I watched myself in the mirror a while ago just after beginning this outrageously stupid long sexual abuse journey , standing next to Batman re-evaluating our physical appearances, you know, a healthy habit of slightly unhealthy but very cute 30 and almost 30 year old adults. Ooooh dear where on earth did that skin tag come from? Oh thats a sexy piece of flesh right there. Oh look another grey pubic hair. Fab.U.lous.
When i look at myself in the mirror i don’t recognise who that person is
Batman looks over to me and says
Good talk Batman, good talk.
My hair is short, messy and purple tinted, for now, my face; a pretty interesting face in my opinion with quite a delightfully clear complexion, although it barely feels like mine, who the fark is that? Really, who is that? My arm tattooed with a watercolour of my random favorite imagery, my breasts ever so slightly on the pancaked side from just a couple pregnancies and a small breastfeeding career, a small tattoo on my ribs that reads ‘Does Lommu Dimmu’ with a batman symbol and my belly soft with that weird little fold where it looks like i’ve had a C-section, but i haven’t. My legs lead to the small feet i have, that i also assume stopped growing when i was like 3 years old. Watching my face that day leads me to realise i am not the person i thought i was and that i have so much to learn, beyond my body, my souls vessel, there is so much more to know.
Slowly things pop up, things i never had problems with before. Im not gonna lie, i’m pretty effing tired of things just ‘Popping up’.
Sessy times* as a consenting adult in relationships or not (a well known slut, sorry not sorry, not really a slut though) has never been a problem for me and now it often begins with a back rub, or a all over body rub from Batman, it was always comfy and nice. But it’s just as my sexual abuse at 5 years old had begun and continued for years to come. Back rubs. I had never connected this to my abuse till the other day. I feel like a creep, a dirty fucking creep, as bad as the Villain.
*sessy time is sex guys… s.e.x
Are these acts as deeply connected as i fear they might be? That night, lying on a blanket while my Batman gave me a massage that was exactly the same as every other time, but this time when i closed my eyes I felt the fear, the confusion and the disgust of it, like i was there. I was there in the moments that i sometimes can’t remember or try so hard to forget. The moments that my identity was stolen and thrown into the dark.
Why now though? I’ve been sexually exploring life and other lives for like 15 years now and i have never had a problem?
I think it’s my awareness. I’m no longer shoving things deep into the depths of my teeny head and becoming heaps more gooderer at knowing alllllll the sexual abuse things.
I said to Batman “We can’t to rubs before sessy time anymore”, holding back tears as i mourned the death of a good friend. He said “Yeah it doesn’t feel right does it”. And that was that. It will be no more. It might not sound like a big deal, but this has had quite an effect on my completely rational thoughts.
The disgust in myself, my body, the shame i felt that last time we had sessy times, and my complete confusion as to why hadn’t seen it before? My mind, since i was 5 was used to my body being rubbed before sexual things happened. Till now i had enjoyed it as a grown woman, and i had not made that connection yet. Now i see what my mind and body have been doing all this time and i feel betrayed. Betrayed like that time one of my favorite characters was killed in Sons Of Anarchy. Or like that time Batman bought $101 worth of pop dolls because when you spend over $100 you get free postage.
I know it is not my fault, its his (the Villains, not Batmans, the pop dolls were entirely his choice) fault I feel this way, someone else did this to my mind and my body. And this is the result. But the turmoil it causes in my head is ridiculous. I felt like i spent yesterday grieving for my sex life.
Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend. Thank you James Blunt.
So just that one thing, makes me question the kind of person i am, who the fuck am i? I could stare into the mirror all day long and still not know who that person is. I know inside there is this ball of light, i have so much to offer, i can feel it, i just can’t reach it. Its hidden in that cave with the girl that i once was. Fucking caves.
Who would i be if she were with me all this time? Will she ever be with me? Without all this bullshit and outrageous drama who would i be?
Would i know who i was looking in that really dirty finger smeared mirror (thanks spawns). Would i know those eyes, that body and love it more? Could i?
I’ve done wonderful, delightful things with this body and mind. I still has so much to give, but i don’t feel like i’m in control of getting all that nitty gritty shit out.
I feel so mysterious…. to myself.