Posts Tagged ‘sex after abuse’

That feeling where if one more person touches you, you will totally lose it. And likely indulge in the castration fantasy you’ve been harboring for years.

That feeling where you’ve been totally deceived and mind fucked by someone who actually freely admitted to enjoy playing psychological games.

That feeling where you want to scrub your skin off and decontaminate yourself.

That feeling where you wonder how the fuck to conduct yourself “properly” with a man. And then wonder what the fuck is “proper”?

That feeling of jealously towards previously abused women who truly have no need or desire for male companionship. And the wonder of how the fuck do they do it? And how can I also?

That feeling of despair when you want to vent to someone. And realize you have no one to call.

That feeling of wanting to scream and shout and pound something into submission. And the realization that you have a complete inability to let loose.

That feeling of having been in an awesome place. And the awful feeling of having (temporarily) fallen.

That feeling of wanting normalcy. And having no fucking clue how to get it. Or what it would look like. Or how to sustain it.

That feeling of anger. Where you realize the past isn’t some figment of the imagination. Where you know it’s not totally separate from who you are now.

That feeling of utter despair. Where you think of how easy it would be to ease back into self-destructive patterns. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to do it. And having no idea how to feel about that.

That feeling of impatience. Of having to wait. And wait, for the brooding to be over with.

Fuck theme music. Read this in deafening silence.


Is it possible to reclaim a sense of intimacy once you’ve been abused?

And what about when you have been sexualized since childhood in violence?

I have never been intimate with anybody, ever. I’ve had plenty of partners, and plenty of sex, but nothing with an emotional connection.

I would even go so far as to leave any man who seemed too connected to me.

That seemed to change when I met the abuser who ultimately tried to kill me… My emotions got involved, but still, I would dissociate and simply go through the motions.

Now that I am finally single I’ve had a lot of time to think all of this through. I’ve decided to be celibate for the time being, and do some work on myself before I try to connect with someone else on any sort of “intimate” level.

Honestly, I do not even know what I like, or whom I like sexually. As I was sexualized in violence, that is what I reenacted time and time again as an adult. But I’ve realized that I don’t think that’s what I want. Nor I am completely certain I am straight. How would I know for sure, if I am not even capable of saying no or expressing what I like sexually. And what do I like, anyways?

In many ways, I have taken my power back and changed my life for the better. Yet this is one hurdle I cannot seem to jump over.

I tend to go through cycles where I cannot stand the thought of being touched or touching someone else in any capacity. And the thought of being intimately close with a man leaves me nauseated and anxious. I tend to forget that men are capable of feelings, even though some of my dearest friends are men (my mind simply has decided they are more “human”…)

Most importantly, how do you cultivate a sense of safety while being intimate? Sex is the closest you can possibly get to someone, and about the furthest I get to a person emotionally. Sex was the weapon used against me as a child, a teen, and an adult. Even sex with “good guys” is spoiled, because all that is in my mind is a sense of violation and going through the motions. So how could I ever feel safe?

I’m not quite ready to talk about this in therapy (yes, I do see the irony in talking about it to the world and their mother on the net), so I went searching for the perfect book to suit my needs.

A book for survivors that talked openly and honestly about discovering intimacy. I found a book called Healing Sex: A Mind-Body Approach to Healing Sexual Trauma by Staci Haines.

I have only just begun the book, but it seems like it has some really good advice, more then the standard “sex is normal and good” that I seem to read in survival books.

When you are so disconnected to your own body that you forget you possess one, what do you do?

But also, how do you find a partner willing to be patient enough to work through these issues together with you?

I will continue on this vein as I get more into the book.