Saturday, November 14, 2015

Sex and Pussy; The Final Chapter

This next part shaped how I defined my sexual behavior to date, and how I would view it in the future. I warn you, it deals with sexual abuse, specifically, my father. I had remembered the first part and consoled myself it had stopped with oral sex; it had stopped at age six because my grandfather put a stop to it. I could go into all the reasons I pieced this story line together, but it comes down to one thing; I needed to believe someone had saved that precious little six year old girl. I needed to believe my childhood wasn't a nightmare. The recurring dream/memory of the devil beside my bed was a frequent night terror. It bothered me I couldn't remember much of my life but I had come to accept this was how it was.   I kept wondering why I couldn't remember though. It bugged me and I tried to find the answers in family pictures. All I saw in pictures was the members in my family who sexually assaulted me. My father wasn't the only one, but he certainly carried the most influence when you talk about shaping sexuality and relationships toward men. I couldn't find any memories when I stared into the pictures. All I saw in them was pain. I wanted to remember, but you can't make the mind accept what it isn't ready to acknowledge.  

I can't remember what day it came flooding back, but I remember where I was and what I was doing. I was in the basement of the marital home getting laundry out of the laundry chute. I don’t know what I was thinking, but suddenly the light bulb became illuminated in my mindI don't know why I didn't see it before, why I didn't put the pieces together. There never was a devil beside my bed, the devil had always been my father. As the shock of this new realization wore off, I saw my mind shattered like a fragmented mirror. I saw my father come out of the shadows of nightfall, his face falling into eyes of my six year old self. I saw the evil smile he always had when he was about to assault me, I smelled the stink of beer on his hot breath. I felt his hands jerk my legs together, squeezing them tight. I closed my eyes as I heard the zipper on his pants and I squeezed my eyes tighter and tighter when he pulled down my panties and stuck his penis in between my legs. He never penetrated me, I guess some pedophiles have their limits. Maybe he justified what he was doing because it wasn’t technically sex. Who knows what goes on in the mind of someone so damaged they have to extinguish the spirit of another human being, particularly that of a child. I can't say I remember the rest. I believe that's when I checked out of myself, why I thought I had fallen asleep after the devil approached my bed. Now I knew why a larger part of my memory began when I got my period. He stopped at the point when I was physically able to become pregnant. Every shattered piece of my memory was being put back together and my life was making sense. I had my memory back and it nearly destroyed me.   

The magnitude of what I remembered ripped through my soul. I couldn't stand. I fell into a heap on the basement floor, screaming, crying, sobbing harder than I ever had in my entire life. No one had saved me. I endured my father's assaults for years on end. He stole my precious memories, stole my innocence and set me up for a string of promiscuous encounters, so fractured I would have sex as a poor substitute for the approval of a man.  I wasn't anything unless a man wanted me, desired me for sex. I had no sense of self outside of sex and spent most of my life wondering why, trying to claim some sliver of self esteem, some independence from the approval of men. I degraded myself for an approval that never came. Nothing filled the void my father left.  

I have never been as shattered as I was that night. I truly did not think I would survive it, and I almost didn't. I don't know how long I lay on the cold floor, it was Christmas time and the cement chilled my bones but I didn't pay it any attention. After I had spent my grief, I picked myself up and went to bed. The next days were a blur. I tried to keep it together for the holidays and I couldn't. I attempted suicide. I was completely and utterly broken. I was devastated at the length of time the abuse went on, I was crushed the people around me didn't protect me and I was in awe I had hidden it from myself for so long. My mind was trying to tell me, but I couldn't comprehend what had actually taken placeWhat I had remembered prior was bad enough. All those years of night terrors about the devil and I never put the pieces together. All those years I spent in pain, struggling with depression, all those years feeling empty and worthless culminated to this moment. I was so very lost, so alone and there didn't seem to be a way out. Not even my children were a comfort to me. All they saw was their mother in pieces, and not understanding what was happening to me they rejected me for ruining their Christmas. They blame me to this day, but I never don't think I ever told them why I tried to kill myself or what was happening during that time. I felt betrayed by them because they responded to my pain with anger instead of compassion. They wouldn't talk to me for a long time after that. 

It took a long long time to come back from the memory returning, from the rejection of my children and to come to terms with my childhood. I stopped dating, and lost all interest in men. I quit flirting, and did all I could to become unattractive and invisible. Sex was the last thing on my mind and I chose to become asexual. I wrapped myself up in work to avoid dating. I thought I had finally come to a comfortable place in my life with sex and men when my world spun out of control with the return of my memory. I no longer felt comfortable with sex or sexuality. I became celibate. I wanted nothing to do with men or sex. This went on for some years. I acted like men didn't exist. If men flirted with me, I didn't notice. I coexisted with them in a professional capacity, but I made no effort to socialize with them. 

I healed, eventually.  I'm glad my memory returned, as painful as it was. There had been an empty space deep in my heart, my soul had been splintered and I didn't know why or how to fill it. The return of my memory closed that hole. It didn't happen overnight, but gradually, bit by bit. I don't have night terrors any longer and the devil doesn't torture me. I haven't seen him since. I tried to have casual sex, knowing I was in no place for a relationship but I simply wasn't interested. It felt mechanical, something I was doing because it seemed like the thing to do. The passion was gone. I had no desire to repeat the performance. 

I've had one short term relationship since then, and it was a relationship I knew would not last. It has been more than a decade since the memory returned and I remain celibate for the most part. I still desire sex, and masturbate frequently but I have no desire to seek out a relationship with a man. I remain hopeful that a man will enter my life to break through the walls I have in place, but I know it would have to begin as a friendship. I can't think of men in terms of relationships or sex any longer, it is too frightening even now.  Healing isn't recovery. I don't think people can recover from something like this. The scars run too deep, the damage irreversible.    

I think I have some to a place where I have the healthiest attitude about sex than I ever have possessed. I know who I am, what I want, what I expect and that I am no longer willing to trade it to fill some void left within myself. Even though I am celibate, I watch the evolution of sexuality in our society with great interest. Through this, I came to understand I am most likely bisexual, but because of religion and societal expectations I will never realize it in any real form. I have let go of preconceived judgments regarding sex and have come to see sexuality as fluid rather than set within a narrow range of parameters. I've learned there are many reasons to have sex, all of which are valid and there are reasons not to have sex. I am happy being celibate, but I do miss intimacy. I know I don't want to go back to casual sex, but I'm not sure I can deal with a relationship. I will always hold out hope for a kind, gentle soul to enter into my life, someone I can share a life with and build a future, but if it never happens I can still be happy. Despite what I have remembered, I am at peace with it. I spent most of my life trying to define what sexuality was, what place sex had in my life and how to use it as an extension of myself only to come to a place where it isn't important anymore. I don't have to spend any more time searching for myself. I was here all along. 

Several things influenced the dark and hidden subject of sex and pussy. My sheltered and abusive childhood, religion, faulty sex education in high school, the shame of having a period, of being a woman. There were the expectations of being a wife and mother in a patriarchal marriage which defined what "good" wives do to service their husbands. I learned what it was to be raped and I learned I sometimes had sex out of fear instead of true desire. I have learned a lot about what consent truly means and I understand there were times I had not given consent, but rather I gave in to pressure or expectations. It wasn't rape, but it wasn't consent either. Having actually been raped, I understood the difference. I have learned some people may be born to a strict definition of sexuality such as being straight or gay, but I suspect the mass majority of us are bisexual as I see a fluidity in sexuality. Had we not all been oppressed by damaging views of sex, we might express ourselves with greater freedom. I believe the vast majority of humans see some shame in being attracted to the same sex, so we do not admit the truth even to ourselves. Being bisexual is different than being gay, and I think people confuse the two and carry with them a secret shame they might be gay. I am not a lesbian. I prefer sex with men, but I did have a threesome once which involved another woman. I didn't have sex with her, but there was some degree of sexual play within that encounter. I have come to understand we were created to be sexual creatures and heaping shame into sex does us all a great disservice. There are all kinds of sexual expression, and if done between consenting adults there is nothing wrong with any type of it. Just because S & M and bondage aren't in my playlist, doesn't mean the people who enjoy it are doing anything deviant.  

Sex is expansive and we have not cracked the surface of what drives us and in determining who we are attracted to but our first influence in developing sexuality and attraction lies within our childhood, determined by our parents. I spent years acting out the abuse from childhood, not understanding what it was I was pursuing or what void I was trying to fill. A woman's self esteem is a major component in determining how much she will assert herself during sex, and also determines how she feels about exposing her body to another person. Sex doesn't begin and end with our genitals. It begins at birth and if we live a full life it never ends. I don't believe sex has ended for me, but it has taken a rather lengthy time out. I don't have issues I need to play out with sex. I'm not sure what the future holds for my sexuality personally, but I remain willing to explore it with someone I care about. It has been an epic journey of discovery, and learning to let go of the shame surrounding being a sexual woman. I gave up the myth of my golden pussy and it allowed me to understand sex through wiser eyes. That single understanding alone gave me permission to let go of shame, and ended the confusion and disappointment I felt if I guy didn't call me again. It wasn't me, it was him.  

Everyone's journey through sex will be different from mine but we all explore sex with some type of baggage. We all carry some degree of guilt or shame at least for some periods throughout our lives. It's what religion and faulty sex education instills into us. My journey is still being written, but after five decades I can say I have finally come to a place where I understand myself and my sexuality with a clarity I could not have achieved had I not went in search of answers. Getting my memory back nearly destroyed me, but it didn't. It explained my sexual behavior and why I felt empty with some of my encounters. While I am satisfied with my sexuality and expression at long last, I know there are few rules and limitations with sex. For now, celibacy is what I enjoy and that it is also nothing to be ashamed of. It is rather poetic I have come full circle. I have gone from searching for my value in sex, to finding I have value without it.  This is the perfect ending to my journey for now.   

2 comments:

  1. Thank you for sharing your story with us, you are an amazing lady

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I am so glad you enjoyed it and thanks!

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