Shower, hot scalding water, hunched over crying. How did I end up in this bathroom? Looking up at the ceiling I’m searching for the answer my eyes are darting around and I’m lost. Confused, where am I? Fast forward. Floating. I must be floating up the stone stairs and I see you staring at me through the sunlight. Fear and guilt grip my heart our eyes meet and you know I’ll never tell. Never tell, never tell, I promise.
When I was a little girl around ten years old I was molested by a monster. From the minute he put his hand on me I was changed, I was different. He took my voice and because of him I was afraid to say no. Because of that monster I let every man touch me. At ten I wasn’t innocent anymore. And if I could, I would scrape away his hand prints from me.
He took the control right out of my hands, he took the love I had for myself and made it his own. All I ever wanted was closure and I searched in everybody for it but I could not find it. I was insecure and I couldn’t understand why. I felt worthless and I couldn’t understand why. He made me feel ugly. He was a parasite living inside of me making me sick.
I didn’t just fall onto some random guys dick, I had sex for the first time because I was curious, and because my teenage brain thought that it was the magic dance that would make some man love me. It was in a van and it was far romantic. I remember screaming stop in my head but I could not get the words out. I remember watching myself get jerked around like a rag doll on a sharp, emotionless knife.
Sexual abuse allowed me to disconnect and disassociate during my casual sex encounters. I wasn’t there, that wasn’t really me sleeping with all those men. Because I wasn’t there emotionally during sex, I felt nothing for those men. They meant nothing to me. I was in control, I was the sexual aggressor, by not saying no they couldn’t force me into doing anything I didn’t want to.
I said no once. I said it to that monster. But he didn’t listen. So I thought what’s the point with saying no ? I told him he wasn’t supposed to but he touched me anyways, and I don’t remember what happened after that, and even now I don’t think I want to.
Sexual abuse objectifies the child. The abuser dissects and dismembers that child’s body. It is a selfish act, it is about the physical and mental gratification of the abuser.
Casual sex is selfish. It is about self-gratification. It’s all about your vagina and how good his penis feels to you. It’s about you having sex for you, for whatever reason you want to. Do not have casual sex if you are doing it to please the man, to make the man happy, to make the man love you or like you, or because the man wants you to, if the sex is not about you then you won’t be happy with the end result.
My story is not does not speak for every woman. Not every woman who has been raped, or molested engages in casual sex. For me, that was just what I ended up doing, it was my way of trying to resolve the confusion in my mind. Sex was my escape, I could use it to get things, it was my band aid, and my medication. Only, sleeping around made it worse. Here I was, saying yes, but thinking no, and feeling disgusted at them and at me afterward.
For the women that have suffered through any type of sexual abuse, casual sex is not the answer.Sex is not the medication that will make your mind right. Sex will not erase the memories about what happened to you. Casual sex may just make it worse.
There is help available. Always remember that you are a precious jewel, you, no matter your sexual experience are loved and worth loving.
I found this blog inspirational and helpful : http://littlegirlintherain.com/