She looked at me and said that. She told me I'm strange. I'm so weird. I let her into my messed up mind. The mind that's dark, twisted, cynical and full of pain. I let her into my thoughts. Into my safe space. The layers slowly peeled by her gentleness. Eager to learn why I am the way I am. I shared. Each of those layers came crashing down. I felt stripped to the point I had no gaurd up anymore. I had to confront my issues. No amount of dissociation or emotional blocking could escape the fragile layer of pain.
I'm interesting until they learn that I am uncomfortable when it comes to intimacy. When I am touched, I feel numb. That's what trauma does to you. You question if they want you or just the naked object infront of them. The body that just isn't present. Then comes the suffocation of over whelming feeling when you orgasm. After you orgasm you feel confused. You feel scattered. You feel sick.
This wasn't on every occasion. But this is how I felt at one stage when the intimacy got more intense. When I learnt someone may actually want me to feel safe with them. But how can you feel safe when you have all these suppressed memories coming up?
She sat across from me sipping her warm drink. She said she finds me very interesting. I doubt she would if I let her in any more. Interesting how I don't feel present. How I project all this kindness and empathy but when I'm alone I always feel angry and frustrated. I try not to think. I dissociate no matter how busy I am. I refuse to accept it happened. I refuse to face the gut wrenching reality of where my memories take me to.
Would people believe me? Would people understand how hard it is for someone like me who has had this experience to function? Will they think of me differently if I revealed my most painful memories?
It can't be that bad. People have had abuse worse. You are strong. You can hold yourself togther. She seems fine?
I was suppose to feel safe. Safe and yet my vulnerability was taken advantage of. I have to retrain all my thoughts. I have to see other perspectives just to survive. I don't get justice. I don't get to tell him what really happened. I can't tell anyone without anyone thinking I'm crazy.