I waited to have sex until I was twenty.  Before that point, I bought into the whole not-until-I’m-married thing.  Then, as I proceeded to do everything but intercourse, I realized the ridiculousness of my belief (calling myself a TV, technical virgin in the process) and acted accordingly.  I was in love with D.  Both of us were virgins.  It felt like the right thing to do.

The first time we had sex, it hurt.  Then, it felt really good.  The odd thing, though, was that I didn’t feel my hymen pop, and there was no blood.  Now, girls lose their hymens in many different ways, so it’s not that unusual.  However, I think I know now why I didn’t bleed that first time.

She is seven and naked, lying on her bed.  He is crouched on top of her, with his cock hanging out of his pants.  He is hard, and she is thrashing.  This time, she is not being obedient.  She is not lying quietly, passively taking whatever he does to her.  She is thrashing her arms and legs as hard as she can, but it’s hopeless.

He has his hand on her mouth, and he is pressing down.  She is trying to scream, but she cannot.  He then locks her ankles with his so her lower body is pinned to the bed.  That only leaves her arms free, and she is flailing them as best she can.  She is also moving her head from side to side, but not with any success.

He doesn’t say anything.  He just keeps pressing his hand to her mouth and stares at her with his empty eyes.  She tries not to look at him, but she cannot look away.  She is still struggling, but she is tiring rapidly.  When he senses that she is just about out of energy, he takes his cock in his left hand and tries to shove it in her pussy.  Close up of his cock pushing its way in her body with little success.  She is dry, and even though his cock is wet from her mouth, he can’t get all the way in.

There is a ripping and a terrible pain, but he is soon stumped in his quest for entry.  No matter how hard he tries, he cannot get his cock inside of her.  So, he pulls out, sits on her shoulders and points his cock at her mouth.  She cannot fight any longer.  She opens her lips and lets him shove his cock into her small mouth.  He places a hand on her lower jaw to make sure she doesn’t pull away, but it’s not necessary.    She is broken.

This is my latest flashback, and, yes, it happened in taiji.

What can I say about this particular flashback?  I have no words of wisdom to share.  None.  I still don’t completely believe (or know) if the memories are 100% accurate, but I am accepting that something deeply traumatic happened to me when I was a little girl.

I fumble to find meaning to all this pain.  Well-meaning people have told me at many points in my life that that which does not break me makes me stronger.  I would not be the person I am today without what happened to me in the past, they say.  I have actually heard some women who’ve been sexually abused say that they would not change what had happened to them because it made them what they are today.  Fuck that shit with a rusty pitchfork ten ways of Sunday.  If I could change what happened in my childhood or being raped in Thailand, I would do it in a heartbeat.  Yes, it made me what I am today, but think of how much more I could be right now without those two experiences as the foundation of my being.

I didn’t need to learn I was worthless in order to realize the value of other human beings.  I didn’t need to be broken in order to be taught the fragility of the human spirit.  I didn’t need to be trained that my body, mind, and soul were only for the disposal of others in order to see that every person deserves a life of her/his own.

Change it?  In a fucking heartbeat.

I did the visualization my therapist told me to do.  I sat down with the girl who had gone to Thailand to see what she needed.  First she said chocolate and pizza.  Those were easy.  I had pizza today, in fact, and I have chocolate every day.  Her next response surprised me, though.  I thought she would say that she needed safety or protection or to feel like she fit in.  Instead, she looked at me and simply said, “Love.”

It broke my heart.  She was so vulnerable with her face stripped of any artifice.  She was hugging her knees and looking for all the world like the lost little girl she was.  I told her gently that I could promise her that she would be loved.  She may not get to keep the love, but she definitely would get to experience it.  That satisfied her, but it just made me sadder.

Love.  That was all she wanted.  Love for who she was and not for what she did.  Love for being the quirky, freaky, odd girl she was born to be and not for the Stepford Minna that she had been groomed to be.  Love for simply being alive and not for excelling.

I have a hard time believing that I am worthy of being loved and that I deserve to be loved.  I constantly feel as if I have to earn that love by being witty and amusing, by getting perfect grades, by being the perfect weight, by giving of myself until I have nothing left to give, by being the best fuck ever, by knowing the right thing to say and do at all times, by doing something, anything, other than simply existing.  How can I, in and of myself, merit love?

Love is qualified.  Love is reserved.  Love is unattainable.  Love is impossible to achieve.  Love is for other people.  This, this is the life lesson that has taken the deepest root in me, and it’s the life lesson that I have the hardest time unlearning.

I deserve to be loved.

I am fighting the impulse to add a bajillion qualifiers to that statement because I fucking don’t believe it.  Yet.

As for the flashback, it’s the worst I’ve had yet, but I have the horrible feeling that the worst is yet to come.  I still am not totally convinced that the flashbacks themselves are the absolute truth, but I have reluctantly accepted that something deeply traumatic happened in my childhood.  I just hope I’m strong enough to deal with it, no matter what it is.

I love this song by The Duhks called Four Blue Walls. I hope you like it, too.

9 Responses to Broken

  1. Dear Friend,

    Between your life, my life, your flashbacks and my history life is not being kind to me. I sit here reduced to a massive heap of tears and emotion of mine and yours.

    Your brokenness has obvious roots and I just feel compelled to tell you that I don’t believe your brain would make these up to play with you. I don’t think you are letting your imagination get the best of you and I believe your memories are real.

    I can not tell you about the full course of anger and rage running through me today. I’m sitting here wondering why men have to be such bastards, when I remember that not all men are like this, as evidenced my fellow readers of your blog.

    I am thankful to whatever force it is out there guiding me, that at this point in my life both online and off, I know GOOD men and have a few who regularly and routinely have a place in my life. To those of you who read here, thank you for being a reminder that not all men are bastards in need of the fantasies that sometimes play out in my head.

  2. Ed. Note: I accidentally published this early, right after saying this was a flashback from taiji, and that’s when whabs posted.

    whabs, I heartily agree with you that life is not very kind at the moment. I also agree that I am blessed to know some very good and amazing men to offset all the bastards I know personally or through other women who have been broken at some point in their lives. The good and amazing men include my readers here and at your place as well. A heartfelt thanks to all of them.

    I wish I could find the anger because right now, all I can feel is the sorrow–and the pain. Hugs to you my friend.

  3. I deserve to be loved.

    Of course you do.

    And so does SillyWhabbit, and so do we all.

    You pride yourself, rightly, on your being different, Minna, but you aren’t different in that way, not a bit.

  4. And until you can manage to say, “I LOVE MYSELF!” we will say it for you, because I DO love you.
    YOU are amazing and one day when the little girl says she needs love, you won’t promise her someday she will know it, you will pick her up and hug her like only YOU know she needs it and you will say to her emphatically and without hesitation, ” I love you!”

    For me, at that moment in my life I became one with my past and in an instant I realized I wasn’t a victim any longer, but a survivor. I suspect that is why I too state that I wouldn’t change a thing because I wouldn’t be who I am today. Maybe it’s a cop out and a way to deal with some of the trauma. Maybe my PTSD diagnosis was a cop out too…a reason to fall so far down the rabbit hole that I descended to. But maybe it has enabled me to be here for people like you, The Girl, and my many female friends who have suffered traumas beyond comprehension at the hands of those who “love” us.
    Maybe that misuse and abuse of love warps us to be unable to accept love for a while till we redefine what love is (re-wired love). I mean c’mon, if that’s love who the fuck would want it?
    Regardless, it is an honor to be allowed to travel this journey of Minna with you, for in your readers, you have placed your trust.
    Now it’s time for you to practice what you preach and do something nice for yourself. You toss your love, energy and support to the people you love, you send them as much of your protective energy as you can muster.
    Accept some back because I would love to gather little Minna up in my arms and tell her she is very loved. I’d point out your allies and say, “When Minna gets stuck, we will hug you, because we love you both.”

  5. I wish so much that I had some magic words that would heal everything instantly. Since no one has them, though, all I can say is that I’m reading your words, and hearing your pain and your struggle, but also your spark, and intelligence, and kindness.
    I’m a stranger to you, but I would give you a big old hug if I could.

  6. Minna, you deserve it all, and love is only the beginning.

    You deserve love, and chocolate, and the world on a silver platter.

    I hope some day you see that it’s all there. Except maybe the world, because it can be really stubborn about climbing onto silver platters.

  7. Gregory, I really wish I could believe it. If you and others say it often enough, maybe I will, in time. Thank you for showing me how much you care It means a great deal to me.

    whabs, I get the idea of understanding others who have gone through this better because I’ve gone through it myself. I get that I wouldn’t be me as I am right now if these events hadn’t happened to me. I just think I could have been so much better and so much more if I hadn’t been abused/molested/raped, etc. I see how much I’ve lost because of my past, and it makes me unbearably sad.

    Thank you for your love. It sustains me. In time, I hope to be able to feel that love for myself. In the meanwhile, I will love the important people in my life, like you.

    Betsy, you are no stranger to me. Even though we’ve never met, I feel as if I know you in some very basic way. Thank you for holding out your hand to me.

    Kali, ah my wondrous goddess. You continue to remind me what’s important in life. Chocolate, love, and the hope of the next generation. Thank you for the wisdom of youth. I am honored to have you in my life.

  8. Minna, we love you because of who you are, not who you pretend to be. Because YOU shine through, even if you think you’re hiding. And you shine so very brightly.

    My young self also just wanted love. Wow, that brings back some sharp pain and sadness. I can’t change my past any more than you can, and this understanding of abuse and pain helps me empathize with others, but I’m not thankful for the awful experience. It’s hobbled my in some ways, too, and I am still working to break free.

    Do you know the ancient Sumerian story of Inana?

  9. Choolie, thank you for reminding me of that. It’s so easy for me to believe that people wouldn’t *really* love me if they knew the real me–except, I have been letting the real me out more and more, and, damn it, people seem to love me, anyway.

    I looked up Inanna, and I get the basic gist, but I would love to know more.

    And, my inner little girl is VERY glad she met yours. May they play together forever.