway. Today I decided, after several hours of moping around and dwelling on it, that I would get off my ass and do some house cleaning. I think it helped a bit. My place looks a bit less cluttered now which is good for my morale.
I also got a call from a clothing store manager today asking if I would come in for an interview this week. I'm excited about that. Finally I have a slight possibility of finding some work and having some money for once. I've been relying heavily on my parents to bail me out for the last month or so seeing as I was so poor that I couldn't afford groceries. I still can't afford to pay all of my bills and my rent payment is coming up. Oh my heart. I think I might as well just give up and jump in the ocean. Maybe I'll swim to Cuba or something and just hide out and forget about normal life.
My Mother kindly said that she would try to pay my rent for November seeing as there's no chance in hell that I'm actually gonna have the money that fast. She gave me some cash for groceries the other day but I didn't tell her that I'd probably be using it to pay my cell phone and internet bills instead (If it's even enough for that). Looks like i'm gonna be starving for another month. How fun it is being an adult. I wish I could just go back to being four years old again. Life was so much easier. I didn't get depressed and the only plans that got ruined were my plans to play with my toys. Now it's like all the forces in the world are focused on taking me down. It feels like the entire universe abhors my existence.
All I can do is take it one day at a time for now and try to get my life back on track. I can't wait to get past all this shit. Maybe I can start off 2014 with something going right for once.
Anyway. That's all the bitching and complaining I have for you today.
I hope your life is better than mine feels right now and congratulations for making it this far without giving up. It might just be more special than you realize :)
So this does not make me feel any better. Much of this is a very accurate desc
Rapist Types and Methods of Avoidance
Power Rapists – Goal to Humiliate
Power Reassurance (a.k.a. “gentleman rapist,” opportunity rapist, compensatory)
§ To possess, not harm
§ Feels inadequacy with women – much self-doubt
§ Restore self-confidence
§ Confirmation of manhood – ensure she enjoyed it
§ Often done in conjunction with another crime
Method of Approach
· Peeping Tom’s (to pre-select victim)
Method of Attack
· Mainly verbal
· Threat of weapon, but often without having one, and any use of weapon will be one of opportunity
· 7-15 day cycle (biological clock)
· Often socially awkward
· Reassures victim’s safety
· Will often attempt to instigate the victim to talk dirty to him, but he will rarely speak obscenely
o “I won’t hurt you, I just want sex”
o “I want you to enjoy this, I’m sorry, I want anal sex, grab the lubricant because I don’t want to hurt you too much”
o “I’m sorry I don’t know why but I had to do this, tell me if I hurt you but do as I say because if you don’t it might hurt”
o “If you cooperate I will be your boyfriend, you are beautiful”
· Attempts foreplay
· Involves victim in sexual activity
· Generally does not engage in alternate sexual practices, and if does, apologize to victim
· Often asks the victim to undress herself, like in a relationship
· Low aggression exhibited
· Does not cause unnecessary harm
· Relies on threat of weapon for compliance
Modus Operandi (MO)
· Selects victim in advance
· Victim in close proximity of rapist
· Attack for short period of time; longer with more compliance
· Contacts victim post attack
· Records attack
· Takes personal items from victim
· Often believes the experience was pleasurable for the victim
· Average education level is 10th grade
· Most often single and living with one or both parents
· Few friends and no sex partner
· Aggressive and possibly seductive mother
· Menial occupation; steady worker
· May be a transvestite, voyeuristic, exhibitionist, fetishist
· Interested in pornography
· Often unathletic and socially awkward
Methods of Avoidance
§ Will tend to terminate the rape if victim resists
§ Most likely of all rapists to be dissuaded if scream, cry, plead, or fight
§ Could be dealing with power assertive rapist starting off with softer approach – do not want to upset that rapist type
§ Start off with nonviolent tactics – crying, pleading, praying aloud – if he becomes verbally abusive, you do not have a power reassurance rapist
§ If you can attack his conscience, or his weak point, the better luck for avoiding the rape
§ Do not attempt to “talk him out of it” – he will interpret that as your enjoying it, like in a relationship – you must use more angry and shocking tactics
§ With this type of rapist, fight; although he will occasionally have a weapon, it is generally an empty threat and he will not want to deal with an overly resistant victim
Ugh. Wish I had known this beforehand.
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My last post was about how I've been getting invited out more often in the last little while. Well this one is a follow up to tell about those outings.
I had an interesting weekend to say the least. On Friday night I invited a friend over to drink with me before heading out to the bars. We got drunk and started talking about random things like evil cats. Then we headed out to one of the bars. Three of my cousins from Boston were going out too. One of them is not old enough to drink in the states, but he's old enough where I'm from. I payed his way into the bar and bought him a few drinks. I was dancing with pretty much everyone because that's how I get when I'm super drunk. I just have this notion that everyone in the world is a nice person and no one would ever want to harm me, so I invite random people to dance. It's hilarious and it's innocent enough. It usually makes for a fun night.
Well this night I stopped a guy who was trying to get past me and told him that he couldn't go past until he at least danced with me for a second. He kinda did, but then we started talking. I told him that my cousin just turned 19 and he said he'd buy him a shot, so he did. They did a shot together and my cousin thanked him about a million times for it.
I don't remember specifically how I came to be in a booth alone with this guy, but it happened. So we talked for a super long time. He told me he was 27. He showed me pictures on Facebook of his motorcycle which he seemed to be fairly proud of. Finally I went to find my cousins and he came along with me. He walked around outside with me for a while. My cousins thought he was awesome and they all wanted to take pictures with him.
I noticed a girl that was in college with me and I started talking to her. It turns out she was friends with the guy I had just met. We'll call him Andrew. When I was done chatting with her and her friends, I turned around and all of my cousins were gone. The friend who had originally come to the bar with me had left in favour of a better venue where more of his friends were partying....So in other words he ditched me. Here I was with this guy I just met and no way home.
The girl that I was in college with invited us back to her place. We went there and Andrew gave me a piggyback ride for part of the way. We went into her apartment and I sat on the couch with Andrew and rested my legs over his. A bunch of guys that I didn't know arrived then and Andrew pulled the hem of my dress down a little as if to say "this is my territory, so don't even look at her". That was ok with me I guess. I kinda thought it was cute to be honest. He didn't do it in an aggressive way. Just protective.
We hung out there for a while and joked around about stupid shit. Then Andrew got up to leave. I assumed that he was just gonna go home. I had a fleeting feeling like "holy crap, this is the second time I've been abandoned tonight". Apparently I'm just naive and I didn't get the hint. He said he would walk me home. One of the girls who was there said "Go on, get outta here" and grinned at me. That was when I kinda clued in as to what was going on.
I walked outside with Andrew and as soon as I got out the front door I fell down on my knees. I laughed and said I would stay there for a bit. I felt like a total drunken mess. I couldn't believe I just fell down. That normally doesn't happen to me.
We walked back to my place and on the way we found an old chair by the curb. He jokingly asked if I wanted to sit down. I said that I would totally sit in the chair, so I went over and sat down. He shifted me off the chair, plunked down on it and put me on his lap. We made out for a second and then he hurried me off the chair.
We got back to my apartment and I flopped down on the couch. He came over to me and took my shoes off, then he kissed me very sweetly. He asked if I had a bed. I said of course I did and I led him to my bedroom. He lay down on my bed and I kissed him again. Then I took my clothes off while he removed his and so began a very long night.
He was fairly gentle with me at first. He kissed my nipples and played with my clit. If I had been sober and slightly more horny, It would have felt amazing. I was so disappointed that I wasn't feeling it. How could I not? What kind of woman am I? He tried very hard to make me horny but it just wasn't working. He slipped his penis inside me then and it hurt like nothing I've ever felt before. (This was my first time by the way). He started to fuck me and it hurt like crazy. I told him that it was hurting me. He slowed down but didn't stop.
Sometimes he would speed up and the pain would become so bad that I would just wrap myself around him as tight as I could to hold back the little cries of pain that were threatening to slip out. Finally it was too much and I tried to push him off me. He wasn't getting the hint. He just kept going and the pain got even worse.
At that point I was wondering whether that meant he was actually kinda raping me because I so badly wanted him to stop. I couldn't tell him to stop because all that would have come out was a miserable little gurgle. I felt a swell of panic envelope me just as he pushed himself as far into me as he could get and then stopped. He pulled out and flipped onto his back. I just lay there on my side for a few seconds trying to recover a bit. He asked me if I wanted to get on top. It wasn't so much of a question as it was a firm suggestion. I didn't really want to considering everything, but I did anyway. It was hard enough to keep going when he was the one inflicting the pain. It's much harder when you know that you have the power to stop the pain yourself but you have to keep going.
Finally my sad little whimpers started to come out. I tried to make it sound a little less like an ex
Eventually he asked me if I wanted a break. I said "yes" in a very absolute tone. We went into my kitchen and he asked me for a glass of water. I got him a glass but he took it from me and put it on the counter. Then he lifted me up onto the counter and started to fuck me again. He got his drink of water while he was fucking me and I held onto him as tight as I could. It was woefully uncomfortable because he had put me right on the edge of the counter in front of the sink which made it very difficult for me not to fall backwards into the basin. Eventually I couldn't keep my balance anymore and I made him move so I could get down.
At that very moment I felt like a total failure and slightly sad and abused. I had a rush of emotion which I would partially attribute to the alcohol. I collapsed into a sad little pile on the floor and started silently crying. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my head on my knees. I apologized to Andrew for not being able to do what he wanted. I felt stupid for apologizing for that too because after all it wasn't all about what he wanted anyway.
He asked me if I was ok and I told him I wasn't. I told him I felt stupid. He picked me up by the arm pits and directed me back to the bedroom. I felt like some kind of hostage or a drunk hooker. It was an extremely demoralizing feeling.
I climbed back onto the bed and he climbed in with me. He pulled me into him and just held me there in his arms. It made me feel a bit better. He told me he liked my breasts and I made a quiet little laugh. Then he put my hand on his dick. I rubbed it for a while, but I felt like it was a bad idea for me to do that. He got back up and flipped me onto my stomach. He lifted my ass up and attempted to try anal sex. He made a few good pushes and I made him stop. As if my vagina didn't hurt enough, this hurt even worse. He didn't have any lube on and so it was extra painful.
He flipped me back onto my back and thrust himself back into me. I wrapped myself around him again. It was all I could do to keep myself from kicking him off me this time. It was worse than any of the other times. Finally he stopped and pulled out. He rubbed his dick a few times and came on my stomach. I rubbed it for him after and then put it in my mouth to clean him off. He thrust himself down my throat a few times and then let me go. He kissed me and then collapsed back onto the bed. I knew he was going to fall asleep then. I was glad. I was totally exhausted. I lay my head on his chest as he fell asleep. I stayed awake as I can never seem to sleep when I have been drinking.
I drew little lines on his body with my fingers to keep myself occupied. I listened to his heartbeat and felt the contours of his arms, the softness of his inner elbow and the roughness of his hands. He had told me that he was a steelworker. He puts together the fr
He turned on his side then and wrapped his leg around me. It felt so nice and so warm. It didn't last long. I guess he had felt my hands gliding over his skin and it turned him on. He rolled back onto his back and opened his eyes. By this time it was starting to get light outside. He had told me that he had to drive a considerable distance that day to bring some things back from an auction for his work. He had told me that he planned on getting up at 8:00. It was now around 6:30 or so. I asked him when he had to be up because I wasn't sure. He told me not to remind him and then he kissed me. His kiss was so soft and perfect it could make any girl melt.
He put my hand on his dick again and I rubbed it for him. He made sure to tell me that he was very horny. That was not really what I wanted to hear. I was afraid he would thrust himself into me again and cause me yet another round of pain. I knew though that I had sort of brought it on myself because I am well aware of how men react to having a woman's hands gently tracing lines on their body.
As I had predicted, he did try to thrust himself into me again. This time I guided him in. I felt like I just wanted to get it over with quick this time. Thank the sweet lord I got my wish. I had been bleeding fairly steadily for hours and I felt disgusting now. I had cum on my stomach and a bad taste in my mouth. I was ready for him to leave. I felt bad that I was so glad for it to be over. I wanted so badly to have enjoyed it.
I announced that I was going to go clean myself up. It was only when I went into the bathroom that I realized the extent of my bleeding. I took some toilet paper and wiped the blood from my vag and the cum off my stomach. Even that felt quite a bit better.
I got back into the bed and he kissed my nipples again and slipped two fingers into my vagina. I wanted to tell him that he'd be much better off rubbing my clit because my vagina hurt and it wasn't making me feel good at all. For some reason I held back. I was getting slightly irritated but I smiled at him. I sort of just wanted him to leave me alone now. I was developing a nice little hangover and my head had started to hurt. I felt like all of this could have been prevented if I had just had a backbone and told him the truth. I guess I was just hoping that at least one of us would enjoy themselves so it wasn't a complete waste of time. He did make a point of telling me that it felt really good while he was fucking me.
He asked me if I was even a little bit horny. I said it was hard to be horny when I was in so much pain. He chuckled and I resisted the urge to punch him. It was no laughing matter to me. I just looked at him with disdain and he kissed me again and smiled. He pulled me into him and finally I fell asleep.
I slept for a couple of hours or so and when I woke up it was around 9:30 in the morning. I awoke to Andrew getting up hurriedly and pulling on his boxers. I looked at him and made a half hearted smile. I got the feeling that he had meant to leave without waking me up but he failed miserably. He was also late for work.
He walked out into my living room. I pulled on my bathrobe and followed him. I sat on the couch with him feeling utterly miserable. Everything hurt. My head, my vag, my asshole and my abs. My mouth was dry and I honestly didn't think I could smile one more time even if you paid me a million bucks.
I asked him if he wanted some Tylenol for his head as he looked fairly miserable too and he was about to attempt to drive for 3 hours with a hangover. I felt bad for him. He refused the Tylenol and I went and took some for myself anyway along with a very large glass of water. I took a drink and then took it out and handed it to Andrew. He looked appreciative. He called a cab for himself and we waited in silence on the couch until we heard the beep of the taxi's horn. We got up then and I hugged him one last time before he hurried out the door and got in the cab.
Immediately after he was gone I went to have a bath. I felt better afterwards, but still pretty sore. I fell asleep and woke up again around 1 in the afternoon. At that point, when I finally had some time to myself and I was once again sober, I started to realize that I felt like his whore. Like I was his booty call. Then came the phase of "Oh shit we didn't use protection!" I walked down to my local pharmacy and got myself some Plan B. I am so glad that they exist. I am still not completely in the clear yet but I certainly feel quite a bit more safe than I did before.
Later that evening Andrew messaged me on Facebook to tell me that he had had a horrible drive but that he had arrived. He said he was still hung over. I felt a pang of sympathy but also a pang of resentment. I took my Plan B tablets and quickly fell asleep. I stayed asleep until around 1:00 in the morning. I woke up and I still felt disgusted with myself for letting all of this happen. I felt used. I lay awake until the wee hours of the morning fretting over it and going through all of it in my head. I felt like a silly, weak, naive little girl.
This is not my usual character either. I am usually such a cautious person. I don't usually agree to spontaneous things. I guess that's just how drunk I was. I'm not sure now whether to be mad at him or to just get over it and forget it ever happened. I can't help but to feel that he knew exactly what he was doing the whole time and abused my trust and used my naivety to get what he wanted. It was far too easy. I feel so unbelievably conflicted. It's horrible. It makes me wish none of it ever happened......Live and learn I guess.
Previous PostsJaded, posted March 11th, 2014
Lost, posted March 7th, 2014
Odd People, posted March 4th, 2014
Worthless, posted March 3rd, 2014
ER Error, posted February 26th, 2014, 1 comment
Childhood, posted February 24th, 2014
Why I Embraced Feminism After Hating the Label for so Long, posted February 24th, 2014
Medication Mayhem, posted February 23rd, 2014
The Child Inside Confession#4, posted February 23rd, 2014
Andrew, Simon, Chris, posted February 22nd, 2014
My Chocolate Man, posted February 19th, 2014
Dangerous Thoughts, posted February 17th, 2014
The Child Inside Confession#3, posted February 7th, 2014
First Post of 2014, posted February 5th, 2014
Birthday Blues, posted October 28th, 2013
Pet Antics, posted October 26th, 2013
When It's All Over, posted October 21st, 2013
Yuck, posted October 11th, 2013
A Letter To My Rapist, posted October 7th, 2013
New Experiences & Bad Experiences, posted September 23rd, 2013
What Is This?, posted September 20th, 2013
Update, posted September 17th, 2013
In My Own Little World, posted September 15th, 2013
The Bike Ordeal, posted September 15th, 2013
The Child Inside Confession #2, posted September 14th, 2013
The Child Inside Confession #1, posted September 13th, 2013
A New Plan, posted September 10th, 2013
Bad Driver, posted July 10th, 2013
Scraping By, posted June 12th, 2013
Best Friends Forever?, posted June 2nd, 2013
Just What I Needed, posted June 1st, 2013
Dancing Again, posted May 17th, 2013
Better Days?, posted May 16th, 2013
My Ex Boyfriend Story, posted May 10th, 2013
That Ugly Feel, posted May 4th, 2013
Thank a Drunk Lady, posted May 1st, 2013
Burnt Out, posted April 29th, 2013
Strangers Say Hello, posted April 26th, 2013
Strange Day, posted April 25th, 2013
Preparing For Exercise, posted April 20th, 2013
Follow up to my earlier post, posted April 17th, 2013
Looking Back Over My Blog Posts, posted April 17th, 2013
Sunny Day Blues, posted April 16th, 2013
Breakdown, posted April 3rd, 2013
Reflections, posted March 28th, 2013
Worst Day Ever!, posted March 8th, 2013
Feelin' Good, posted March 1st, 2013
The Follow Up, posted February 13th, 2013
Another Day of Thinking, posted February 11th, 2013
Snow Day, posted February 9th, 2013
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