Consent

March 16th, 2024

Ask to kiss me. Ask to touch me. Ask to love me. Why do you attempt to enter without permission?

There is this thing. A very pervasive thing. If you haven't figured this out by now, I am no stranger to sexual assault. It's been a foundational experience, a lingering presence of my life actually. It keeps me up at night, it's the monster that steadily breathes under my bed, that whispers in rasps against my flesh when I'm unclothed. It's always there always. Even in love, it is there, to clutch me by the ankles and rip me apart. Sometimes when I have sex, I go stiff. My body is on high alert. It's there again. Why did that touch feel familiar in a way that sends shudders up your spine? Why did your touch feel like his like hers like his again? I've become accustomed to this really. I don't know how to deal with it. it's part of the reason I'm a shut-in. Online there are often conversations regarding sexual assault within kink spaces or during sex. I see a lot of people saying "It's not a big deal" or "This is how I cope". My experience is my own, different from others, but this doesn't work for me. Reliving as coping has never worked for me. When I see artists say that assault is their fetish it makes my stomach twist. I feel scared. Is that strange? When I was a teenage girl I engaged in that ddlg shit. With grown men of course. what else would it be. I was the baby they were the daddy. You know of course because my dad wasn't doing his due diligence. He was too busy being abusive or absent. I was very lonely. I spent a lot of time looking to be cared for because it was so hard to care for myself. I read stuff telling me that actually, this is empowering. I deluded myself into thinking I was taking control of the narrative and I was manipulating these men. I wasn't really. What was I getting? I didn't orgasm. It was just disgusting, everything was so disgusting. Every day I was reduced to nothing but a child and in that same breath a sexual fantasy. When you gaze into my eyes, there is a hint of woman and I know that disgusts you. When I think about it. Reliving this consensually. It doesn't make sense to me. Again this is my experience, but I find it so odd how when you say you don't like these things, as a victim everyone treats you like a sex-hating puritan. It just makes me feel bad. Even now I feel like crying.

Sometimes I envision scenarios. If I turned back the clock with the things I know now.

In one I brandish the gun
In two I'm the one who takes control
In three we never met
In four it is all the same as before

Will it change anything?

Will it change that sometimes I think about being murdered? I think about my whole body being covered in scars. I think about hurting myself. Like it will give me some gratification. I fantasize about my abusers. About kissing them tenderly, listening to them speak to me. Paint me lovingly, fill me endlessly. I know no better I am no better. I always felt so guilty for this. In this immense pain, I want to be brutalized. For me love is akin to a punch to the gut. Bile that fills your throat and spills from the lips, dribbling onto your chin and staining your shirt. It tastes bad. It feels bad. It's all I know. It's a bad behaviour. It's a bad coping mechanism. It won't change you it won't save you. It's the dirty you do behind closed doors when the lights are off. Oh great evil will you embrace me? There are people who have never experienced this in their life, they will look at you and ask to hit you. They will look at you and go harder when you say stop. They will draw your plight they will masturbate to it. They will sing songs about you, tell stories about you. When you tell them your story it will cause a tightening in their chest and groin. When you're fraught with uncertainty, they will pretend their will is righteous and pain is the only guiding light. You are not human you are fetish you are trauma. When I was a teenager. I got into a relationship. I let my boyfriend hit me and choke me. I let him have sex with the condom off no protection no orgasm. I even begged for it like I loved it. Like a groveling dog, feed me this meal that is unfulfilling that is empty that is worthless. I only realized now, as a young woman that this wasn't fulfilling for me in any capacity. It wasn't empowering. I just wanted to be loved and I wanted to be liked and that's all I knew. That's how I would make someone stay with me. I don't care for these classifications regarding sex. People whining and complaining about what they are allowed to jack off to. It sometimes hurts me. I do not blame victims, victims are not a monolith I don't think it's wrong if you need this to cope. If you are a victim and this is the only way to dull the pain of the endless torment. I won't judge you. I can't. Even if I can't relate who am I to tell you how to cope really? Who am I to tell you how to navigate this? I don't even know how. It's not wrong to think bad things. It's not wrong. It's not wrong to want to die or leave the door open a tad waiting for them to enter inside. I understand. Don't let anyone exploit your experience. A lot of people claim they want to help you with the goal of hurting you. Perverts, lecherous leeches everywhere.
I want to turn "them" into eunuchs, they dance with their balls cut off. Castrated. You seek to enervate me? them? us? I'll kill you you fucking eunuch. I want to thrust those balls in their face while they pitifully cover their empty groin, nothing there but smooth skin. Look at them look at me. I'll blend them into pieces and bits, I'll make you eat them. I'll make you walk along the hot coals endlessly, as I did. This line of fire and walk of shame brewing endlessly in me.

You'll never understand it the way I do.

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