Post by Del on Dec 21, 2011 7:20:26 GMT -5
If you've experienced trauma in the past, sexual in nature, and have not dealt with it through a therapist, I suggest you NOT read this.
I mentioned that I am going to Thailand to HEAL and study...heal not just what china has done to my body, but also what happened to me before going to China.
In NYC, it would be called Sexual Assault. And so, I was sexually assaulted by someone I considered a friend. And I am just now being able to name it and share it: the closing parts to closure and a milestone in healing.
I've always considered myself a strong person, and still do. My desire now, is to become stronger. More aware of my inner world so that I may rely solely on that and noting more.
There is no sure way of knowing who will and who won't hurt me. But I can at least try my best to understand myself better and the world around me..the workings of minds around me...to at least be 100 steps ahead.
So, here's my story:
Part of me wishes to be told something else. That part of me is called 'Denial'. As I write my story from the beginning, I still wonder 'Why?'. I knew he wanted me; he'd said so, but I didn't want him. I too have said that much. So why? Why did he do it? Is there no trust left between humans, on this Earth? In the worlds that exist upon it, forsaken by...
It was one year after graduating from my undergrad studies. I'd been invited to joined a professional dance company, in NYC; a Middle Eastern Dance company. I was happy! I would be able to do what I loved doing. Dancing...forever, and ever...
But things began to go downhill. I'd stopped working as a substitute teacher because I refused to teach full-time and dance part-time. I despised the public school system, and so decided to engage fully in the performing arts. But it was tough. I wasn't making much money. I'd created a myspace profile, tried doing gigs, tried searching on craigslist for gigs...to no avail...
Until one day, I received a message from a guy on Myspace, asking if I'd ever thought about doing voice overs. I eventually decided to meet up with him to discuss the opportunity, and see his studio. I felt that I'd made a breakthrough. I was going to finally start making money to support myself, and get out of my mother's house. All I wanted to do was dance. I didn't want to see or hear anything that anyone else said or offered.
After seeing him the first time, I thought it odd for him to ask if I wanted a back massage. HE said he could see the tension in my shoulders, in the way I was sitting. Asked if things were stressful at home; and yes, of course they were. But still, I thought it odd. Nonetheless, I agreed. Clothes on, nothing too bad, so I kept telling myself. But deep down, I wondered why it was necessary for him to touch.
Did I tell my friends? I did. Did I listen to them? I didn't. I wanted to be told that there was help on the way. I wanted to finally be doing something right on my own. So I did take into consideration what they, my friends, would say, but I kept walking my own path.
Eventually we grew to be friends. He was knowledgeable on a lot of things, and I felt ecstatic that I'd finally found someone who truly understood me. His compliments were supportive to me - especially during the hard times of not having a job, and he being the only one not to give me hell about finding one. He seemed to be very supportive of me, just the way I was and the potential I could become.
But there was one thing that began to bother me. After re-establishing a wonderful relationship with my mother, finding a job, and developing my dance network, I began to see his tactics for what they truly were; realizing that my projection was slipping.
I began my masters program in Transpersonal Psychology and discovered a part of myself that lay hidden, waiting to be awakened. I finally saw the denial.
He would touch me: shoulder massage, back massage, and eventually my derriere and leg massage, each time I'd go see him to say hi or needed space to rant. It had gotten to the point where I didn't want to stay at his place longer than 10 minutes. It had gotten to the point where I didn't want to go to his place anymore. It was after hearing him say to me that I have to learn to give after receiving from people, that made me see that it was time to let go; after he forced me to kiss him on the cheek as we parted ways at the subway station. He said that a cheek to cheek kiss is not a way to give a friend a kiss. So he'd forced my head to turn and kiss him on the cheek. I didn't like that.
NO one forces me to do something I don't like or ask to have done. So I stopped calling. Hearing his voice made me sick.
And you know what, I told him so. That he made me sick; that he didn't know how to respect boundaries. His response was, I don't know how to give or to love.
And that was it; or so I thought.
After graduating with a Masters in Transpersonal Psychology, having lived in South Korea for one year, I thought it was a good time to go back and start an expressive arts practice.
But in California.
Things weren't going well. So I caved in and called the only person I thought would understand me. He was supportive before, despite his short-comings, so perhaps...maybe it would be better this time?
He asked why I was suddenly calling him, and I told him I needed someone to talk to. I told him, again, why I stopped speaking to him [for my reassurance]. He eventually said that he admits he wasn't right with me when I was there, and he apologized. I actually thanked him for that.
I realized that what made me so uncomfortable around him was his open sexuality; his ability to be so open about sex. It bothered me because I wasn't ready to talk about such things. And he would always push, in his own way. So I felt that the time I had alone, to explore at my own pace, and come to terms with my own sexual nature, prepared me to speak with him with that amount of distance.
He'd asked me if I ever wanted him,. I told him that I was once curious about what an intimate relationship with him would be like, but that I was never ready to pursue that. "And now?" I responded that I wasn't interested. Before it did cross my mind; now, it wasn't of interest. He'd chuckle and call me a character...something he always did.
The inevitable happened. I ended up returning to NYC. I remember visiting him once - to say hello and catch up on old times. It was also to see if I could actually handle being in a relationship with him, if I ever stayed in NYC. Cause I knew he'd push for it.
But the visit confirmed for me that I wasn't ready. Not with him. My projection of him slipped away years ago, remember? He was never the man I thought him to be.
And so, things at home became a little shaky again: pressure to find a job from mom; me dealing with me not wanting to live in NYC. So I took him up on his offer to update my computer software; but I also knew that he'd want something in return. So I prepared myself mentally for something...anything that he'd cook up. But was I really ready for it? After cultivating in myself, the sanctity of my body, could I really go through with sexual intimacy with him? No.
So I thought to myself that I'd stand my ground. I'd give him only a back massage [allow him a back massage and nothing more].
But that's not what happened:
I was on my stomach; I left my belly chain made of pearls, where I'd placed it - around my abdomen. He said it had to come off. So I reluctantly took it off.
The massage was okay, until my pants and underwear slipped to a place they should not have been. I don't recall what his reasoning was; I only shook my head.
I knew it! I didn't ask for him to touch my derriere; I didn't ask for him to remove my pants. Yet he did.
A few moments later I felt him touch me; I laid there in shock - it was in a way I was never touched before. I would have preferred for it to be a consensual exploration. I didn't want him to be the one doing it. I asked him what he was doing. He asked if anyone has ever done it before and I said no. He was surprised that I never experienced it.
The only thing that ever been near my anus was tissue to wipe it. Nothing else.
He went further and placed his mouth there. I felt disappointed at that point.
He didn't ask me... Were my thoughts. I shook my head again and stared at the fan that was near the bed.
Then I saw her, my Higher Self. She asked me if I was willing to let him inside of me. I said no. That's not something I want at all. I then began to think to myself: maybe if I can get through this, I'd be able to handle being in a relationship with him and stay in NYC, work and dance, etc, etc.
We went further.
He asked if I wanted him to stop, and I did say yes.
He continued with fingers...I remember being on my back and seeing myself in the mirror that was on the ceiling.
I began to feel sick.
I wanted to cry.
I said "no more. please."
He stopped...and then started again.
A few moments passed...I felt really sick...nausea's and disoriented. At first I tried to explain it away with the experience of orgasm. But deep down I felt so hurt and betrayed.
I kept playing it over and over in my mind and I know that I didn't say that I wanted sex. I said I wanted a back massage.
but I was concerned about my computer as well.
Ah, the give and receive clause. How could I forget that one?
He went to check on the computer because I asked him to, and I saw it as an opportunity to clean up and get dressed.
I come out of the bathroom to look at my computer myself, and there he is...naked. Disgusted...I felt so disgusted. But that's where it was going to end.
YOU ARE NOT GOING TO PUT YOURSELF INSIDE OF ME. YOU'VE ALREADY CROSSED THE LINE. THIS IS AS FAR AS YOU GO, YOU BASTARD.
I asked him, "Why are you naked?"
His response "Why are you naked?"
I didn't have the nerve to say "Because you undressed me" out loud, but I said it to myself. This helped to keep me awake.
'RaQui, you do not want him inside of you. Don't let that happen. Or you'll die..."
I could already feel a precious part of me damaged and struggling to breath, struggling to remain, to live. And I wouldn't let it die.
I began to apologize to myself int hose moments. I let this happen for software?
Nothing is worth the pain...
In those moments I didn't care if he took my computer and destroyed it. I just knew I had to leave.
I was ready to dress.
He came in and took the towel I was wearing away from me and said I shouldn't be ashamed of hiding my body. The truth was, I wasn't ashamed. I was quite proud [and still am] of it. I didn't want him touching it anymore.
He wasn't worthy of it. He had no rights to it.
But I didn't say those words. I was then afraid he'd rape me. It hadn't occurred to that I was coerced into sexual conduct that I didn't want to begin with.
I was staring at his book collection when he wrapped his arms around me, pressing himself against me. Testing, to see if I would give him any indication that I wanted him inside of me.
He'd said that I hitched my butt up in a way that he knew I wanted him to put his mouth on me. I didn't. I don't recall giving any non-verbal or verbal indication or permission to do anything of that nature.
That's what bothers me the most.
I didn't say I wanted to have sex with you. I only asked for a massage. A back massage.
Perhaps massages=sex? But I always thought consent was required?
CONSENT...i did not give.
And so he guided me back to the bed. I really didn't want to go any further. I was sick.
It was a sickness I've never felt before; but one I knew I had to pay attention to. Truly, a deep part of me was torn and in pain. I wanted to nurse it; to show it that I understood what it was telling me. I was begging it for forgiveness. I knew that I'd beg for more forgiveness when I returned to my mother's house. But for those moments, I had to focus on not being raped.
I am sure he knew that if I didn't give any indication, he'd be charged with rape. Ok, maybe that's an assumption I had, but I felt it to my very depths, the part of me already in pain. So I listened in.
I laid there, stiff and afraid. Careful not to breath too deeply, so that I don't give him any action he might misinterpret. He rubbed himself, round and round, and nudged. I didn't move.
I don't remember if he asked me a question or not, but he got off. and I was relieved. I was worried about my computer as well, but relieved he didn't penetrate me with his....
He said that at first, it was about getting into my underwear, but now, now it's totally different.
:confused:
What?
He bought me something to eat; I felt sick eating it. I felt sick when I got home. I cried as I showered. I apologized and begged my body to forgive me; my soul to forgive me for not looking deeper into what she was trying to tell me.
I wanted to believe that he would be right this time. That he'd not try to force anything. That he'd be honest this time.
I did meet with him at Starbuck's, a few days later, because he said he would help me with organizing my work, so that I may start something in NYC.
Denial...
I knew I wasn't staying; I'd apply for a job overseas. I thought if I could get over what happened, I'd be okay.
Denial...
Seeing him for the first time...I saw a man that disgusted me. Plain and icky...he touched my face and it burned. I moved away...He kept joking about taking me into the kitchen and doing something nasty.
It's something he always did. Denial...
Who was I trying to fool?
Myself...
What the hell was I doing?
Denial...
I left Starbuck's knowing that I couldn't change him. He wouldn't change unless he wanted to. I'd end up hurting myself even more if I stayed in contact.
So I sent him a text while I was at home, saying that I'd been hurt very deeply. He said he was sorry, that he didn't mean to hurt me.
[gosh, I deleted his messages. They made me sick...]
I told him I couldn't just let anyone into my body.
He got angry and defensive,
[studying psychology helped me a great deal. I truly studied it for me, so I can understand the workings of the mind...hear hear!]
said he did it out of love. That I didn't know how to love, and that one day I will see! and that he'll always love me.
I truly felt sick...
How could you think that that's what I wanted without asking me first?
Does it really hurt to ask?
If your self-esteem is low, yes. If you're afraid of the response, yes it is.
Trust me, I used to be afraid to ask, and would keep my mouth shut...when I was much, much younger.
Now-a-days, I have a hard time being tactful.... :lol:
The new mantra is: I did not consent.
I do feel better saying that to myself. So many scenarios...if I'd reported it, I could see myself breaking down and feeling ashamed.
Bottom line: I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
There. I feel a lot better.
Bad judgment on my part; shouldn't have contacted him the second time. I should have stayed home that day when my Higher Self said to me that he'd try to have sex with me [there I go, shaking my finger at me again].
I Did Not Consent [there I go, shaking the finger back].
Perhaps her warning was for me to actually open my eyes when I did. Perhaps a real danger was prevented because I listened to her. I want to say "Maybe the first part happened in order for me to see..."
I also want to say "The first part didn't have to happen. I did not consent."
So I want to say, out loud, that I did not consent to sexual conduct with that man. I consented to a back massage. I was afraid of stopping him because I was afraid of being forcibly raped, being humiliated by the police, and having to face family members.
I know this happens. I was afraid and I didn't want it to happen to me.
I'm reading posts of it happening, and I cry. It shouldn't happen. There's no reason for it to happen.
If you didn't consent, then why?
Why?
Why does it happen?
The anger, the sadness, the pain.
Does what happened to me even count? Does it matter?
Does Sexual Assault matter? Does 'not consenting' matter? Is it sexual assault?
It still hurts.
I don't ever want to hear or read that 'It's not as bad", because it is.
Pain is Pain...and just like the creative process, it cannot be measured or graded.
Pain is Pain.
An Hurt is Hurt.
That's My Story...
...Does it still count?
I mentioned that I am going to Thailand to HEAL and study...heal not just what china has done to my body, but also what happened to me before going to China.
In NYC, it would be called Sexual Assault. And so, I was sexually assaulted by someone I considered a friend. And I am just now being able to name it and share it: the closing parts to closure and a milestone in healing.
I've always considered myself a strong person, and still do. My desire now, is to become stronger. More aware of my inner world so that I may rely solely on that and noting more.
There is no sure way of knowing who will and who won't hurt me. But I can at least try my best to understand myself better and the world around me..the workings of minds around me...to at least be 100 steps ahead.
So, here's my story:
Part of me wishes to be told something else. That part of me is called 'Denial'. As I write my story from the beginning, I still wonder 'Why?'. I knew he wanted me; he'd said so, but I didn't want him. I too have said that much. So why? Why did he do it? Is there no trust left between humans, on this Earth? In the worlds that exist upon it, forsaken by...
It was one year after graduating from my undergrad studies. I'd been invited to joined a professional dance company, in NYC; a Middle Eastern Dance company. I was happy! I would be able to do what I loved doing. Dancing...forever, and ever...
But things began to go downhill. I'd stopped working as a substitute teacher because I refused to teach full-time and dance part-time. I despised the public school system, and so decided to engage fully in the performing arts. But it was tough. I wasn't making much money. I'd created a myspace profile, tried doing gigs, tried searching on craigslist for gigs...to no avail...
Until one day, I received a message from a guy on Myspace, asking if I'd ever thought about doing voice overs. I eventually decided to meet up with him to discuss the opportunity, and see his studio. I felt that I'd made a breakthrough. I was going to finally start making money to support myself, and get out of my mother's house. All I wanted to do was dance. I didn't want to see or hear anything that anyone else said or offered.
After seeing him the first time, I thought it odd for him to ask if I wanted a back massage. HE said he could see the tension in my shoulders, in the way I was sitting. Asked if things were stressful at home; and yes, of course they were. But still, I thought it odd. Nonetheless, I agreed. Clothes on, nothing too bad, so I kept telling myself. But deep down, I wondered why it was necessary for him to touch.
Did I tell my friends? I did. Did I listen to them? I didn't. I wanted to be told that there was help on the way. I wanted to finally be doing something right on my own. So I did take into consideration what they, my friends, would say, but I kept walking my own path.
Eventually we grew to be friends. He was knowledgeable on a lot of things, and I felt ecstatic that I'd finally found someone who truly understood me. His compliments were supportive to me - especially during the hard times of not having a job, and he being the only one not to give me hell about finding one. He seemed to be very supportive of me, just the way I was and the potential I could become.
But there was one thing that began to bother me. After re-establishing a wonderful relationship with my mother, finding a job, and developing my dance network, I began to see his tactics for what they truly were; realizing that my projection was slipping.
I began my masters program in Transpersonal Psychology and discovered a part of myself that lay hidden, waiting to be awakened. I finally saw the denial.
He would touch me: shoulder massage, back massage, and eventually my derriere and leg massage, each time I'd go see him to say hi or needed space to rant. It had gotten to the point where I didn't want to stay at his place longer than 10 minutes. It had gotten to the point where I didn't want to go to his place anymore. It was after hearing him say to me that I have to learn to give after receiving from people, that made me see that it was time to let go; after he forced me to kiss him on the cheek as we parted ways at the subway station. He said that a cheek to cheek kiss is not a way to give a friend a kiss. So he'd forced my head to turn and kiss him on the cheek. I didn't like that.
NO one forces me to do something I don't like or ask to have done. So I stopped calling. Hearing his voice made me sick.
And you know what, I told him so. That he made me sick; that he didn't know how to respect boundaries. His response was, I don't know how to give or to love.
And that was it; or so I thought.
After graduating with a Masters in Transpersonal Psychology, having lived in South Korea for one year, I thought it was a good time to go back and start an expressive arts practice.
But in California.
Things weren't going well. So I caved in and called the only person I thought would understand me. He was supportive before, despite his short-comings, so perhaps...maybe it would be better this time?
He asked why I was suddenly calling him, and I told him I needed someone to talk to. I told him, again, why I stopped speaking to him [for my reassurance]. He eventually said that he admits he wasn't right with me when I was there, and he apologized. I actually thanked him for that.
I realized that what made me so uncomfortable around him was his open sexuality; his ability to be so open about sex. It bothered me because I wasn't ready to talk about such things. And he would always push, in his own way. So I felt that the time I had alone, to explore at my own pace, and come to terms with my own sexual nature, prepared me to speak with him with that amount of distance.
He'd asked me if I ever wanted him,. I told him that I was once curious about what an intimate relationship with him would be like, but that I was never ready to pursue that. "And now?" I responded that I wasn't interested. Before it did cross my mind; now, it wasn't of interest. He'd chuckle and call me a character...something he always did.
The inevitable happened. I ended up returning to NYC. I remember visiting him once - to say hello and catch up on old times. It was also to see if I could actually handle being in a relationship with him, if I ever stayed in NYC. Cause I knew he'd push for it.
But the visit confirmed for me that I wasn't ready. Not with him. My projection of him slipped away years ago, remember? He was never the man I thought him to be.
And so, things at home became a little shaky again: pressure to find a job from mom; me dealing with me not wanting to live in NYC. So I took him up on his offer to update my computer software; but I also knew that he'd want something in return. So I prepared myself mentally for something...anything that he'd cook up. But was I really ready for it? After cultivating in myself, the sanctity of my body, could I really go through with sexual intimacy with him? No.
So I thought to myself that I'd stand my ground. I'd give him only a back massage [allow him a back massage and nothing more].
But that's not what happened:
I was on my stomach; I left my belly chain made of pearls, where I'd placed it - around my abdomen. He said it had to come off. So I reluctantly took it off.
The massage was okay, until my pants and underwear slipped to a place they should not have been. I don't recall what his reasoning was; I only shook my head.
I knew it! I didn't ask for him to touch my derriere; I didn't ask for him to remove my pants. Yet he did.
A few moments later I felt him touch me; I laid there in shock - it was in a way I was never touched before. I would have preferred for it to be a consensual exploration. I didn't want him to be the one doing it. I asked him what he was doing. He asked if anyone has ever done it before and I said no. He was surprised that I never experienced it.
The only thing that ever been near my anus was tissue to wipe it. Nothing else.
He went further and placed his mouth there. I felt disappointed at that point.
He didn't ask me... Were my thoughts. I shook my head again and stared at the fan that was near the bed.
Then I saw her, my Higher Self. She asked me if I was willing to let him inside of me. I said no. That's not something I want at all. I then began to think to myself: maybe if I can get through this, I'd be able to handle being in a relationship with him and stay in NYC, work and dance, etc, etc.
We went further.
He asked if I wanted him to stop, and I did say yes.
He continued with fingers...I remember being on my back and seeing myself in the mirror that was on the ceiling.
I began to feel sick.
I wanted to cry.
I said "no more. please."
He stopped...and then started again.
A few moments passed...I felt really sick...nausea's and disoriented. At first I tried to explain it away with the experience of orgasm. But deep down I felt so hurt and betrayed.
I kept playing it over and over in my mind and I know that I didn't say that I wanted sex. I said I wanted a back massage.
but I was concerned about my computer as well.
Ah, the give and receive clause. How could I forget that one?
He went to check on the computer because I asked him to, and I saw it as an opportunity to clean up and get dressed.
I come out of the bathroom to look at my computer myself, and there he is...naked. Disgusted...I felt so disgusted. But that's where it was going to end.
YOU ARE NOT GOING TO PUT YOURSELF INSIDE OF ME. YOU'VE ALREADY CROSSED THE LINE. THIS IS AS FAR AS YOU GO, YOU BASTARD.
I asked him, "Why are you naked?"
His response "Why are you naked?"
I didn't have the nerve to say "Because you undressed me" out loud, but I said it to myself. This helped to keep me awake.
'RaQui, you do not want him inside of you. Don't let that happen. Or you'll die..."
I could already feel a precious part of me damaged and struggling to breath, struggling to remain, to live. And I wouldn't let it die.
I began to apologize to myself int hose moments. I let this happen for software?
Nothing is worth the pain...
In those moments I didn't care if he took my computer and destroyed it. I just knew I had to leave.
I was ready to dress.
He came in and took the towel I was wearing away from me and said I shouldn't be ashamed of hiding my body. The truth was, I wasn't ashamed. I was quite proud [and still am] of it. I didn't want him touching it anymore.
He wasn't worthy of it. He had no rights to it.
But I didn't say those words. I was then afraid he'd rape me. It hadn't occurred to that I was coerced into sexual conduct that I didn't want to begin with.
I was staring at his book collection when he wrapped his arms around me, pressing himself against me. Testing, to see if I would give him any indication that I wanted him inside of me.
He'd said that I hitched my butt up in a way that he knew I wanted him to put his mouth on me. I didn't. I don't recall giving any non-verbal or verbal indication or permission to do anything of that nature.
That's what bothers me the most.
I didn't say I wanted to have sex with you. I only asked for a massage. A back massage.
Perhaps massages=sex? But I always thought consent was required?
CONSENT...i did not give.
And so he guided me back to the bed. I really didn't want to go any further. I was sick.
It was a sickness I've never felt before; but one I knew I had to pay attention to. Truly, a deep part of me was torn and in pain. I wanted to nurse it; to show it that I understood what it was telling me. I was begging it for forgiveness. I knew that I'd beg for more forgiveness when I returned to my mother's house. But for those moments, I had to focus on not being raped.
I am sure he knew that if I didn't give any indication, he'd be charged with rape. Ok, maybe that's an assumption I had, but I felt it to my very depths, the part of me already in pain. So I listened in.
I laid there, stiff and afraid. Careful not to breath too deeply, so that I don't give him any action he might misinterpret. He rubbed himself, round and round, and nudged. I didn't move.
I don't remember if he asked me a question or not, but he got off. and I was relieved. I was worried about my computer as well, but relieved he didn't penetrate me with his....
He said that at first, it was about getting into my underwear, but now, now it's totally different.
:confused:
What?
He bought me something to eat; I felt sick eating it. I felt sick when I got home. I cried as I showered. I apologized and begged my body to forgive me; my soul to forgive me for not looking deeper into what she was trying to tell me.
I wanted to believe that he would be right this time. That he'd not try to force anything. That he'd be honest this time.
I did meet with him at Starbuck's, a few days later, because he said he would help me with organizing my work, so that I may start something in NYC.
Denial...
I knew I wasn't staying; I'd apply for a job overseas. I thought if I could get over what happened, I'd be okay.
Denial...
Seeing him for the first time...I saw a man that disgusted me. Plain and icky...he touched my face and it burned. I moved away...He kept joking about taking me into the kitchen and doing something nasty.
It's something he always did. Denial...
Who was I trying to fool?
Myself...
What the hell was I doing?
Denial...
I left Starbuck's knowing that I couldn't change him. He wouldn't change unless he wanted to. I'd end up hurting myself even more if I stayed in contact.
So I sent him a text while I was at home, saying that I'd been hurt very deeply. He said he was sorry, that he didn't mean to hurt me.
[gosh, I deleted his messages. They made me sick...]
I told him I couldn't just let anyone into my body.
He got angry and defensive,
[studying psychology helped me a great deal. I truly studied it for me, so I can understand the workings of the mind...hear hear!]
said he did it out of love. That I didn't know how to love, and that one day I will see! and that he'll always love me.
I truly felt sick...
How could you think that that's what I wanted without asking me first?
Does it really hurt to ask?
If your self-esteem is low, yes. If you're afraid of the response, yes it is.
Trust me, I used to be afraid to ask, and would keep my mouth shut...when I was much, much younger.
Now-a-days, I have a hard time being tactful.... :lol:
The new mantra is: I did not consent.
I do feel better saying that to myself. So many scenarios...if I'd reported it, I could see myself breaking down and feeling ashamed.
Bottom line: I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
I did not consent.
There. I feel a lot better.
Bad judgment on my part; shouldn't have contacted him the second time. I should have stayed home that day when my Higher Self said to me that he'd try to have sex with me [there I go, shaking my finger at me again].
I Did Not Consent [there I go, shaking the finger back].
Perhaps her warning was for me to actually open my eyes when I did. Perhaps a real danger was prevented because I listened to her. I want to say "Maybe the first part happened in order for me to see..."
I also want to say "The first part didn't have to happen. I did not consent."
So I want to say, out loud, that I did not consent to sexual conduct with that man. I consented to a back massage. I was afraid of stopping him because I was afraid of being forcibly raped, being humiliated by the police, and having to face family members.
I know this happens. I was afraid and I didn't want it to happen to me.
I'm reading posts of it happening, and I cry. It shouldn't happen. There's no reason for it to happen.
If you didn't consent, then why?
Why?
Why does it happen?
The anger, the sadness, the pain.
Does what happened to me even count? Does it matter?
Does Sexual Assault matter? Does 'not consenting' matter? Is it sexual assault?
It still hurts.
I don't ever want to hear or read that 'It's not as bad", because it is.
Pain is Pain...and just like the creative process, it cannot be measured or graded.
Pain is Pain.
An Hurt is Hurt.
That's My Story...
...Does it still count?