Tonight I am going to write about some things that have happened that just
brought back old cobwebs in my head, or the things I thought should be
covered in them by now.
I went to take a shower and scrubbed my body over and over. I wanted
to get rid of something I did. Like I could scrub it off my body, and than
everything would be all-better. Memories are not dirt though you cannot scrub
them away, and I have tried. PTSD can be triggered by a memory, and suddenly
you feel like you’re out of your mind. You feel like running, and running until
you meet water and jump in. You just want it to go away and never come
back.
This winter I was able to go pick up some things from the police station. I
only picked up my camera. The officer had a list and I had to initial on each
item that I did not want it. Some of the things were not even mine. Some of
those things belonged to him. I still remember all the little paper bags
lined up in my hallway each one numbered just like they were on that list. They
numbered my trauma and categorized it like they were library books or a CD
collection. I remember the plastic light blue gloves on the Police officer as
he lined up those paper bags, and made his list on his clipboard.
I was asked if I wanted my sheets back. Seriously? I would never sleep soundly on those sheets again. I
could barely sleep on that old thin mattress for a while. Obviously my insomnia
problems are still with me. How do you sleep when each memory triggers another
of a different time, and a different place where something happened that never should?
I could of burned those sheets, but I signed off on them staying there. I
suppose they would throw them out.
I look at the sheets on my bed now. I think I hate these sheets as
well. Just a reminder of my own foolish thoughts. Just a reminder of me being
too trusting. I wonder when I put myself in someone else’s hands and its a
mistake what does that mean? Am I the fool for trusting again, or am I just a
strong enough person to not let the past keep me from trusting? I do not
know the answer really. I would like to think I am the strong one. I would like
to think a lot of things about myself though.
I have always been different, and I have always been judged and
misunderstood. I am good with that. I can live with that. No one wants to face
the truth of who I am, because than they would have to face a reality that
anyone can be abused, and anyone can be raped. So much easier to think
its my fault and leave me alone with my pain.
Now I am going to change the subject for a bit, and talk about how I am
different. I have always been a bit of a kinky girl. When I was a kid I tied up
my Barbie’s and made Ken spank them. Nobody seemed to notice that. I always
loved tying things up, and when I got breasts well I thought they were awesome!
I liked tying them up too. Just in my room when no one was looking cause
somehow despite never being given proper talks about sex I knew it was taboo,
and I would get in trouble. I did all this stuff anyways. I grew up and eventually
would become part of the BDSM scene and often would be considered a Switch. A
switch is someone who might like to be the top or the bottom. Later I found I
preferred being the bottom. I liked the control of it. Now you might think that
strange that even to this day I think you have more control as a bottom, but
you really do. When you’re the bottom or the sub (as some might say as well.)
you get to choose who you give yourself to and you can make it stop with a
word. Your giving that person your trust and letting them take the reins but
you can take it away as well. The top just gets to do what you want them to
anyways its not real control. Maybe that is why I still like it after all
I have been through.
Now back to what I was saying before about memories bringing up more
memories. I can go all the ways back to being in high school and these two boys
on the bus and myself were the only ones left. They usually just left me alone,
but this particular time one of them slid next to me and slid his hand up my
skirt, and I froze. The other boy sat on his knees in the seat in front of me
and faced me. He just watched. While the other one shoved his grubby hands
under my panties. He just watched it happen, and I just looked out the window
and tried not to think about it. They were in control. I never said yes, and I
suppose they would say I never said no.
One of my first major boyfriends was this bad boy with long dark hair and a
coke problem. He said he loved me so much that if I left him he would kill my
friends. He would hurt them. He had some issues. Some things happened between him
and me I cannot speak of due to my family. Things that link him and I forever
and ever. One time when he was tweaking away he asked me to go pick up his
stash and said the money had been taken care of so I went to go get it for him.
He did not tell me how he paid for it, because I was the payment. I am not
going to talk about what happened but the best friend I ever had came and got
me when he found out. The one I let get away.
Years passed I dated some great guys and some really abusive guys. I did a
lot of dumb things. I am going to skip over some of the abuse its not that it
did not mean anything its just not part of this story. I got married and
it did not work out. I than dated one of my great loves. During that time we
had some spats. Once after a really bad fight I went to the movies at night by
myself. I walked there, and I remember I was wearing my faux red leather jacket
I just bought. I had not any money for a long time, and recently had more and
was so happy to get something nice for myself. I saw "Memories of a
Geisha" which in a way was ironic I suppose. I walked home and was
raped on the ground. I took a short cut. I barely saw him cause it was dark but
he wore a big cowboy hat and I stared at it the whole time. That is what I do.
I find something to stare at. I never saw that jacket again cause he took
it, and the police found it and kept it for evidence. I never picked it up.
Now comes the story of that great love of mine. He made me very happy for a
few years, and than he started drinking again, and little moments of memory
seemed to be slipping his mind, which just made him angry. I was losing him,
and in his place was someone else. I broke it off with him after he ended up in
the hospital one night claiming to be suicidal. A good friend of mine had
a fight with me in the hallway of Brattleboro Memorial she screamed at the
nurse not to let him go home with me. That he would end up killing me if I stayed
with him. I was so upset at that argument that I told him to move into the
extra room. A few months later he walked around my house with a knife saying
all sorts of crazy things. The police came, and I hid in the closet while he
fought with them. What happened to the one I loved? Where did he go?
The man he became found me again a few months later and he would not let me
leave the house, and it was complicated and the Reformer (the local paper here)
got the story all screwed up. He thought we had never broke up. He thought we
could play those kinky games and he never saw me cry. He could not see. He
never heard me tell him to leave. He could not hear. He needed help. The
police came and they lined up all those little paper bags in my hallway.
I have dated since than and never found anyone much to my fancy. I slept
with a few but I did not give them that control. That was for me to give
someone. That was my prize to give away. Recently I gave it away. He did not
know how actually hard it was for me to do it or how scared I really was to do
it. I put my trust in the wrong man and I feel dirty. Not that good kind of
dirty, but more of a why did I give it away when it was mine. I could have just
had normal sex or just a normal date, but something about him made me trust
him. Something said he would never ever abuse that control. I do not think he
meant to. That does not change how I feel right now though. It does not make it
easier for me to sleep. I want it back. I want to turn back the clock and have
never given it away.
I want my control back.
