Sex….

So what is it that shapes our desires and our needs? Do our very earliest sexual experiences change how we develop? I think it is clear, as I told Beatrice today, the architecture of my sexual world was so skewed, so out of whack, it surely changed me. Whether it be the early abuse at the hands of my brother, or any of the other incidents that rocked my world. It scares me to even think about how deeply those scars go. It is hard enough to accept and move on from one episode of abuse or rape. How does one move on from so many? I seem to have found my way. Somehow, through all of this- here I am. But am I okay? Do my deep desires for violence and intimidation combined with sex cast doubt on that? Is that okay? I have always just accepted it. Never once thought I should change it.

It is pretty clear to me my mind has found a way to integrate that abuse, all of it, into my sexuality. I think a lot of people are aroused by fear, not all of them abused. It is an odd contradiction. How could something so terrifying be exciting? How could a person that has been raped view a porno film staged to look and sound like rape and get off on it? Is that odd? I don’t know what makes my mind work the way it does. I know our sexual tastes and desires stem from a very deep part of ourselves. Often times arriving unasked for and unannounced. For me it is much like someone flipping a switch. It either happens or it doesn’t. Why does another’s apparent fear and agony flip that switch? I don’t have an answer. It is easy to fall prey to the thought that it is “wrong” or “bad”. I don’t think of it like that. I don’t think I can expect my sexuality and its features to be “normal”. Where was normal? There was no normal, just that awful line of one disgusting episode after another. The timeline is heinous- but it was most intense as I was just on the edge of puberty. There in the dawn of my own sexual development I was violated. Both the abuse and ultimately sodomy by an acquaintance, and the rape at the hands of my brother.

I knew nothing of sex, beyond the porn my father watched. It was fascinating. I was in the dark, so to speak. But I knew what drew me in. Walking that edge, flirting with danger. I knew full well I should not have been trusting with the guy from the barn. I knew I should leave it alone, but I went with him. I let him do to me what he wanted. It wasn’t there in the “programming” to pull back and run away. I liked the fear, and the pain. It was alright, it gave me the feeling of being alive. I knew what he had done to me was wrong- every bone in my body knew. It is etched in the back of my mind. Me, as a young girl alone in the bathroom. Sitting knees drawn up watching the blood drop into the toilet. I was afraid, but I was alive. As the sensation of his fullness slowly evaporated, and the blood stopped dripping, my only thought was when can I do that again. Hurt me, harm me, hurt me, harm me, I have a purpose, I have a use. It is okay. I was so alone, desperately looking for something, anything. I wanted to die, but i found something that night. I found a spark. It was there, somewhere in the abyss. I know there is a time to run for safety. For whatever reason I didn’t. What safety was there to run to? It was a family in pieces, no safety in sight. I did not ask for what he did to me, but I let him do it. It happened, and it shaped me. Just as the incident with my brother did. So the question remains was there something there in me, something drawn to that fear and pain. Was there a fault in the programming? When I should have been running was I waiting?

When I walk down that path of memories, of each awful incident, I have to stop and wonder. How did I end up there? What is there in me that allowed me to become a victim? Not once, not twice….so, is it a fault in my ability to read the situation? Was I not seeing the danger? Was there something readable to others that pegged me as easy prey? or was it just bad luck? There are so many thoughts that go along with that. I am not talking about “asking for it”. Not like that, not in such a blatant way. I am more thinking along the lines of unspoken language, whether it be a look or a gesture. This goes both ways. Both sides. I know with the guy in HS I led him there, I just didn’t know he wasn’t going to back down. I misread what signals he was giving me. So, when I say I didn’t ask for it, I mean that, but I do know that it was me who went into a dark room with him. It was my handcuffs that bound us together. As I wrote about yesterday, I was trying so very hard to act the part, and fit in. I can’t help but sense this deeper part of me was looking for that powerlessness and that fear. I know, that paints a different picture. Not one I like to think about, but I know what lies there at the heart of my sexuality. Was I looking for that terror? It is just a question, not an answer. Flipping forward to the hospital and Stewart. He was reading something in me, or maybe he sensed a weakness. As I walk back in time and play that track in my mind, I was edgy and angry. I wasn’t reading the situation I was in. Those were unchartered waters. I don’t feel I led him in, not in a way I can put my finger on. I guess what stands out is multiple times prior to him coming to me that night was his constant attempts to come into my space. He was testing, and I had no idea. Another warning bell should have been going off. He was not alone in his pursuit. So, was I being pegged as someone to hurt? In hindsight, probably. That is where that programming, that danger signal in my brain just didn’t work. I’m not saying any of this was my fault. Far from it, but something is amiss up there. If at first approach I had turned away his advances he probably never would have come into my room. But that is done, and like I have said before, I survived. But it has changed me. Not just in terms of sexual turn ons, but in terms of vigilance. From a place of ignorance and oblivion to one of hyper awareness. I constantly read the people in my environment, not just what they look like, or what they are saying. It goes well beyond that. Far deeper into the subtle nuances of expression and stance. It was an education learned the hard way. Despite my arousal by fear, and my endless fantasies about violence, I don’t want to be a victim again. Far too many instances in my not so long life. I think I have come to understand much about how it shaped me, and I also know how it makes me vulnerable. Hence the vigilance.

So, for some it is just sex. For me it is much more than that. With it comes years of experiences, both good and bad. I know what makes me excited, and I know it isn’t what many people like. Most of all my partner. Is there a way to somehow bridge that gap? Is there a way to “feel it” without it having to be so out there on the edge? There are so many questions out there, so much to figure out. But it is late, and this will have to wait for another entry…..

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