Trigger Warning: Child Sexual Assault, Body Issues etc
It’s really confusing to be in my body.
I get it. I get the whole disassociation/disconnecting thing. But the thing is, if I started actually living in my body, the weight of it would kill me. You know how people die of sadness and this is an actual real thing? This is what it would be like. I would die of the weight of what it would be to be in my body.
And I’m not exaggerating.
I wonder what it would be like to be a man because as a man, you could walk down the street, you could hold someone and kiss them tenderly, you could do an entire myriad of things and it wouldn’t necessarily turn them on. I wonder what it would be like to be in that kind of body. Live in that kind of body.
I want sex. i like sex. But all I ask is that my body not be turned into a vehicle for sex. To be looked at with tenderness but not as a vehicle for sex. My body is either looked at as something desirable (great body), or something to be improved on so that it is desirable for sex.
The trouble here is that I don’t know if I am asking too much and/or if this is a reality that a hypersexualized patriarchal society creates.
I am too tired to care.
The last week’s been a roller coaster of a mess but I have taken huge concrete steps in being more communicative and let me tell you, it is difficult as fuck but I feel better.
— Richard Siken, ”Wishbone” (via whyallcaps)
After I wrote my article, a mentor said to me “People need to see there are twists and turns and there is no direct route to peace. You’ll never know how many people you reach, but keep writing.”
I need to remember that, and reach myself right now. Because right now, it’s really lonely out here.
Trigger Warning probably for depression and stuff idk i m too tired
I just read (again) Hyperbole and a Half’s Depression Part 2 and
1) am I depressed? Everything describe in there is exactly how I feel (some of the events might be reversed?)
2) if so, well….I did email my therapist, maybe she’ll reply back.
3) I need to stop crying. I’m so sick of crying. When I stop crying, the only emotion that replaces is cold anger. I’m so sick of both.
4) School begins tomorrow, long job training today, maybe I’ll get distracted. I hope I get distracted. I don’t know what’s going on.
p.s. I actually got redirected to Hyberbole and a Half after reading the article “The utter insufficiency of anti-suicide activism" and let me tell you there should be a similar article for "The utter insufficiency of combating body hate", "The utter insufficiency of combating self harm urges", "The utter insufficiency of combating eating disorders" because it all feels true. That article felt too true.
Trigger Warning: Self Harm, Child Sexual Assault
There are a few things happening all at the same time and I don’t know how to deal with any of them.
a) I think I finally found my voice. I finally found the voice which allows me to be angry and to be hurt and to be angry. I have been waiting for that part of me for a long time. Except, I don’t think it’s accommodating for anyone except for myself. For so long, people have looked at me as this person who is strong and confidence and compassionate but this part of me is just angry. Angry, angry, angry, angry. And frankly, I don’t care to curb her. It feels good to let her out. To let her be angry. To let herself put herself and no one else first. Even if she isn’t nice. I don’t care.
b) Now that he is living closer, I have seen him almost every day. It means sex almost everyday. It means me wanting to jump out of my skin much more than I have wanted to in sometime.
c) my skin is crawling. my skin is crawling. my skin is crawling. All I want to do is to rip it off my body, to peel it off my body like one would peel a fruit. My entire skin is crawling. It’s not that I can “stop thinking about it”. It’s there. Its’ there when I am talking about unrelated things with my sister, who is the least triggering person in my life. It’s just. There.
d) The thought of my body makes me so nauseous I’m surprised I haven’t hurled yet.
e) I hate my body. I don’t say this venom, with self pity, with self hate. I am not a fan of raisins (“I hate raisisn”) and I’m not a fan of my body. It just is. Except it’s more acceptable to not be a fan of raisins than of one’s own body. I don’t care. I like saying my truths out loud. They help me own myself. Except they are not accommodating to people who hear them. And I don’t care. Except I also cant stand unsolicited advice.
f) Maybe this summer of silence wasn’t so bad at all. No one around me. But now school is starting and people in my lives are back and I don’t feel like accommodating anyone in my space.
g) My insides are shaking. I have such a calm exterior. My insides are shaking and trembling. I’m on the verge of tears. But the tears are there only because I’m so angry. Because I cannot stand all this anger stifled in my anymore.
And yet, I’m so calm. So, deadly, normally calm
Trigger Warning: child sexual abuse and related
I have been looking to buy lingerie recently. Looking. Trying to convince myself I should get some. A little of both.
The struggle isn’t just over the fact that I feel guilty about spending money (aerie is having a sale btw). In the past, I let my mom buy most of it for me. So she’d buy for two things: comfort/fit and price. (The fact that we have yet to buy decent bras in any sense of the word since coming to America is besides the point). Now I want aesthetics. I am good at looking great when it comes to clothes. I want to look great under it too.
Of course, that means having to deal with my body.
I literally view my body in a virgin/whore dichotomy. With clothes I am respectable, with clothes I can see myself as a person. Classy. Sexual mores dictated by my moral integrity (is that a real thing? ). A lady. Etc etc.
My naked body is an entire other story. I cannot view it as anything else other than a…thing whose sole object is to provide sexual gratification. I cannot imagine my body as anything else. It fucks with me in various ways.
But. Underwear shopping. I keep looking at things that I want to try and I remember the last time I wore a slip (under a beige see through kamees) that my 10 year old self considered sexy. I remember loving wearing it and my mother getting annoyed that I paired it off particularly with that kamees (it wasn’t as visible in other kamees). I thought to myself then that it was a great way to get (sexual) attention. Because even though as a child I didn’t necessarily understand what “sexual attention” was exactly, I knew exactly what it meant to get attention for one’s physical body as a woman. Training bra and all, I was hyper aware of the attention men would lavish at my face, at my body.
Looking at lacy underwear makes me want to strut in cute and coy things and makes my heart go cold all at the same time. It’s very exhausting.