I met with my counselor Sunday. I was filled with a certain amount of dread going in. I knew what we were going to be talking about and it's the most difficult topic for me. Sex. Now I've talked about it in this post but it's one thing to tell all of you out there from the safety of my home and from behind my computer screen. But I walked in there knowing that it had to be said, I had to work through all the hurts in order to heal.
The beginning of the discussion was around whether or not what was done to me was sexual assault. I haven't admitted or allowed myself to believe that I was raped. Look at the media and the image they paint of sexual assaults and rapes are very different. They're usually some situation where a girl is held down by a strange man and is screaming "no" and fighting to get away. This isn't always the case. I thought it wasn't rape because I never said "no". I mean, I said no with my eyes, my body language and my demeanor. But I never said the word "no" and he continued. I learned Sunday that I was raped. That because I said "no" without words he was violating me.
I remember less than a year into the marriage I would pinch myself or bit my hand while he was on top of me. I didn't want to allow my mind to focus on the sensation of him. I would rather hurt myself then allow my body to respond to him. He noticed one the marks and welts on my body once but I quickly said it must have been an allergic reaction to something. I stopped doing that to myself after that. Around that time I started hurting myself. I would scratch my upper thighs with scissors and I would feel relief from doing it. Shortly there after I started seeing a counselor but it wasn't a good fit and I stopped after seeing her twice.
I knew deep down that this relationship was not right. He had me so convinced that I was crazy and overly emotional. But I wasn't. My counselor asked me (in a round about way) if I had had sexual relationships with other men. I told her I had, after all I wasn't a Christian when I got married. She asked me to think back to those relationships and ask myself what did a "normal" relationship with them look like. It was a light bulb moment.
I had a wonderful relationship when I was 17. Tim was sweet, caring and treated my like a princess. He is the man I measured any other potential boyfriends against. He didn't always understand why I needed something but did whatever he could to make me happy. I remember that part. The part I somehow forgot was the sex part. What did that part of that relationship look like? He was a virgin (and I was not) when we met. We waited months before we decided to have sex. After the first time, he didn't change they way he treated me. He still made grand romantic gestures. I think back to the Valentine's day he planned. He made me dinner and had set up candles and flower peddles and put on music and we slow danced. I had sexual desire for him. I initiated sex on more than one occasion because I actually wanted to have sex. I was able to say no without worrying how he would take it. We broke up amicably because he was off to college and we just grew apart.
I also had a semi-wonderful relationship with Matt when I was 18. We dated for nearly two and a half years. We did argue and he did fall short (on occasion) of being the perfect boyfriend but he was good to me. We had a healthy sex life. The way he treated me after the first time was no different than before. He loved me and actually planned to propose to me but I broke up with him before he had the chance. We stayed in touch via email for a while and we actually tried to get back together a year later but I had changed so much and he hadn't changed (grown up) since the day I met him.
So now that I've really tried to remember the normal relationships I've had I'm curious how I allowed myself to be in such a destructive one. Where did I go wrong? According to my older sister (and I would have to agree with her to a certain extent), I rushed into the relationship after my live-in boyfriend dumped me. We had plans to buy a house and while marriage wasn't officially talked about I assumed that was the path we were on. We even got a puppy together (which I kept btw). But he dumped me, via text message while I was at work. Classy guy, I know.
So I was living in a city without many friends, heart broken and lost. I stayed single for nearly a year after but I still had a feeling like I was missing out. People around me were either married or getting married and I was the only single person in my circle of friends. I felt like I wanted to be a part of their club, the married people club. I even saw one friend get engaged 2 months after meeting her husband and married 4 months later. I figured since it worked out for them and they seemed happy that it could work out for me. Thus the 9 months from first meeting to married with him.
Over the past two days I've been trying to come to grips with the fact that I was a rape victim and that it wasn't my fault. I did what I had to do to survive. Much like girls that are trafficked or women in countries that have civil wars going on. You can't lay on the ground and cry forever. The world is still going on and yours must too. As I type I feel my mind trying to downplay it all. "Well you weren't gang raped" or "you weren't raped in front of others" but the truth is, being raped by someone you know and that tells you they love you carries it's own burdens.
My counselor really tried to help me understand that labeling it rape doesn't change what was done; that it doesn't change me. I can chose to tell or not tell anyone I wish. That I don't have it tattooed to my forehead for the world to see. My concern was that my Mum was violently raped (by strangers) a few months before my wedding and she did not cope very well. Her mental state deteriorated so much that she had to go on disability and only in the last year and a half has she regained her sense of self-worth. I was so afraid (and still am a bit) that by labeling the action rape I will fall down the path myself. I don't worry so much about having a day were I'm depressed and don't want to get off the couch. I do however worry that that one day might turn into two and then a week. I'm actually glad that I had to work my second job yesterday because it allowed me to focus on something else yesterday evening instead of sitting on the couch and eating until it hurt. More on that one in another post.
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