Kaidya

Kaidya's story

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Posted (edited)

I've been having difficulty knowing where to start. I know I want to talk about it but it feels so much like beads on a string and one contributing to another that if I start in the middle it might make no sense. I'm not sure how much detail I'll go into, parts might be like an angry shopping list.

 

*Trigger warnings* all through. Please only read if you feel safe to.

 

The first thing was I guess a sexual assault when I was 13. I never labelled it as that, it just went somewhere else in my head until well into my healing process. This was in 1983 on holiday in France and this guy decided he "loved" me. He asked my age, I said 13, he said he was 18. He kissed me, put his tongue in my mouth, fondled my breasts and kept saying he loved me. Eventually I realised that he meant sex and backed off from there and he did let me go. Could have been a lot worse. I stuffed it away, told no-one. I think one of the impacts it had was a confusion about what exactly love and sex are and how they are supposed to happen, and I don't think it helped me deal with later events. Looking at it now, I know I would be livid if the same thing had happened to my daughter.

The next thing, next string of things, was when I was 19. With this, I am still not entirely connected up to the emotional state I was in. I remember events, I do not remember the feelings but I know from what happened that emotionally it was hell. I'd moved away from home to the nearest big town, was renting a room and started a relationship with my flatmate, R. It became sexually violent, and abusive in other ways, very rapidly. He got us thrown out of our accommodation and we rented a horrible flat together using my money. He drank, lied, cheated, stole and left me to pick up the bills. Sexually, the way I feel about it is I'm glad I didn't try to say no because I think it would have happened anyway. He deliberately hurt me during sex and claimed it was because I had hurt him. He gave me a case of crabs. And then I missed my period. He said in no uncertain terms that if I was pregnant I would have to have an abortion. The last night with him he had sex with someone else in the living room while I was through the wall in the bedroom, then came in and had sex with me. Next day was the town's annual festival day (parade, everyone gets drunk) and he had work in the morning. Alone in the flat I had a SU attempt. Eventually I got dressed, went downstairs to my neighbours (they had a party going) and proceeded to get very very drunk. Next thing I knew I was in my own flat, with one of the guys from the party, call him M, having sex with me. I do remember liking M, drunkenly. I don't know what to think about the whole drunk + consent issue. And then R walked in on us. Cue huge row and threats and things getting broken and R's brother, call him MT, taking me away from the scene. I kinda always viewed him as a rescuer, but he had sex with me that night too and I wonder now whether that was being taken advantage of. R moved out of the flat, I moved back in and MT stuck around for a week, during which I miscarried. A few weeks later, the third brother A getting interested and then obsessive about me. I ended up having sex with him just to make him go away, which he did. I've been using the words "had sex" for all this because that's what I called it back then, and I still haven't fully sorted out naming it anything else.

The next thing, still within a few weeks of the festival day, a friend of R's, call him B, started coming around to the flat. We struck up a friendship and then he asked me out. I was uncertain about this, I didn't know what I wanted and I don't think I was attracted. But by that time I felt that I was too unlovable to be particular. One of the strangest things was that the first time we attempted to have sex, I consented but my body gave an emphatic no. I found out later it's called vaginismus, it closes up tight and refuses entrance. B wasn't best pleased, his attempts hurt us both and I bled. This went on for weeks. One night near my 20th birthday he brought his friends round to my flat (he was still living at his mother's) to drink and smoke weed. I'm not a smoker but I took a drag of what was being passed around. A bit later I visited the bathroom and he came in, wanting to have sex right then and there. I said no, you have friends in and besides I'm still bleeding from last time. I don't remember all of it, it's just in flashes. I remember being on the floor and him using his fingers, then I remember being in the empty bath and him pushing himself into me. I remember blood, and one of his friends opening the door a bit to tell him they were leaving. Then I remember B leaving, and one of the friends being left drunk on the sofa. B asking "will you be ok?" (I don't know if he meant what he'd done, or the guy on the sofa) and me saying "what do you think?". Then lying awake on my own in the bed. And the drunk guy getting into the bed beside me. I couldn't get him to move, so I ended up going through to lie on the sofa. In the morning, the guy was gone. By the time I saw B again, I'd repressed the whole thing. I think that may have been the first time he was able to penetrate me fully, he broke his way in past the vaginismus. There were other rapes in the next couple months, one big memory round about his birthday. And shortly after that I was pregnant, and we got married.

I'm going to have to continue this another time.

 

Edited by Kaidya

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Posted (edited)

Such horrors. So selfish and callous, the monster who became your husband.

You'll find your vocabulary. Vocabulary is a powerful thing. It changes with understanding. It empowers you to express your truths. A single word can change your understanding.

The actual ability to consent, that part of the brain, is impaired by alcohol and other substances. We cannot make sound decisions while drunk and having sex with someone is a decision that is made. Where to draw line is very disputed. Personally, I think it is safest if people let each other be as soon as drinking starts because it is too difficult to judge how affected a person is. There should not be any guesswork when it comes to consenting to sex. I don't think that sex while both people are drunk is always abuse, just safest not to go there. (I was raped by my first partner when he was blackout drunk and I was sober. My current partner, a good one, never drinks and when I do we do not have sex. Sometimes I feel like initiating it, but in the end I hold by.)

I'd say MT abused you by being exploitative, the night he "rescued" you. It was a horrible night, you were in no condition emotionally for someone to be sexual to you. He probably didn't think he was doing anything wrong, didn't even think he was being exploitative, but that doesn't matter. The decent thing was to let you be and he failed to be a true rescuer.

Feeling that you "have to" have sex is always a sign something is off. "I have to have sex with him so he'll go away." Where is the pressure coming from? From him - yes, that is abusive. Pressure is coercion, coercion is force, force is abuse. The pressure can be coming from yourself and the situation can still be abusive. How? The other person is responsible for making sure you are doing what you're doing because you freely want to. Also sometimes we internalize the pressure someone else imposed upon us. Long-term abusers create a coercive environment that frames the entire relationship. We are conditioned by them to respond how they want us to - submitting, cooperating, giving in, none of which are consent. We live in fear, we live under the brainwashing they've imposed. "If I don't have sex with him, he'll do something worse." "I'm his girlfriend, so I have to have sex whenever he wants." Their manipulations, their terrorizing, internalized.

Edited by purple*voice
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Thank you Purple.

The mature me (I'm 46 now) looks back at it and sees more abuse than I'd previously acknowledged. At the time I just forgot as much as I could. The first rape with B was the first rape I remembered, years later, the one that catapulted me into crisis and prompted me to get support. Most of my focus during healing was the abusive marriage. I knew the previous stuff, my head is calling it a shitstorm right now, contributed to how vulnerable I became. But I tend to slide past it, leave it in the box. There's a lot of shame I think, it feels like I only had myself to blame. I tend to separate out the individual events (and discount them) but there was a definite domino effect. In the background there's the dynamic of the three brothers, was what I went through part of how they related to each other?

I'll move on to say more about the marriage when I've had a breather.

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Sitting with you Kaidya, what awful experiences. I am so sorry for all you have been through. I am sorry to be short on words, but I can relate. 

Take gentle care

Sitting here quietly listening with you :metoyou: 

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Sitting with you, Kaidya. I'm so sorry for all the violence and horror. 

I wanted to share that I too developed vaginismus at one point. I understand how painful it can be. And I'm so sorry that your body was not respected even though it was trying to protect itself. 

Take gentle care, 

T

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Thank you Sarrettaa and Tapestry. Your replies help, they really do.

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I'm finding this part difficult to begin writing. Feeling flat, emotionally.

 

*Trigger warnings* again.

 

He persuaded me, soon after the first rape, to give up the flat and move to his mother's. She was a very scary woman. We had separate rooms, sex was not allowed and so it became a covert thing. I think the biggest thing for me at that time was fear. I was having panic attacks at night, particularly listening to him and his mother arguing just loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to know what was being said. I would lie awake for hours with my heart pounding in my ears, frozen. We would go out to the pub, Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday nights, and on the walk home the demands for sex would start. I didn't want to have sex, not outside and not at his mother's where we could get caught and I'd be thrown out. He'd get angry and aggressive and verbally abusive and my "no" would get overridden and it would happen anyway. The memory that sticks out here was being raped on the rug in front of the dead coal fire in his mother's living room and keeping absolutely silent so that nobody would wake.

I think I'd describe B as narcissistic, possibly sociopathic, and a persuasive, manipulative liar. He was good at the kind of lie that was completely plausible, the kind that if you challenged him on it you would be the bad one. He told me that there was some kind of problem with his fertility, it was low and he didn't want to wait until we were married to start trying. It tapped into my worries about my own fertility. I hadn't got medical treatment following the miscarriage because I hadn't been registered with a doctor at the time. I'd had the problems with bleeding and an abnormal smear test (inflammatory atypia) at the time of the first rape. There was enough manipulation in his lie to get me to stop taking the pill and in a few months I was pregnant. There was a lot of drama around telling his parents, he acted like he hadn't known I was off the pill but was standing by me (big man). His mother did throw me out, but she made it sound reasonable somehow. I can't remember what her weird justification was for me having to find another place to live. I got an even more horrible bedsit with vermin in the kitchen area and a bathroom shared with everyone else in the building. Then when we got married we got the flat next door to the one I'd lived in the year before.

Marriage didn't make him any better. I'd got to the point where I no longer tried to say no. Painful, coerced sex was the norm. Angry outbursts were the norm too. Money was tight and some of it went missing. I was on maternity leave, he was signing on as unemployed but working part time on the side. When he got caught he left the job and stopped signing on, losing both of his sources of income. When I was eight months pregnant he insisted on getting into the bath with me, got furious that there wasn't much room and slammed my knee into the side of the bath. With the baby due and money problems, we were persuaded to move back to his mother's again. When my son was eight weeks old I went back to work and my father-in-law looked after him on days when B had found casual work.

Living there, if I wanted to have a bath I had to ask someone to put the hot water boost on. I was always too afraid to ask his parents so I would ask him. More times than not he would say "can't you have one tomorrow" and that would be that. When I'd ask tomorrow, the answer would be the same. Eventually I felt obliged to ask him to ask whoever was having a bath (usually B himself, or my father-in-law who had a skin complaint) to leave their water in and I would make do with that. It was extremely humiliating to be in that position. One night I woke up to B urinating on me. He claimed to have been doing it in his sleep.

When my son was 8-9 months old, my mother-in-law decided to throw us out and we were homeless. B stopped working again and refused to sign on. We got placed in a B&B for five weeks and then were offered a rented house. I was working, supporting us all on just my pay, and B stayed at home to look after our son. I conceived again, that was one of the few times I actually wanted to have sex. We got a cat, the cat got badly injured and we had to euthanase it. He claimed it was our son in the babywalker that caused the injury. We got a puppy, the puppy bonded well with me but was terrified of B. I came home from work one day to find B out with our son, and the puppy dead in the kitchen. He denied responsibility and I accepted the denial. I now believe B was responsible for both incidents. One day, B got a night's casual work and we stayed over at his mother's so that B could sleep after his shift and I could go to work and our son would be looked after by his grandparents. When I got home, my mother-in-law let me know that my son had fallen and hit his cheek on the coffee table. Later that week I got called out of work because B was under investigation for abuse of our son, who had a bruise on his cheek, which I felt had been explained by my mother-in-law. So that's what I said to the police. They took a few days to decide that there hadn't been any abuse. I called my parents and they came and got me and my son and we went back to theirs for that weekend. At the end of the weekend we came back to B and I said to him that I was moving back to my parents and that he could come with us if he liked but I would do it without him if I had to. He came with us. I wish I'd just left him at that point, but I didn't.

 

That's about all I can manage for tonight. Will continue another time.

 

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Sitting with you. I'm so sorry for the r* and continued sa through coercion and other degrading things. He is a horrible wicked person to do that to the mother of his child. It's not your fault for not being able to see things sooner. Thatis what happens both within narc relationships and with abusive childhoods. 

You are brave to continue sharing. 

T

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Thank you for the validation Tapestry, it means a lot. I am so sorry for any triggers caused by reading it.

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@Kaidya No triggers here, nothing for you to be sorry for. Just lots of understanding, empathy and encouragement for your continued healing. :hug:

Please keep sharing, as it feels right to do so.

T

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Sorry I've not been about the past few days. I was getting increasingly wordless, trying to write but having to drag the words out one by one. And then it was my weekend to go to help out my parents. I was able to read the forum there after bedtime, but only on my smartphone and I really didn't feel comfortable to write with it. Back home now, I think I will write more tomorrow when I have peace and quiet again.

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Dear Kaidya,

Please don't feel that you need to a apologize. That sounds like very good self care to me. I've had my share of wordless days too. 

:hug:

T

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Ok, I'm going to have another try at this. I wrote for about an hour straight this morning, but then there was a power cut and it all got lost! And I can't remember what I said. So now I'm writing it in Notepad and saving every few minutes.

So, re-reading what I've written so far I'm aware that I really didn't find it easy to write. (It's not easy to re-read, my eyes skip parts.) I got so stilted towards the end, and there's so much I'm missing out, details getting lost in a "nothing much really happened" kind of denial. So much of day-to-day life with B was abusive it became normal, unremarkable, and all blurred together. It seems that repression of memories and feelings is not a simple on/off thing. Years ago when I first started dealing with this, I started remembering pieces that weren't named, and then I named them and went into crisis about what I'd named. And then recovered/remembered more over time. And I wrote a LOT down. Now, years on, I find I've re-repressed some of that. Maybe I still only ever hold part of it in active consciousness at any one time.

Ok, so the investigation with my son prompted me to seek refuge with my parents, except I did not feel I could stop B from coming along. I had no up-front reasons, no specific named memory of abuse or rape at that time that might have allowed me to draw a line and tell him he was not coming with us. I think it may have been a step on the way to eventually leaving. But I wasn't consciously processing anything at all. His version of reality was the version of reality I was dealing with. So of course the abuse continued.

I think one of the biggest realisations once my healing process started was that my consent had been bulldozed and eroded so much at the beginning of the relationship that it was virtually meaningless, did not matter a hoot, throughout it. For the times I didn't say no, didn't say yes, was coerced, submitted, and for the times I actively sought to have sex to defuse him and protect myself and my children from other kinds of abuse. There were a very few times I wanted sex, but 95% of the time it happened, I didn't want it. Which made it rape, nearly all of it. I have no idea how many times he raped me, and I only have a few stand-out memories of what was essentially a pattern of rape.

His idea of foreplay was about getting him ready to penetrate, then penetration, then finished. If it hurt me, and it always did, that didn't matter. He'd press me down with his full body weight so I couldn't move or breathe. He'd tell me it was like f**king a sack of tatties, that I never f**king did anything. If his attempt to penetrate hurt him he'd get angry, tell me I was too f**king tight. If he lost his erection he'd be even angrier and I'd have to give him oral.

I internalised him and his abuse. I need to trigger warn this.:trigger:

Giving birth to my first child I needed an episiotomy. With the second there were tears to be stitched, and I had so swallowed his "too f**king tight" complaint (he/I attributed it to the earlier episiotomy but I now think it was still vaginismus) that I asked for them not to stitch me all the way so that I wouldn't be so tight. They did what I asked, and now I have a knot of scar tissue at the entrance to my vagina.

I can't believe my head was so turned around that I asked, asked! for that. Just after it, he "helped" me up and into to a wheelchair to go to the ward, and he pressed right down where the IV cannula went into my wrist.

He was good at little abuses, almost accidental but not quite. He was good at making the kids cry when my back was turned. When he had a cast on a broken wrist he'd turn over in bed at night and "accidentally" hit me with it. Always overbearing, bullying, explosive. Body-blocking me while crossing the road so I'd have to step out without knowing if it was safe to, crazymaking that's too hard for me to define. Starting a row with me over money he wanted to go get drunk with that we couldn't afford, taking it anyway and waking me in the middle of the night stinking of drink to ask me what's wrong. Some of those times a rape, other times just an argument and threats to take my son, leave me and never let me see him again. The last Christmas visiting his mother, spending all our money on drink and letting his mother use up my sanitary items so that I had to go without them on my period. Hitting me for waking him up when he'd asked me to wake him up. Staying in town drinking all evening on payday instead of getting the bus home with the nappies my daughter needed before her bedtime. Shouting at me because I spent the last of the grocery money on nappies instead of beer.

What prompted me to leave in the end was a combination of two things. He had threatened, while sober, to take my son from me and never let me see him again. He'd previously only said that while drunk. It really scared me a lot that he'd say it sober. The key thing that let me leave though, was catching him in a lie (as it happened, it was about money). It was like a door opened that day, I had a real, concrete, justifiable reason at last to leave him. I nearly went back, a couple of weeks later, because he'd been pretty convincing that he was a changed man and had learned his lesson. But just at the point I'd decided to go back, he reverted to character and I picked up on it. I'll always be thankful I did.

I still had to have contact with B because of the children. I didn't start remembering things for another 3-4 years, but I always felt scared of letting him have access to the children on his own. So I always went with them.

At around the 3 year point I met another man, BR. Things were good with him for a while, and the remembering started while I was with him. I wrote a very long letter telling him things, not quite yet naming them. He however wanted the past to stay the past, and destroyed the letter after reading it. That wasn't really where I was coming from at all, I wanted my demons to be understood, not ignored. We were sexually active, that was good for a while but often ended in hyperventilation for me (probably panic attacks, looking back), never the orgasm that BR was pursuing for me. I felt broken, he wanted to fix me. The relationship turned sour. I tried to hold on to it too long. In the last 6 weeks of it there were four rapes. The first was fairly straightforward. I went to see him, he was in bed not particularly happy to see me but since I was there pulled me into the bed with him. I didn't want to because it was the daytime, the kids were up and about and likely to come into the bedroom. But he did anyway. I am not sure how much vocal protest I made, I was pretty voiceless back then. The second was awful. He came to visit me and things seemed good and it started off consensual. But it ended in a digital rape

using I don't know the name for it, not quite his fist but his fingers all folded together in a point, jabbing his whole hand in hard. It hurt horribly and (voiceless again) I backed off, tried to get away and he kept coming, kept ramming until I was against the wall and couldn't get away any more. When he was done there was blood everywhere.

The third and the fourth were AR. Enough said. My mind made the memories go away. And then he left me.

At that time I was overwhelmed dealing with memories of the first rape with B at that time. I went into full blown crisis, started to SI, was SU, developed an ED, chronic insomnia, phobias, panic attacks, anxiety and depression and was shutting down all the time. When I called Rape Crisis I started to get help, but it was another few years before I faced and named the BR rapes. About a year into rape crisis I took the step of moving away from where I'd been living and changing my name and not letting B know where I was moving to. Dealing with him in the flesh at the same time as dealing with what he'd done to me was just something I couldn't handle at all. The last time I saw him he deliberately took an opportunity to touch me, just on the hand but it felt like being struck by lightning. Couldn't do it again. So I moved to the city and instead went through terrible fears that he'd find me somehow, but it was better that way. I still don't know if I'm divorced, 17 years on. I went to counselling for five years, and went to art school and did sculpture and graduated. Gradually began to deal with things better and learn good coping mechanisms on top of the bad ones. I was never given the label PTSD but it ticks all the boxes for me and I still get symptoms.

There've been a couple of relationships since, and both were questionable in terms of emotional abuse. Nothing for the past 6 years, but now I'm on the brink of reconnecting with an old boyfriend from when I was 16-18, before I left home. Distance was what broke us up, we were pretty good before that. We might go somewhere with this, or we might not. He's been pretty understanding so far. But at the same time, I'm worried about sex and intimacy and trust and triggers, and the act of telling has brought a lot up fresh for me.

That's it, I think. I've tried using spoiler tags where I think will be triggering, but not used them before so it may need an edit after I post. Here goes.

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Dear @Kaidya,

I wanted to let you know that I read all of it. You are such a brave, strong person. I am so sorry for everything, all the r* and all the pain and all the emotional suffering, too.

I am so sorry that you didn't have anyone to help you find your way out then but proud that you have made it this far. 

I know how hard it is to go through all of these memories, especially the painful ones. I can't imagine that you don't have PTSD after all of that, not that I'm trying to diagnosis you. I shared many of your symptoms in going through all of this, you're not alone. 

There is so much more to say, and I will, but I need to attend to some work stuff right now. 

Very gentlest of hugs to you, if okay. :hug:

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Thank you Tapestry. It takes a lot to get it all out, doesn't it?

Hugs very much appreciated.

:metoyou:

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It sure does, Kaidya. It sure does.  :hug: 

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Dear Kaidya,

First of all, I want to thank you for sharing your story so openly and to let you know that in doing so, you have helped me. It likely wasn't your intent and I feel in my heart that there will be many other good things to come of it, but wanted to let you know of the good that has already come from your brave steps. 

I think that blurring out that you mentioned is normal - your brain is working hard to keep you going and make the world feel safe in some way. I see it as being like driving in a snowstorm - your eyes don't follow every snowflake that is falling because your brain knows you still need to focus on the road in order to drive safely. But when you take a break from driving, you are able to see the amount of snow that has fallen and to look at it in a different way. 

I hope it's okay if I ask you a personal question...it may be slightly triggering. I can't find the spoiler tag/button, so have just changed the text colour to white. Please don't feel you need to read/respond. 

You mentioned that B's attempts to penetrate you hurt him. My ex said the same thing and I've never understood it or heard it said again until now. I've never read about it either, and wasn't sure if it was something I could trust even though it's something I remembered. So it makes things real for me, why and what he did, which is healing in its own way. But I've never understood what hurt about it. It was just weird to me that it hurt him and he only mentioned it a few times because he decided to do other stuff. Please don't feel you have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable.

Yes, to the erosion of consent. After a while, the goal posts get set further and further back and it doesn't seem as meaningful. Every now and again, it bothers but that goes quickly away. It's part of the brainwashing effect. 

I'm so glad you caught him in that lie and were so smart to see it again, to see through his manipulation. 

BR makes me very angry. The way he ignored your past and made you feel broken. The r*. So very horrible and vile. And your body knew...the way you reacted to his touch. 

You were so brave to make a new start, to choose to heal, to work so hard on it. It's been such a long, long road but I'm so honoured to have met you here. 

T

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Tapestry, thank you once again for such a beautiful, gentle, supportive response.

The question you asked. I'll put my reply in a spoiler, just in case.

I think it was the vaginismus. Back as far as the first attempt to have sex, he couldn't penetrate and basically he was pushing in as hard as he could, hurting me but getting nowhere and as far as he said, it hurt him too. Later on when he could penetrate, I would still be clenched tight and he often complained of it hurting him, that his foreskin would get pushed back as he entered me. Or that the act of trying to enter would hurt and put him off enough to lose the erection. Either way as far as he was concerned it was my tightness, my fault. Some of it came across as "this justifies me hurting you" if that makes sense. I don't think he was lying about it, but it's possible he exaggerated it for effect. Sometimes I think it's like punching a wall and then blaming the wall for the sore hand.

K

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You're most welcome, Kaidya.

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Thanks for answering my question. One more small thing below, if okay? 

"Sometimes I think it's like punching a wall and then blaming the wall for the sore hand." That's what he said - hitting a wall - those exact words. He was...decorated differently than yours but still said it hurt. I think it must have or he would have tried harder. So...I don't feel I need to ask this...but you get how much it hurts when it's forced. :cry: Sorry to cry in your thread. 

Edited by Tapestry

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Tapestry, yes.

It hurts like hell. It really does hurt like hell. The first rape, for a long time I couldn't match up the memories of the floor and the bathtub, how it all happened. It was so fragmented and I still don't have one continuous memory. But now it makes sense that he used his fingers first, to break in so that he could penetrate without hurting himself. It had to have taken a lot of force.

I'm so sorry you have been through so much pain Tapestry. It is ok to cry in my thread if you need to.

:metoyou:

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:hug::metoyou:

Thank you, Kaidya. I just went away in my mind, so far far away. I remember what happened because it happened again. The amount of pain, I can't even begin... I had my second child at home without medication and got stitched up with just a local. The pain of birth and stitches doesn't compare. And I thought about the same thing you did after your second birth...but luckily had a doula there to hold my hand and one of the midwives was my friend, so it created an atmosphere that put it out of my mind. You're not alone in that, though. Not at all. :hug:

T

Edited by Tapestry

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Tapestry :hug:

I'm glad you had the doula and your friend there. What I did is something that makes me aghast every time I think of it, that I did it, he didn't even need to tell me to. I remember coping well with the pain of childbirth, birth is after all something that our bodies are designed to do. The other pain is something else.

Edited by Kaidya

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Kaidya :hug:  It's not your fault. You were living in a war zone and trying to survive. I'm so sorry you have that body reminder. I feel similarly about some of my scars. But although they're part of us, they don't define us. The story doesn't end there. 

I wanted to check in to see if talking about this is helping you. I know it's been healing for me, but want to respect that this is your thread. The conversation can also happen elsewhere, if that works for you. 

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Thank you Tapestry :hug:

It has been helpful for me too, talking about it. I never expected to find anyone else who had been through that same thing! It does help.

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:metoyou:   Me, either. The intersection of two small segments seem so unlikely to happen...but I guess it sometimes does, as much as I wish it wouldn't. 

Here for you on your healing journey. :hug:

T

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