Those things that you’ve been keeping inside of you for almost 20 years, or 10 years or couple of years. Those things that have made you who you are without you wanting anything to do with them. Those that been with you even though you would rather have all of them gone. Those that you feel embarrassed or ashamed or scared of. I’m talking about something that is probably the hardest thing to write “out loud” but also feel like it’s the most important thing to write Out Loud. I’m talking about how I’ve been living and carried with me the notion of someone abusing or harassing me, mentally or physically. And not just once, all those times when I knew that telling about them would do nothing. Or knew that I should tell but didn’t have the courage to do it, because I was so ashamed.
Like that time almost 20 years ago, when a boy I really liked, almost raped me. Saying while pulling my pants down, that it will only last a second and how it’s not going to hurt. And how me saying No, didn’t do anything to his attempts, before I manage to kick him away from me. And how I didn’t realize before just couple of years ago how wrong and huge thing that is. How it broke a piece of me when I was just starting to grow as a person and a woman.
Or when an old boyfriend in the middle of a fight hit my head to a wall and how him saying I’m sorry many times just made the whole thing disappear with time.
Or when studying at a restaurant school, working in the teaching restaurant, nervously taking an order, older man smiles at me and touches my butt. And me feeling like I can’t do anything about this, nothing, almost like it’s normal behaviour from men.
Or when someone decides that it’s completely okay for them to first send you dick picks to your email and then start to call you in the middle of the night just heavy breathing. And when you go to the police station to report him because his phonenumber wasn’t secret, they just say to you that they can’t do anything and that I should just change my phonenumber.
Or all those times when someone has used my kindness and mentally abused me and played with me, to a point when I think that I’ve done something wrong and I’m some piece of shit whore.
Or those days when it was so warm that I had to go on my runs late in the evening, wearing regular running shorts and a shirt, and being followed, yelled at, whistled, honked and followed with a car. And that terrifying knowledge in you that you can’t do anything and rather not even react because you’re alone there and have no idea what they can do if you say something to defend yourself.
There’s been a lot of talk about this subject lately in different medias. It’s made me sad, then angry, then sad and then feel that all those years of layers that I’ve built on top of those moments of feeling like nothing, are peeling off and me feeling pretty scared to feel and remember all of them again.
One thing that I’ve had in my life since I was a kid, has been mental harassment and violence. I’ve grown to it, thinking that it’s normal that someone does and says things like that. Which has followed me finding myself in similar relationships. Those years when I was growing to me and who I am as a woman, were scattered with different kind of abuse. And the saddest thing is that the world we live in makes you not want to talk about them, because the response usually is something like “are you sure it really happened like that?” or “I think you’re over reacting” or “are you sure it’s not your fault too?” or “that’s only your side of the story”.
I remember how when I was in my early twenties, I turned the whole thing around trying to be in control, by using my sexuality as a tool. Thinking that if I’m strong and sexy and “willing”, then I’m in control. Which obviously wasn’t right. Because what had happened in my past, had left pretty damn dark scars in me, which meant that I was terrified when it got “down to it”. I was able to talk dirty and tease but when it got to the actual thing, I could not be more scared.
The way guys were and still are, selfish in how they behave when it comes to sex, makes you feel like your pleasure isn’t worth the same as theirs. So you give more than you receive and feel guilty when you say that this is not right. Or even just wanting more than you were given, aka what you deserve equally. But when you have those memories of someone touching you or trying to touch you in a way that you didn’t want or feel at all comfortable with, it’s even harder to be you with all of you. You feel so strongly that you don’t deserve anything and that you’re not worthy, you’re nothing in a way.
It’s really scary how things that could feel really small to someone, can hurt and leave deep deep scars in another. The moment you feel insecure when you walk out the door, is already too much. Or when you feel that it’s better that I don’t say what happened, because it doesn’t lead to anything better. Or when you just know that you will never hear “I’m sorry for what I did” from that person whose used you in one way or another. It’s also really scary how so much of mental or verbal abuse happens close to us. It comes from those who should never, ever talk to you like that. Any more than some random drunk guy trying to put their hand in your crotch or say something completely wrong to you.
Those years when I was supposed to grow as a woman and me, were the worst because I was broken to pieces and didn’t even realize that I had been done that. I thought that it was something that I did, or at least was made to feel like that. When I was already feeling super insecure with myself, and didn’t believe that I deserve only the best, like anyone else.
The way words can hurt you as much or even more at times than any physical deed, is something I’ve only woken up the last years of my life. I’ve gotten it close to me and from people I have no idea who they are. How someone can make you feel with just few words and take your whole being away, is really terrifying.
Now that I’m starting to be myself and knowing who I truly am under all of those layers, I’m also seeing myself as that woman I am and want to be. Knowing my worth. But at the same time it’s the most terrifying moment when you get all of those layers peeled off from yourself and realize how much wrong have been done to you. I feel more naked now than I ever did when I wrote about my depression. I feel scared how people think of me when I’ve been honest about something like this too. Thinking that maybe there’s so many things wrong with me that they don’t want anything to do with me. Or maybe I’m able to be there for someone whose been in a situation like I have. I know that saying things like this out loud can cause a “shit storm” but at the same time, if I ever want to be free from this, it’s better to get it out. This just happens to be my way, because deep inside me, I wish that I can help at least one person with this, while I am healing myself.
I’m tired of being afraid of speaking the whole truth. I’m tired of feeling I’ve done something wrong, when I’m the one whose been done wrong. I’m tired of thinking that I don’t deserve the best. I’m tired of our society blaming every girl as soon as they learn to walk. I’m tired of thinking that what I wear is somehow too much or too little. It’s a never ending cycle of something. I’m tired of someone thinking that they can control my life when I’m the only one who can do that decision. I’m tired of being scared to be me, whole me. I’m tired of carrying all those scars and broken pieces that I didn’t have anything to do with. I’m tired of hiding things. I’m tired of feeling like my happiness is always less than someone else’s. I’m tired of feeling less. I’m tired of being the one who someone thinks they can strip from my self worth. I’m tired of feeling afraid.