Archive for the ‘sex and healing’ Category

I hate uncertainty. I need clarity in all things. With that in mind, I hate even more when I allow the filters through which I was taught (brainwashed) to see the world to influence me. I know where those lenses came from. I know why I think this way. So why can’t I stop it?

While I feel free here in Israel in a way I never have before, there are times when I pause in terror of conflict or potential conflict. This includes times when I’m asked where I want to eat, whether I want to do something or not, what do I think of (blank)…

Then there are the bigger things. I’ve finally loosened up to the point where I can not only interact with others, but I’m actually having fun. And then I feel like shit for having fun. Like its so exhilarating, it must be wrong. I half expect some sort of punishment to fall on me.

Fun has come in the form of dancing mostly. This week drinking also, since I’ve realized if I’m not set out to destroy myself, it’s okay. And drinking doesn’t mean drunk. Drunks freak me out. But so do clubs.

Anyways. I avoided clubs and dancing for the longest time. My experience of going out to dance included seeing how many guys I could lure at the urging of my ex. This was when I was recently exited, and had turned down stripping jobs (as if that would have eased me out of the lifestyle. NOT). He knew all this. That’s why he got a sadistic kick out it (just like he did when I broke down crying cause I didn’t want to work anymore in any aspect of the trade). Not to mention being molested in clubs by drunks. Which my ex thought was funny.

So. Dancing. I went dancing before I left for Israel. It was a transformational experience. It had nothing to do with seduction, pretense, performance. Just feeling the music. Was amazing.

I don’t think I’d be able to go out now if I hadn’t that night. The only thing I care about is the music. No one else matters, nothing else exists, it doesn’t matter what I look like.

This is intensity. Reaching the moment where I am so overcome by the beat that I lose my Self in the moment. I dance smiling like an idiot cause it’s the greatest high.

Unfortunately, I later come back to myself. And with returning self-awareness there condemnation and doubt, even though I know there is no reason for it.

But I think to myself of the way I have gone out of my way to avoid people who party or drink in any way. Avoiding, but not judging. So why do I judge myself? What am I judging myself for? What is harmful about enjoyment?

I feel like I’m heading in the right direction, doing things I would not have been able to do months ago, even. Its amazing. And terrifying.

It’s a learning curve that feels more a twisted maze.

Advertisements

For a long time I wanted to be sexually neutral. I remember at 16 I wanted to cut my breasts off. I even have a scar above my left breast, where I dug into my skin, thinking I could cut them off by myself.

Since I was 16, I’ve used a Mirena IUD for severe pelvic pain. The thought being that without a period, there would be no reason for my pelvis to hurt.

This has been true, to an extent. I had the IUD removed when I was 18. I freaked out so badly I had it reinserted, and have kept it since.

Its one of those things I’m aware of but don’t really acknowledge: The need to remove anything that makes me a woman.

This is kinda a weird place to be in, cause I fully embrace my femininity. Yet there are times when I do not want to be female at all.

Its a trigger that’s been waiting in the background. There, and I know of it. Just the trigger and I ignore each others existence. Until, of course, I have to face it head on.

Like, when I’m sharing quarters with other women, and one of them asks me if I have a tampon. And my first instinct is to lash out violently. So while I smile apologetically and say no, I’m envisioning a bloodbath where there will no longer be anything left to mark us as women.

This could possibly be playing into my heightened awareness of what I am wearing, and my need to disappear behind clothes, and the frightening realization that its not actually possible. And the knots in my stomach twist a little more.

I tried to unsex myself before. By losing too much weight, by gaining too much weight, by trying to remove or restrain my curves, went out with my head veiled. I pierced sexual body parts multiple times in a twisted form of self-injury.

And, of course, I still don’t get my period.

Which made me wonder about my capacity to heal.

I closed my OKC profile. Closing the dating profile on POF a while back was a huge step forward for me. This time, it was just a logical step forward. Yet, when I clicked the button to delete it permanently I panicked.

There was this thought of who would know I exist? Which is about as ridiculous as my conviction in my own invisibility.

Like this need to be Seen competing with my need for anonymity. Seen, capitalized. Cause it has nothing to do with my physical visibility, has nothing to do with the skin that holds me together.

I heard a sermon about intimacy and submission to God. Many sermons, actually. And there was this automatic reaction of no effing way. Intimacy, cause it terrifies me. And submission cause.. well, I associate it with abuse and prostitution and sociopathic behaviour and kink.

Those sermons kinda clicked things together for me, once I got over my stoic freak out.

My intimacy issues have to first be resolved within and with God before I can look anywhere else. And my submissiveness can find avenues besides sex.

Which is why I shut down the profile.

Then on Sunday I found myself nodding along to a variation of no sex before marriage while wondering to myself when exactly did I start agreeing with that?

I have no idea. Cause its not so much about sex, its about recognizing myself as sacred, and being unwilling to be desecrated in any way. Which is possibly why I can’t maintain any romantic interest in anyone. I’m finally gonna pay attention to that. Message received.

So the fact I’ll be out of the country for four months is actually a really good way to take a break from men, and discover me more.

So… I am Seen. God sees me. That’s all that really matters.

I feel really sad. I’m listening to this song right now, and it’s sharpening the emotion:

While trying to gather my thoughts for this post, I thought I wouldn’t be able to articulate anything, specifically the reasons for my disquiet. I think I can though. Cause really, the only person censoring myself here is me. And what’s the point in that?

I got to experience the intense sex I’ve been wanting. With someone I actually found (find) myself liking. And this is extremely unsettling to me. I’m not used to having romantic emotions towards others. I’ve had a tendency to feed off of others feelings for me and take them on as my own (sounds horrible, I know).

And part of the problem is my fucking quietness. It’s something that is improving. But… I dunno. Maybe the fact I actually like(d) this guy magnified it. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe it was worse then I am imagining.

Ok, I’m back to listening to metal. Puts me in a better frame of mind to write this. Out of respect for your ears, I won’t link you.

Anyways, I kind of realized last night it’s not very fair to just stay silent. I have opinions and ideas about everything. But keeping my mouth shut makes me seem like an ignorant fool. I really need to comment on it to potential partners. I don’t want him/them/whatever thinking I’ll be incapable of speech always. Admittedly, my silence sometimes borders on the pathological. And the more I think about it, and pressure myself to talk, the more I shut down.

Fuck.

Like I said in a previous post. Dating is fucking confusing. Relationships, not so much. Though I’ll probably change my mind about that once I find myself in one that is healthy and functional.

A couple people mentioned waiting a couple months of knowing someone before springing the whole previously prostituted part of my past.

I agree. To an extent.

I tried being in a relationship without mentioning it. Granted, the guy was a bit close-minded and judgemental. But, it’s not just about how they will end up seeing me, perceiving me, or otherwise judging and changing their opinion of me. It’s also about me. I actually can’t get close to, or open up, if the other person doesn’t know. And then I shut down and am silent. Which effectively kills any relationship.

Last night as I lay awake, I started thinking about how it’s like admitting to having an STD, after you’ve fucked someone without protection. Deep thinker am I, at 5am. Both are fucking disturbing to hear. And can create a sense of horror in the other person.

Or worse, I’m seen purely as the sex worker. Fun to sleep with, experiment with, but not to bring home and keep by your side.

Ugh. Either way, I can’t win.

Fuck it. I’ll write more later.

I have been reading the blogs of former sex workers and sex worker survivors lately. It’s given me some food for thought when it comes to sex between two people.

I am trying to wrap my mind around this concept: sex is a pleasurable act between two consenting adults.

Let me tell you why this is such a mind-blowing concept.

I never had any boundaries concerning my person. That was taken away from me as a child. I still don’t think I fully understand the idea of consenting to something that I’ve never really had choice with. But, I’ve been thinking.

As a pro, I used to pride myself on being able to find something attractive about anyone. Even before I started whoring, actually. Just endless nights of anonymous sex with men who’s names I did not know and who did not know mine. I was trying to fuck my pain away, and it ended up getting me prepared for the brainwashing of “you’re giving it away anyways, might as well take money for it”.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the sex I used to have with my ex who almost killed me. Let’s call him J. He knew from the start I worked as an escort… He used to claim he rescued me from that life. Perhaps. I like to think not. Anyways, the sex was great. Most of the time, I was fully present. I connected. I even shed tears after cause being there was so overwhelming.

Thinking about those instances of connection and togetherness is not something I ever wanted to think about again. Mostly because of the way it ended, and the way I feel about myself now and towards men.

Now that I can think about it though… I want that connection again.

I no longer want to feel like I have to have sex with a guy cause he took me out. I no longer want to calculate how a guy is gonna treat me in bed cause of the way he walks, or talks, or looks at me, or the gestures he makes. I no longer want to feel like all I am is a vessel to be filled and discarded.

I want more worth for myself then my ability to please.

I don’t want my feelings to be swayed by the feelings or actions or words or looks of other men.

I never again want to call what I did “high class”. Because it wasn’t. Being an outcall escort didn’t protect me. Having a driver and the agencies I worked for know where I was didn’t help me. I may have survived with my body intact, but being less then human… faceless, nameless… really, a cumdump. Crude term, but apt. I was a body that could be rented. That’s all.

So back to consent.

I really have no idea what that means. My experience with J… I don’t know if it was gratitude that someone loved me and accepted me despite (a joke… he hated me as much as he “loved” me). But whatever it was, it gave me a glimpse of what is possible.

I think a lot of us with PTSD struggle with the concept of a healthy body image.

After being repeatedly degraded, sexualized or desexualized, being mocked, and condescended to, raped and beaten… I am no longer surprised to hear of eating issues, body dysmorphia, and a general lack of love for your-self.

It took me a long time to realize the correlation between my weight losses and gains and being abused. The first time I “came down” with anorexic-like behaviour, I was 15 or so, and being abused emotionally, physically, and sexually by my first serious boyfriend.

I gained weight after, and lost weight again in a similar situation. By the time I was being prostituted a couple years ago, my “bf” (read: pimp) at the time liked the fact my body was curvy and voluptuous. Instead of escaping the situation, I internalized all the cr*p he was feeding me about being “only good for one thing”, and took it out on my body, losing weight again. When I met my next bf, who “rescued” me (never trust a white knight– their armor is tarnished, as is their souls), I was down to an abnormal weight for myself. The longer I was with him and more dependent I became on the relationship, the more I hated the body he loved. I gained significant weight before the night he tried to kill me, but after that event, it was like a no-holds-barred food buffet in an attempt to stuff my emotions.

Anyways…

I didn’t start liking myself until I started spending time with myself. I realized I had to have some positive emotion towards myself in order the change the pattern. I’m still trying to figure out the mechanism that lead to change within me, so that I can share it. All I know was that after the rape three months ago, I had enough.

In conversations with one of my exes, it becomes blatantly clear to me exactly why I turned to someone who rose red flags in my mind. As sad as it sounds, he made me feel completely unwanted– like I had no value sexually.

Bizarre, how I reacted, one would think that I would welcome the change from a literal sex slave, to… unsexed companion? But I’ve finally had to admit to myself that I’m simply not in a place mentally where I can be with a man, and not be physically intimate. I feel useless. And lonely. And dirty. And convinced that if he’s not getting any from me, he is getting it elsewhere.

So as soon as I cut him out of my life (again), I turned to a guy I casually saw, and who DID see sexual value in me. Enter feelings of validation. He rose red flags through mock-hitting me, accusations of cheating, and constantly checking up on me throughout the day… But I did not count of being assaulted by him.

I digress though, this is supposed to be about body image.

I had my massage yesterday, which was interesting. It incorporated BodyTalk techniques to help release trauma from my body (the areas worked on were my back and neck and face). Some of the spots she worked on felt completely numb to me, while pain flared elsewhere, and images flashed through my mind reminding me why I was hurting there.

It is very hard to relax during a massage. I hate being seen without my clothes on, to the point where I will put of showering or changing my clothing so I don’t have to experience myself naked. Touch without alterior motives is completely foreign to me (and perhaps on of the big problems I had with the ex mentioned above).

It’s hard to admit, but it went well. It was difficult emotionally, and afterwards I could not stand the thought of being in close proximity with anyone. The thought of anyone coming up behind me has me paranoid (not unusual).

The fact that my sex drive has bounced back through healthy eating and the elimination of libido-supressing medications has me a little freaked. Part of me worries I will act out like I used to. But the fact that I have an awareness I didn’t back then, helps me realize that self-destructive behaviour is unlikely.

Sorry for the disjointed thoughts. I seem to be a bit all over the place today. I really did intend on writing a well thought out post on Body Image.

Stay Safe ❤

For the past several years it has been easier to deny my sexuality then to figure out what, exactly, went wrong with it. I feel like my trafficker damaged my sexuality on a level that as of yet, I don’t yet understand. I just know that it is not the same as it was before I met him.

But I guess I was “damaged” before then. Being trafficked was not my first time being sexually exploited. Just that the extent of the exploitation was… beyond words.

Lately I have been wondering about the type of relationship I had been in.. and how I could not have seen that it was so perverted.

I was submissive to his Dominant. I had been in other casual power exchange relationships, without being abused, so I’m still trying to figure out where it went so wrong. Actually, I know I was conned even before I met him, he had a woman con me into meeting him. I had no change to begin with.

I veered away from anything kink since then, choosing vanilla partners, or, as of recent history, no partners at all. I was suitably scared off of the lifestyle.

So why did I find myself in a female-oriented sex shop last week, looking at books on consensual power play and radical ecstasy?

Even more surprising, this was while I was on my way to my therapist, and instead of hiding my actions like I was ashamed (or flaunting them, also to hide my shame), I just came straight out and talked about it.

I feel like I’ve had a break-through of sorts — for so long I’ve held a cloak of shame because of the type of sex I used to like to participate in (I’m no longer sure, I feel like I have to rediscover that aspect of my life all over again).

Not just that, but for so long, I felt like I was the ONLY one in the BDSM community who was so severely abused. Everyone talks about “safe, sane and consensual”, but what about when it all goes wrong?

I felt like a total anomaly, even among my surviver sisters… Not only was I different because I have a tainted sexual past (the scarlet whore… whatever), but I felt like it was my fault because I had identified as a submissive (sexually)… Had I brought this on myself because of my abnormal sexual tastes?

I’ve realized a couple things in the last few weeks:

I’m not abnormal. I’ve finally been able to admit to myself what I am attracted to in power play: and that is the exchange itself. It takes so much trust to just let go, and I want to be able to do that. I like that there are rules and structure to the relationships, I like that scenes are negotiated. It makes me feel on more solid ground. It’s about being mentally secure with someone else.

I have no reason to be shamed: I was party to some interesting discussion about the Sister Wives and consensual Polyamory. I think that that is what started me thinking of my own journey. Shame was pushed on me by someone else. And that emotion keeps me tied to them. I don’t want that.

The books are… eye-opening. I am not reading them with a closed mind like I have been the last couple years. I have no judgement in my mind, against myself, or others. And so I am left with a curiosity about what I can learn about myself.

I’m just left with a vague feeling of sadness, for who I was, for me now, and for all I lost.