The week seems to be going downhill, in stark contrast to how happy and optimistic I felt last weekend. Granted, I think having memories of the assault triggered have put me in a funk, and I’m probably looking at this much more darkly than I should. I just want to move on and not have it affect my life anymore!
I mentioned to J. how the assault came up in conversation with L. and his email back included the sentence, “Tell me more about the assault.” So now I’m thinking, “Great, this will somehow be a strike against me. He won’t want to fool around with someone who is willing to say that someone assaulted her. He’s probably worried that one wrong move and I’d say the same thing about him.” And that’s not the case. I’ve been coerced and pressured into sex more times than I can count, but I only count one time as rape and one time as assault. Both those instances were clearly above and beyond the others. At least with pressure and coercion I made the choice to give in. There was still choice involved. With the rape and the assault, my option to choose was taken away from me.
I’m a world-class worrier, like my grandmother was, so telling me to just chill and not worry won’t work. I’m trying to stop worrying. I know I’m making this into a bigger deal than it probably is. I wish I could just put that goddamned assault behind me permanently. All that work in therapy, I seemed to be much better (hell, I’m horny as I sit here and write this - something I didn’t feel much of for a while) and now it’s come up to the surface again, like a floating mass of pond scum from the depths. I need an extra strong filter to get rid of it, asap.
I just want to be my happy-go-lucky, slutty, horny self again. I’m almost there - in some ways I’m there. But I need to get past these current hurdles.
I had a lovely date today with the Latina. We had lunch then knitted and crocheted and talked. We seem to really click and have a lot of the same philosophies. Things were going great. Then we got on the subject of sex parties, and she mentions one she’s just started going to in a particular part of the city. Oh no. I said, I hope it’s not the same party in that area that I used to go to. She named the host and I blurted out, “He assaulted me.” I explained to her what happened, and how she really needs to be careful going to those particular parties (I don’t want her to go quite frankly, but it’s not my place to tell her how to live her life). She seemed to take the situation very seriously and understood my professed anger at the perpetrator.
But still, a dark cloud settled over me. Why the fuck can’t this man stop fucking up and affecting my life? And an irrational (semi-irrational) fear settled over me - what if she doesn’t believe me? Now all signs point to the fact that she did, but after having everyone at those parties want to minimize and make excuses for what happened to me, I’m understandably panicked that that might happen again. I dealt with a bunch of people who didn’t want to make waves and possibly get themselves uninvited to a sex party, and therefore they tried to talk themselves and me out of looking at what happened. I really wish just one person would have spoken up and said that what he did was wrong. I also really wish he could have just taken responsibility for his actions and apologized, instead of going on about how it was just an “accident.” When he chose to keep hurting me after I asked him to stop, it became a matter of personal responsibility. And I’m angry that he didn’t take responsibility for it. Hell, I’m angry at what he did. I’m just really fucking angry.
I’ve emailed the Latina to ask her not to mention me to this guy, or anyone else at the parties. I don’t want to have any contact with him, no matter how indirect. I hope I never have to hear his name ever again. I also fear that her association with me could cause him to do her harm as well.
I’m frustrated that today could have been all good - after all, she gave me a couple of lovely kisses as we said goodbye - but instead has left me an upset mess. Shortly after getting home I told Davey all about it and cried.
I’m planning on deleting my old kinky librarian email address on yahoo, so I went through some old emails and contacted a few people who used to be readers. I wonder if this new blog would be of interest to former readers. Time will tell. I really liked having regular readers who appreciated my writing and sent kind emails from time to time.
Reading through the old emails (as I’m a digital packrat and there are still many in my inbox) reminded me of how much support I received after the assault a couple of years ago. That support was a tremendous help as I went through a very difficult time. Ultimately, I needed to stop blogging for a while to heal, but I really appreciated my supportive readers. Oh and if anyone still wants to kick the guy in the balls for me, I’ll gladly point you in his direction.
While I’m getting back to my old self (two years later…) and dating again (and possibly even fucking at some point in the future) I’m still haunted by the assault. I find myself reluctant to fool around with Davey sometimes, and it’s nothing to do with him and everything to do with being a little freaked out by sexual contact still. Once we get started it’s great, and I’m glad I’m at that point after a lot of hard work in therapy, but I still find myself shying away from sexual contact with men.
I hate this.
I hate that I’m still so affected by this. I hate that the dickwad who assaulted me only has karma to sort him out (hopefully). If I believed in hell, I’d hope there’s a special place in it for alcoholic assholes who ignore requests to stop hurting people. I hate that nearly two years later this is still prominent enough in my mind for me to still talk about it.
For the guy who assaulted me, and the guy who earlier on had raped me, I hope there’s a hell and that the flames are extra hot for them. Either that or they get a taste of their own medicine.
Angry? Me? Nah.
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