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I'm a liar

Posted by EVH , 06 February 2013 · 225 views


Tell me lies tell me sweet little lies...

Iím a liar. I lie to people in the street, in the grocery shop and at work. I lie to people at school, to my neighbours, to my family. Everywhere I go and everyone I talk to - I lie. And I smile.

I lie when people ask me how I am. I lie cause what else can I do? What can I say? How about this: ďWell I was raped several times. The first few times I was 15 and my running coach and his mate raped me on a training camp. My trainer who was my mentor, my God took everything away from me that day. He asked me to come to his room to discuss my training plan. It wasnít unusual. Weíve done this before. I had individual training sessions as I was preparing for the junior championships. Everything was going just perfect until I told him about cramps in my legs. He said heíd show me some stretching exercises. And then the horror began. He started touching me and didnít stop even though I told him to. He ordered me to do what he says otherwise heíd hurt me really bad. I never liked people telling me what to do so I told him to fuck himself. And then he showed me what he meant by hurting me really bad. I passed out. And I woke up naked, tied to the bed, with duct tape over my mouth, and his hand inside me. I wanted to scream but I couldnít. I just felt tears pouring down my face. And this horrible pain. He raped me in every possible way. Then his friend came in. He asked my trainer if I was tight and wet. He told him to see for himself. It took them ca. 7 hours, including lunch break. That day I learned what sex is. That day I learned what anal and oral sex is. That day they taught me what fisting, cutting, bondage, double penetration and "strawberry milkshakes" are. I was 15. I learned what "the third rail" and other sick sex stuff is. And they filmed it all. When I tried to tell another trainer what happened she said I was a stupid dirty whore and told me to shut the fuck up if I donít want to get kicked out of school and If I tried to say a word they would let everyone know that I got drunk and high and offered sex to all camp trainers and athletes. I couldnít do this to my parents so I kept my mouth shut. I tried to tell a friend and guess what Ė she called me a liar. And Iíve been silent since that day...The next day I couldn't move my legs. I couldn't walk. I couldn't sit. I have never been in so much pain in my entire life. I decided to miss 2 training sessions. He got mad, took the key from my roommate and came in my room while I was taking shower. I was too scared to scream for help. I was scared he'd put his knife inside me again. So I just gave up. It was like a wall of muscles pressing me against the shower screen and the bathroom floor. I still remember him saying ďMarion-fucking-Jones! Still feel like running for your fucking gold? Youíre not a fucking runner, you hear me? Look at me you useless piece of shit! Youíre nothing but the worst fuck a man can ever haveĒ. No. I didnít feel like running for gold anymore. I didnít feel like running at all. I didnít feel anything but pain and fear. I remember everything. Every single word he said. I remember how he smelled, what he was wearing. And this madness in his eyes... He told me to suck him hard like he taught me yesterday. I told him to go and fuck himself. That pissed him off. That day I learned what it means to beat the shit out of someone. After a while his friend came in saying he (the trainer) was needed at the gym so he (my manager to be) came to take care of me cause he's a good manager... They laughed. And he took good care of me doing things I will never forget. How can I forget him holding my head over the toilet and forcing me to look at myself while he was doing me from behind? How can I forget him raping me with a capped beer bottle which felt like a million razor blades cutting me inside. I wanted him to stop. I begged him to stop. I wanted to die. Few weeks later I found out I was pregnant. I had an abortion. Feel free to judge me.

When I was 21 my best friend drugged me so that I couldnít move but remained conscious. He raped me brutally. When he was done with me he super-glued my lips, broke my right hand fingers and beat me up just to show me what would happen if I tried to report it. He said he'd be back.

And he was a man of his word. I met him again 4 years later at a party. I was 25. A few days later he caught me on my way back home from work. He wasnít alone. His 3 mates were there as well. They tortured me and almost killed me. I canít even find words to describe what they were doing to my body one by one, two at a time, three at a time, four at a time (yes itís possible). It all happened mostly in a garage where my ex best friend had lots of different tools (and other stuff lying around) which they used on me and inside me. But I was a "professional", I've learned from my mistakes and knew that it would hurt more if I tried to fight, my former rapists have taught me well. So I remember not crying. I remember laughing in their faces. That really pissed them off...and they started torturing me to teach me a lesson. My ex best friend super-glued my mouth again. He super-glued my vagina. Then they left me in the woods to bleed to death. I remember that I couldnít move. There was so much blood. White snow and blood. But I had this one thought in my head: I will not die like this. I got up. Every step was a word. I-step-will-step-not-step-die-step-like-step-this. I don't know how I made it home, but I did. I cut myself open. Tore my lips apart. And spent three days sitting in the shower staring at my ocean blue bathroom wall. Unable to move. Unable to cry. Numb. Hurt. Alone. They got me pregnant and after I actually began to love the baby I lost it.

Iím dealing with PTSD/RTS and every day is a battle. Iím in a constant physical and mental pain.Ē Well i reckon this is not exactly the answer people expect to hear when they ask me how I am, is it? So instead of this I just kick back: ďIím great and you?Ē Ė with a big smile on my face of course. "The truth doesn't always set you free; people prefer to believe prettier, neatly wrapped lies" (J.Picoult). See the thing is people are not really interested in how you are today at all. Itís just cheat chat. God I hate cheat chats. But itís ok, I donít expect anyone to be interested in my life or my feelings. Everyone has his own life and his own sorrows. And my life is boring anyway: rape-darkness-abortion-darkness-met C.-some light came in- rape- darkness- my dad died- very deep darkness- rape- darkness- miscarriage- darkness- second miscarriage- darkness. Thatís me. In short. Wanna know more? PM me. There is more darkness to share.
So here is my message to all of you out there: if youíre not really interested in how I am stop asking me that, would you please? It would be very helpful. And we both do not really need another lie do we?

I lie. I lie to my family. I donít want to hurt them. They canít help me anyway so whatís the point. They need me. They need the strong me. So I keep being silent. I keep being the happy, gorgeous, fabulous and supportive me they know and love(?). I think one person suffering is enough, they have their own problems to deal with.

I lie. I lie to my husband. Cause I know the truth would break his heart. Heís a great guy. Caring, loving and supportive. Weíve been through some tough stuff together and I know he would never leave my side. But if I told him I would have to leave him because it would be me who wouldnít be able to handle the truth.
He came to kiss me goodnight today. ďI love youĒ Ė he said. I smiled. I smiled and said ĒSleep well hunĒ. As he left the kitchen it suddenly came to me. ďI donít love youĒ- I whispered. These words just flew out of my mouth so easily that it scared me. WTF? What am I doing? I was so crazy in love with him 10 years ago. He was the love of my life even though my parents didnít accept him and were against the relationship telling me he wasnít good for me. I loved him. After what happened when I was 15 IĎve never thought I could trust and love a guy again. But he was different. He was always there for me even though it was a (very) long distance relationship. I knew I can always count on him. But things changed after I had got raped again and again. I stopped trusting people. I isolated myself. I felt like I wasnít worth his love and care. And the love disappeared. I wasnít able to love a man anymore. Even this great man who loved me so much.
Well maybe itís not this crazy-romantic-movie-kinda-love anymore but I still care for him. Itís two adults living their lives together, sharing everything, laughing and crying together, caring for each other. So do we really have to name things/feelings? Love, friendship, whatever...What difference does it make? Itís good to have him around. It just feels right. Am I being selfish right now? I am. Arenít I? I know he loves me and I know he deserves to be loved back. I feel guilty every single day. He deserves everything love means and brings along. He deserves to have children. I canít give him a child. He deserves to have a healthy sex life. And I... well itís not like I hate sex. No. But most of the time I just feel like I canít do it. Iím afraid of getting hurt. I know he would never ever hurt me but still very often I just canít bring myself to do it and I do everything I can to avoid it. Sometimes I purposely stay up working in the living room until he falls asleep, so I can get in bed without waking him up or I get out of bed very early. itís very tiresome. It wasnít that bad back then when we were doing the long distance relationship thing (I used to numb myself with wine or vodka or any other kind of alcohol available) but things got worse when we moved in together. We were fighting about it very often. He - accusing me of having an affair, of not loving him anymore, of having secrets and me - feeling like this useless piece of shit and the worst fuck a man can ever have my trainer talked about while raping me on this cold wet bathroom floor covered with my blood and my tears.
I hate myself for being like this. So I lie. I lie to be able to give him at least a substitute of the beautiful love he deserves to get.
But it's not love anymore. And I think about getting a divorce and being alone again for a while. Maybe that's what I need. Maybe that's what I can do best. Being alone. Reading books. Listening to Beethoven. Running away. Losing my breath. Losing myself.

"I prefer to think that I'm a liar in a way that's uniquely my own." (C. Clare)

I lie. I lie to myself. I do it all the time. I lie to myself every day in order to stay sane and have a ďnormalĒ life, or a life at all. Iíve been living in denial for 14 years now so Iíve had plenty of time to teach my brain how to hide the truth and how to lie to me. So I deny my past. And I deny living in denial. My truth became a lie. Itís my way of coping I guess. The truth scares me. Iím scared that as soon as my whole past becomes true Iíll fall apart. I wonít be able to handle this amount of pain. Tears will flood me. Flashbacks will haunt me till I go crazy. Looking at those feelings, talking about them and experiencing them will tear me apart. I shared a part of my story 3 weeks ago. And now I know I shouldnít have. Now I know There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all that you'll find (G.M.) I should have known better. How could I have been so stupid. John Wayne once said: "Life's hard. It's even harder when you're stupid." So true...
Well the damage is done. Now I have to save whatís left, which means I have to keep lying. So why do I feel like I donít want to lie anymore? Why do I feel like talking about what happened all the time. Why do I want to let it all out? If Iím so scared why do I want someone to listen to me. If Iím so scared why do I want someone to see the real me? And what am I really scared of? The past? The memories? The flashbacks? Am I scared of being too much? Of not being believed or understood? Or maybe Iím just afraid of being left all alone with my pain...?
It's been 14 years and I've never allowed myself to cry about what happened. Sometimes I feel like there is an ocean of uncried tears inside of me. An ocean of unspoken words, unexpressed feelings and pain. In moments like this I envy people who have friends. Will I ever be able to have a friend again? Someone who'd say: If it's a friend that you need - let it be me

Nevermind. Who cares. I donít even know why Iím writing this. It's stupid. They're right. I'm weird. Canít help but wonder how Iíve got this far...

Itís raining again. Warm summer rain. 3 am. Close my eyes. Feel like running again. Why not...

Forrest Gump: That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run. So I ran to the end of the road. And when I got there, I thought maybe I'd run to the end of town. And when I got there, I thought maybe I'd just run across Greenbow County. And I figured, since I run this far, maybe I'd just run across the great state of Alabama. And that's what I did. I ran clear across Alabama. For no particular reason I just kept on going. I ran clear to the ocean. And when I got there, I figured, since I'd gone this far, I might as well turn around, just keep on going. When I got to another ocean, I figured, since I'd gone this far, I might as well just turn back, keep right on going.
Elderly Southern Woman on Park Bench: And so, you just ran?
Forrest Gump: Yeah.

It makes sense why you lie. I get it.
And there is way out-- I think talking about it one of the first steps :)
it was scary as hell, telling my dad that i had been sexually assaulted. i sat down and talked with my mom about it, too. i guess she told her mom, maybe because she felt overwhelmed. i had waited 6 months, to finally tell a family member what happened.
this was five years ago. when i look back on it- i remember how much i did NOT want to tell them. i remember feeling completely naked. i hated it so much, having them know.
nowadays though- i swear to you- i am able to talk with my loved ones more closely- in an entirely different way than i ever have been able to before. yeah, i was sexually assaulted but that's not the only thing that happened in my life. when i feel down or if i feel depressed- i'm able to talk to my family members about it. it's such a freeing feeling- being able to be real.
i don't have to deny anything to my loved ones or to myself.
"Why do I want to let it all out? If I’m so scared why do I want someone to listen to me."

you deserve to have someone listen to you. i think a part of you is starting to say "fuck it. i'd rather deal with the fear- i need to get my story out." that is not stupid at all.
if you're not comfortable telling family members about it, that is totally understandable. have you ever tried talking to a therapist about it, or maybe a local support group?

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