Tag Archives: Guilt

They came, they knocked, I kicked ass

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The Jehovah’s Witnesses have been coming to my house for awhile now.

The first time they came, there were two women all gussied up at the door and another one sitting in the car.  I thought perhaps there had been a nearby car
accident or something when they first knocked.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“This pamphlet is for you and is free.” they said as they handed me this small brochure.

I didn’t want it but it had the word GOD in
huge capital letters across the front and in
some fucked up way I felt almost a superstitious kind of guilt, that if I didn’t take it, perhaps some kind of hex may befall me.

They asked if they could come in, which I thought was really forward. I mean one chick could’ve hog-tied me and the other could have maybe made me her bitch.
I told them no, it wasn’t a good time.  An utter boldface lie as I was binge-watching Judge Judy at the time in sweat pants and a tee shirt.  They said they’d come back later.

The pamphlet had a picture on the front with Panda Bears having a picnic lunch sitting next to some Zebras, which were sitting next to some Kangaroos,  which were sitting next to a little girl, who was
sitting next to a puppy.

The whole thing was fucked up.

Panda Bears and puppy’s don’t have lunch together like that. It’s just not natural….I thought. If this. is their idea of “paradise” I’m just not down with that.

Two weeks passed.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I see it’s them and start forming my excuse as to why I don’t want them
to come in.  They want to know if I had read their pamphlet.  Of course I hadn’t but I kept it for the same effed up weird fear that throwing it out might
invite some bad Karma my way.

They asked if they could come in, I told th once again that it was a bad time. They said they’d come back later.

Another two weeks passed.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

A sick feeling comes over me. I think of an excuse as I make my way to the door. They ask if they can come in, I told them I was busy, though clearly they can see I look like the dawn of the dead and I just rolled out of bed. They said they’d come back later.

Two more weeks pass.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
I peer through the blinds.
It’s them.
I hide.
I wait.
They eventually leave.   I can’t believe I’m hiding in my own home from these freaking people.   It’s like some crazy episode of the Twilight Zone.

1 week later…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
my stomach drops.
“this can’t go on I think,
I have to take the bull by
the horns…
” and yet I don’t
like confrontation, I am intimidated
by these people and their
Pollyanna-esque-just-got-off the-Surrey-with-the-fringe-on top weird vibe.

I go to the door and swing it
open wildy. Before they even
have a chance to speak I blurt out in my loudest speaking voice:

“I DON’T YOU TO COME BACK ANYMORE.
DON’T KNOCK ON MY DOOR AGAIN. PLEASE
DON’T COME BACK.”                                        I shut the door just as fast.

They have not returned since.

All this time and it
was just that easy?
I could get used to this
being assertive thing.
Yes indeed.

 


Drawn to Illicit Sex

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World English Dictionary
illicit (ɪˈlɪsɪt)

— adj
1. another word for illegal
2. not approved by common custom, rule, or standard: illicit sexual relations
For the purposes of this post I am using the latter definition.

The sexual abuse I had endured as a child left me so terrified of my own sexuality and of men that it left me completely disconnected with and at times dissociated from my body.  When I finally ended up dating it was nearly all abusive men, active substance using men, and narcissistic men. It seemed strange that over and over it was the wrong guys. Bad luck I thought.

Why couldn’t I have been the girl who got asked out by some nice fellow and progressed in a slow and steady fashion within a relationship?   I’ll tell you why because I was a victim of incest at the hands of my brother and it had been going on since I was 8 and it didn’t end until I was in the middle of high school. And by then I wanted to commit suicide.

So when I grew up, I had become THAT girl. You know the one that tells my date my entire life story over a few drinks in under ten minutes and then let’s him finger fuck me underneath the table at the restaurant, while telling him as he is doing this, that I want to take things slow.

Or I have a guy friend who says he’s hoping my recovery moves more quickly because he’d like to fuck me. After a tongue lashing from me, on how I value our friendship, and that we’ve been friends for so long and he can’t do this! I climb right up on his lap, straddle him, kiss him, gently bite his nipples, rhythmically move my hips over his pelvis while my body betrays me as I get wet under my skirt all over his jeans.

Oh wait, here comes the shame again, along with guilt. Why couldn’t I have just tongue lashed him and left it there? What’s wrong with me.

After restaurant guy finger fucked me, I hid in my apartment for weeks every time he rang my buzzer. So much shame. Eventually he didn’t come around anymore, Thank God. When you couple shame and guilt, this wedding along with a lack of ability to dialogue about your emotions… You spend your life either running or hiding. Building thicker walls to keep people out so you don’t get hurt again.

My shrink says lots of incest survivors  are at higher risk for developing sexual problems and problems with setting adequate boundaries overall.  When your body is not your own as a child, because your brother has access to you 24/7 you don’t ever have a “no,” to his sexual advances. You can never escape.

As an adult it was quite an easy transition for me to slide into the world of BDSM, fetish, and kink .

I was too busy figuring out how to stay alive amidst trauma in childhood and adolescence and I never learned the healthy boundaries needed to navigate adulthood. So the cycle repeated.

I’m a walking talking paradox. I really DO want to be the girl who goes slow and have healthy boundaries AND also, I don’t. I crave that which is taboo, and sometimes I recoil from that which is taboo.

I think back to Stanley Kubrick’s film, A Clockwork Orange. If I’m wired to respond sexually in a maladaptive and deviant way for so long, what are the odds I can re-wire now? There is a saying that once a cucumber has become a pickle, it can never go back to being a cucumber again.

What if I am that pickle?

What if there is hope for all of us for redemption?


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