So here’s. Alright. I’ve been thinking a lot about my trauma history lately because I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain it to my new therapist. Not that it’s, like, necessary for me to, but it feels like it kind of might be if I want to give him a picture of why the world feels so fucking scary to me and why, like, to me it feels inevitable that any time I go anywhere or try to participate in the world it’ll lead to something bad happening.
So just for my own sake to get it straight, and maybe just to vent a little, let’s air it all out one more time, and maybe I can just make him read this. And let you read it to, if, yuno. Since I’ve already… yeah. Since my channel and my trauma are kind of bound up with each other in a weird way, so it might be relevant for people who want to understand why I behave like an insane person on the internet.
Alright so. I don’t know what happened when I was a baby but my mom insists that I was “totally PTSD” right after our adoption (I’m a twin) when I was one and a half years old. But I have no idea what I may have seen go down, I’m guessing it was something I witnessed my grandma’s ex husband doing because he was abusive and horrible. Anyway. That part is complicated and not super relevant because I have no way of knowing, anyway.
So then I lived a pretty carefree life until college, other than the other mental health problems I have.
I just realized I’m going to have to… skirt around some details to protect some of the people involved in these stories so… this won’t be, like, a… hm. I probably won’t be able to post this, we’ll see. I’ll try to make it postable anyway.
So… if I want to protect the identities of some of these people I’ll have to not list them chronologically. But uh, okay. Let’s just go stream of consciousness and see how many we can get in there. I think the number is under ten but some “traumas” are more subtle psychological things for me, like, yeah. Anyway. It’s all part of the same complex in my head is what I’m saying.
So, the big dog is that I was drugged. I don’t want to talk about the details of that story here for obvious reasons but it was a friend who I trusted and I tried very hard to rationalize it away, but after gradually recovering the memories of that night and uncovering… look, it’s a long and very not fun story, but I’m now convinced that not only did he drug and rape me, he also laced the weed I smoked for an entire summer and in so doing fucked up most of my relationships and probably my brain chemistry in a long term way.
So that’s the, like, big boy “legit ass trauma” story. But then there are other things that had a big impact as well even if they were small things. Having to drop a class because the professor thought that I was trying to seduce him, even though the scene he thought was about him was actually about a different person in a position of power over me who actually did take advantage of me, mixed up with a few other similar stories of older guys who thought it was okay to ejaculate inside someone without consent, who took advantage of my naïveté and treated me like I wasn’t a person. Did terrible things that I really can’t imagine how they justified, looking back. And not only that, were pretty honest about it. I just try so hard to see the good in people, and was so lonely at those times, that I made excuses for it. I thought that “at least they were honest” and didn’t realize that brutal honesty is different than not being deceitful. It’s possible to be both. Anyway.
One of the “older guys” actually cried the first time I had sex with him and when I tried to comfort him out of just, like, reflex, he straight up shouted at me to stop and went right back to sleep. It was one of the more bizarre things I’ve ever seen a person do, and yet it makes a kind of sense given the circumstances? Who knows. Anyway.
So then let’s see there was the guy I went out with who I invited over to my place after he kind of insisted and as he started telling me about his political beliefs, I started realizing that I did not like this person and also that he was not planning to leave any time soon. And… I mean this was my own terrible judgement but basically he tried to kiss me and I tried to like politely… but then he was like why not and I was… I don’t know, call it weakness of will, call it fear or stupidity or whatever you want but I basically realized that the fastest way to get him out of my apartment would be to sleep with him and then never speak to him again. And it only lasted like two minutes, which is how I justified it.
But that’s kind of how coercion works, right? It starts small and then at a certain point my reasoning for multiple encounters like that one was just… this means more to the other person than it does to me. It probably won’t last that long, it probably won’t get out of hand, it probably won’t hurt, it’s like… I don’t know. Honestly it’s… I mean it’s kind of less of an inconvenience (this was my reasoning at least) than, like, helping someone move or whatever. It’s much more like giving someone a neck rub. Chances are, if they ask enough times and I feel like I don’t have a good reason to say no… yuno?
It’s not. It’s not that I don’t see the problem with that. And it’s not that I don’t see that people who do that kind of thing SHOULD see what’s wrong with what they’re doing and stop. But I get it, kind of. It’s like a homeless person asking for money, kind of. If they want it for food, (ie they’re horny and lonely and desperate for someone to touch them and love them), that’s one thing, but even if they want it for drugs (ie they’re a sex addict and have lost control over their own desires), then… in either case, that’s a problem. But it’s not a problem I can’t have at least some amount of compassion for. So even sometimes when I KNEW that what was happening wasn’t okay, I just… I don’t know. I just wanted to give the homeless guy money because it meant less to me than it should have. Or maybe I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. Or maybe I didn’t know how to tell someone to stop and have them actually stop. Or maybe I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I stopped equivocating and actually said, loudly and firmly, the actual word “stop.”
In my defense, I did say it (quietly) one of those times. But the rest I just… didn’t know how to keep saying no without making it into a confrontation. Or I accepted false dichotomies because I didn’t know how to respond to them. Or maybe I just didn’t want to accept that the person doing it knew exactly what they were doing, so I went along with it so I wouldn’t have to find out definitively that they did not care what I actually wanted, and saw me as too agreeable to say no, and I proved them right. I mean, I did say no. I just only said it once, or twice, or… like a lot more than that, before giving up and just… anyway.
And that’s… uh… I think the most dangerous kind of assault, is the kind that’s not obvious. Some of these people don’t know that they assaulted me. They just didn’t… know the rules. Which is why I think the me too conversation is so important for all of us to have because… when people ask “what even is okay anymore?!” …maybe we should have an actual answer to that.
Which is why I’m working on some videos about consent and stuff, I have a lot of plans and not enough focus, maybe. But anyway. Um. Sex is confusing. Consent is too. And we’re all like… we’re all kind of sex addicts. Kind of. We’re at least validation addicts and sometimes sex can function as a form of validation alone. So… yeah I mean… yeah.
The point is… From my point of view the world is FULL of people who want to have sex with me (humble brag lawl) and don’t know, or don’t care, whether the feeling is mutual because to them, I’m a conquest. Or a hole. Or a pair of tits. Or whatever. A sucker who they can manipulate into doing whatever they want.
I think the number is under ten, but that’s just for proper “assaults.” Not, like… yeah. And look, I’m not the sexiest woman alive, I’m aware of that. But I’m the right mix of fuckable and agreeable and naive to make this kind of person VERY able to… anyway.
So that’s why I talk to the internet instead of forming real relationships. It’s why every workplace except one full of children feels scary to me. From my perspective that fear couldn’t be MORE rational, I guess, is what I want to make understood. It’s… yeah. Anyway. It’s hard to talk about, but it’s easier to write about.
The point is, my problem at this point isn’t… it’s that there were so many of these events that I can barely even… and I’m not saying any of these people belong in jail. I mean, one of them does, another can go to hell as far as I’m concerned,* and another definitely was a predator, but… I don’t know? I just am more focused on myself and my recovery than I am on them or what they did wrong, and why, and what punishment they deserve. Frankly, I wish the me too movement wasn’t so bound up with retribution for that reason. It leaves the victims out as, like, kind of an afterthought, honestly. But that’s an aside.
So… yeah my thumbs are tired. And I shouldn’t post this, but I’m going to. Which I guess is how almost everything I ever do in the internet ends, these days. So. Yeah. Okay. That’s it. Sorry for not writing up some better closure to this rambling.
* this one, by the way, didn’t even rape me, he just… let’s call it “(WAY TOO) heavy petting” – and also prolonged psychological manipulation and malicious fuckery – the point is I hate him more than some of the people who literally did rape me, so… make of that what you will? Sometimes the shit that fucks with your head the most isn’t even the cut and dry stuff. Who knew.