Sex and saying no **Trigger possibility**
**TRIGGER TRIGGER TRIGGER WARNING**
She asked me if I had any memories that came up in relation to this, about freezing, not being able to say no. The immediate memory that came to mind is a scary one that often comes up during panic attacks. My SF taking my clothes off, and me wanting to scream "stop it" but not being able to. Just freezing. I felt like a board. My whole body was stiff and I was begging in my mind for him to stop. I told her as far as I could - that he licked my chest (I had no breasts then). And I remember feeling disgusting. The total embodiment of disgusting.
The sick part is that I thought I was disappointing. That my body was disappointing to him, because I was flat-chested.
HE was the disgusting one. HE IS the disgusting one.
But I couldn't say no. Time kind of stopped in that moment, and I was of two minds. I had this sense that I was floating over my self (I guess that's dissociation) watching the situation. The idea of him that close to my face makes me feel so angry.) But also me thinking "this is a moment that you can't change in the future. Say no! Say no!"
And I couldn't say anything. I was just frozen. That moment has so much power over me. Why I couldn't say no in that moment is probably related to everything else leading up to it. His coercion, and his manipulation and the loyalty he built up in me. But I have always blamed myself for it. Thinking "If I had just said "no" that would have changed everything."
But he *knew* it was wrong. From the very beginning to the very end. I am so ashamed of this. He asked if it was OK and I said nothing. I felt just like a board. Like a totally stiff board. I tried to express to him that I hated it, that way. Instead of with words. He knew me so well. He helped raise me for fucks sakes. Then he put his lips over my underwear. He started licking me.
This memory I hate. I hate it. I can remember the moon filtering in through the window, and my body being lit by the moon and thinking that I was pale and flat chested and disgusting and that I was disappointing and humiliated and that I wanted it to stop and for time to turn back and for it to never have happened.
I think about what I would do to help that little girl in that situation. If it wasn't me, I would scream at him, I would throw something right at his head, I would take her up in my arms and let her know that what he did was wrong and that it wasn't her fault.
But it was me. And I feel scared to face myself. That was such a scary version of myself. So vulnerable, so hurt, so willing to please, so alone, so hated by my father and my mother. I feel uncomfortable just remembering myself that way. Why am I so afraid of her?