As I said in Purification by fire:
I don’t know how, but, so many WordPressers (at WordPress blogs, and on Twitter) are drawing it out of me. Splinters, impurities, pain.
So much pain, but hurt, that must be drawn out and released, and then valued.
The hurt is spilling out again into other people’s blogs… what they have to write just reminds me of the hurt. My comments are bolded and italicized; their original segments are in italics.
from Lizzi the Considerer’s Beach Art and Benefaction:
I need you to open the doors of memory and wander back down the pathways of your mind to a point when you were a small child – maybe six or seven – and magic was still a possibility.
No, Lizzi. Too much pain. The first time I heard Neil Sedaka’s “Laughter In The Rain” after a long, long time, I cried. A tonal memory of a time before the nightmare.
I was six when my innocence was brutally crushed, by my mother. Whole heaps of sexuality just dumped into my lap and I had no understanding what any of it meant. She showed her parts to me, and I didn’t understand why my hand was getting slapped.
Of course, I never understood the emotional abuse, either, why she grew so cold, so critical, so unrelentingly negative.
I’ll never forget her telling me to stop burdening people with my problems.
From Aussa Loren’s How To Dump Your Boyfriend At A Casino:
It was a Friday night and The Man-Child and I were driving an hour to meet his sister at the casino where her new boyfriend worked. As we got into the car, I made a passing remark about rape culture, which gave him an opportunity to share his enlightened opinion on sexual assault.
“I’m not sure I understand what the big deal is? I mean, she might not want it at the beginning but you can’t help liking sex.”
Seeing my reaction, he tried to explain himself.
“What I mean is, if a girl comes onto me I can’t help how my body will react, even if I really don’t want to sleep with her.”
“So if some random woman seduces you tonight, you’ll sleep with her because you can’t help it?”
nononononononononono I hatehateHATE guys that are oblivious to the possibility that women CAN ignore the concept of consent.
And it ain’t cool. I still recall the times I thought, “What the hell? I didn’t sign up for this much! What the hell am I doing?” Or women that were even more downright predatory, catty, or all of the above. Sure, dude, you think it’s cool, until it happens to you. The first time a woman petted me… I felt… ugly. Violated. Like I was dying inside. (This was the one whose roommate falsely accused me of rape.)
The horror. The agony. And for years, I never understood the burning, smoldering rage that would come welling up from deep inside me.
I don’t think society gets it.
I don’t think any of my abusers will ever get it.