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Found while trawling old words
Valentines day is, as I put it to myself, a "Trigger Day" for me. Last year, spending it reading books with mek, went a long way towards helping erase that particular set of memories, but they'll never truly disappear.
I don't at all feel mopey or like writing about My Tragic Abuse Backstory tonight, but I did feel like poking through the archive on 750words, and see if there was anything interesting I had said in the past. And there was! Oh how there was! This was written in 2013, and is not any less true now than it was then1.
***
So. Abusive relationship time, because I basically never just make one post on the subject at a time.
There is one lasting effect that stands out from the rest, one lie that it is deeper or older or I don't even know. It is very pervasive and very thorough and does not leave my brain alone, choosing truly awful times to spring itself upon me.
The lie runs "I am only good at/for sex."
And it is just not fucking true.
Oh, I mean, don't get me wrong, I am more than adequately skilled in the art of making myself or my partners cum like a screaming banshee and go all wobbly-limbed and dumbfounded. I am exceedingly good at sex, and can probably provide references to back that up. The last five or so years of practice have made me pretty damn kick-ass at the booty arts2 (as I like to call them) (no, I am kidding, I never call them that.)
But you know what else I'm good at?
Quite a lot of fucking things, really. I am good at writing. I am brilliant at dancing. I have a sartorial splendor about me that doesn't quite line up with anyone else's in the best way possible. I am practical and I get things done. I can add large sums in my head. I'm getting competent at juggling. And you know what else? I can take an asshole ruining my head and make myself direct and strong-willed and able to deal with anything else in my relationships.
I'm good at surviving, and I'm even better at living, at thriving, at seeing the joy in the world and delight in the creatures who populate it.
If my abuser could see no better use for me than as a sex toy, lying silent and crying as he rutted off against me, then he is a damnéd fool. Because I am far more than that.
It will take a long time to shake completely, the worst lies always do. But ever so slowly I will see it put to rights. And part of that is getting to the point where I can hear my mind hiss the words and recognize them as a lie in the first place, instead of some unshakable truth.
I am not only good for sex. I am good for life.
***
I have come so astonishingly far since 2007. I am good for sex, and other things too. There is no _only_ in the sentence.
~Sor
MOOP!
1: You can thank Magus for the fact that I can write this sentence --he was the one who properly sat me down at some point and was all "look, if it's got an e in it, it's chronological, if you're spelling it with an a, you're making a comparison".
2: (current Kat here) Dear Past!Kat, this is brilliant, I'm gonna use it.
I don't at all feel mopey or like writing about My Tragic Abuse Backstory tonight, but I did feel like poking through the archive on 750words, and see if there was anything interesting I had said in the past. And there was! Oh how there was! This was written in 2013, and is not any less true now than it was then1.
***
So. Abusive relationship time, because I basically never just make one post on the subject at a time.
There is one lasting effect that stands out from the rest, one lie that it is deeper or older or I don't even know. It is very pervasive and very thorough and does not leave my brain alone, choosing truly awful times to spring itself upon me.
The lie runs "I am only good at/for sex."
And it is just not fucking true.
Oh, I mean, don't get me wrong, I am more than adequately skilled in the art of making myself or my partners cum like a screaming banshee and go all wobbly-limbed and dumbfounded. I am exceedingly good at sex, and can probably provide references to back that up. The last five or so years of practice have made me pretty damn kick-ass at the booty arts2 (as I like to call them) (no, I am kidding, I never call them that.)
But you know what else I'm good at?
Quite a lot of fucking things, really. I am good at writing. I am brilliant at dancing. I have a sartorial splendor about me that doesn't quite line up with anyone else's in the best way possible. I am practical and I get things done. I can add large sums in my head. I'm getting competent at juggling. And you know what else? I can take an asshole ruining my head and make myself direct and strong-willed and able to deal with anything else in my relationships.
I'm good at surviving, and I'm even better at living, at thriving, at seeing the joy in the world and delight in the creatures who populate it.
If my abuser could see no better use for me than as a sex toy, lying silent and crying as he rutted off against me, then he is a damnéd fool. Because I am far more than that.
It will take a long time to shake completely, the worst lies always do. But ever so slowly I will see it put to rights. And part of that is getting to the point where I can hear my mind hiss the words and recognize them as a lie in the first place, instead of some unshakable truth.
I am not only good for sex. I am good for life.
***
I have come so astonishingly far since 2007. I am good for sex, and other things too. There is no _only_ in the sentence.
~Sor
MOOP!
1: You can thank Magus for the fact that I can write this sentence --he was the one who properly sat me down at some point and was all "look, if it's got an e in it, it's chronological, if you're spelling it with an a, you're making a comparison".
2: (current Kat here) Dear Past!Kat, this is brilliant, I'm gonna use it.