Part One of something not particularly full of inspiration.
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I've been reading journals again.
Somewhere in the reading I came across an arguement between two people regarding rape and sexual abuse. Person A had written something mentioning she had been abused at a young age, and a few paragraphs later mentioning that she was kinda horny and looking forward to 'playing' with her boyfriend. Person B was shocked at this and posted saying that Person A must be either lying, or making a very bad joke, because anyone who had been raped wouldn't be horny and wouldn't want to have sex with a boyfriend if they even HAD one. They went back and forth for a while, Person A explaining that she had gotten over it, that she thought it was healthy to be able to finally put it behind her and enjoy her boyfriend's company, Person B continuing to insist she's lying about either the rape or her current feelings, just for attention or something.
I've had similar conversations a few times with people, mostly with the horrible excuses for therapists my mother sent me to when I was younger. Until we found Kate, I'd been nearly convinced that there were no sane therapists in existance, because all the ones I'd gotten dragged to either told me I was making it up, or or if they believed it happened, they told me I was 'just faking it' when I said I was trying to put it behind me and go on with life. Apparently it was impossible to believe that someone could be sexually abused and EVER have a good sex life afterward, or even WANT one.
When I was four years old, I was repeatedly abused by a member of my parents' church-at-the-time who my mother asked to babysit me. I don't remember all of it - I think I have the seizures to thank for that somewhat, my memory was bad before them but after them it's like even the bits I know are there are... faded. My sharpest memories still feel like there's gauze or spiderwebs overlaying them, like they aren't entirely real. Good ones and bad ones. Fortunately for me, up until I was 16 or so, all I had were bad ones. I don't mind them fading at all.
The first serious sexual relationship I had with a boy that I actually liked and enjoyed was with Scott. When we started doing more than just petting, I was thrilled. He made me feel safe, he overwrote all the bad associations I had with new, pleasurable ones. He made me feel beautiful. He made me smile. For several years, he was the best thing in my life, the person I knew I could turn to. When my parents and hers forbid Angel and I to spend time with each other it shook me up a lot more than it perhaps should have... I had stopped believing, again, that I could have anything good in my life.
Scott proved that wrong.
...and dinner is ready, I'll continue this later.
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