my diary or whatever (tw)

@toucans

There is something I want to get out already.

TW // sexual misconduct/assault, incest, grooming, self harm -- graphic

7/11/22.

I always found the patterns of who I've looked up to, who I've been attracted to, and my behavior in relationships to be very odd. It all feels connected, like the clusterf#ck of some sick curse that goes way back to before I was even born. It's still eating at me today. After some self reflection, I've pieced it all together, for the most part.

To keep a long story short, there's been a disgusting amount of assault and incest throughout my bloodline, on both sides. My aunts were molested and sometimes raped by their fathers or uncles. That, in turn, began the same cycle within them that started in me. They attracted predators. My cousins had the same kind of sick fathers or stepfathers that their mothers did. And so the cycle continued. My cousins often explored sexually with one another, since this type of behavior was so normalized. (I actually just learned that piece about a month ago. Crazy.)

Both of my parents are also victims of grooming or assault. My mother was a minor when they met. You know where I'm going with this. She was 20 when I was born. My father was 27.

I first learned what sex was when I was in elementary school. My parents didn't explain to me, but a neighborhood friend close to my age. That's when I remember things going downhill. I was obviously curious. I can at least say that my parents did what they could to break the cycle with us, teaching us that being touched inappropriately was not okay, don't talk to strangers, tell someone if someone makes us uncomfortable, etc.

My cousin-- who was about 22 I'm guessing??-- came over the house around this time. I don't remember anything leading up to the incident, or anything afterwards, just being in the living room on his lap when he asked what color my underwear was, and attempting to touch me. I yelled for my mom and told her. That's all I can recall from that night.

I do know, however, that shortly after, I began experimenting with a couple of my friends. We got caught nearly every time, but it never really dawned on me that this wasn't something I wasn't supposed to be doing, as long as it isn't family.

So let's fast forward a bit. I'm now in middle school. At this point in time, both of my parents are now in a failing relationship caused by their substance abuse, and we had moved around a couple times. I had already been experimenting with porn to feel something. The people at my new school were not welcoming to me at all. I was the kid they would ask out as a joke. Insult me in my face. The only time I had ever gotten any positive attention from a boy at school was when I was 'growing' or wearing makeup.

Like many other middle school kids in the 2010's with unmonitored internet access, I often turned to YouTubers and bands for emotional support. The VAST MAJORITY of them wound up being predators. I don't even need to say names for anyone to get an idea of who was on that roster. I also turned to platforms such as Omegle, Whisper, and Kik. Yikes.

So here I was, at 11-12-13-14 years old, naively idolizing these disgustingly predatory men, deliberately dressing provocatively when walking downtown, and talking to adults online to feel worthy. I was mature for my age. I was beautiful. This wasn't something I wasn't supposed to do, because I was getting positive attention and they weren't family. Hmm.

Let's fast forward again. Late middle school/early high school. 14-15-16 years old. I had a thing with the kid next door, we'll call him C. Long story short, he was one of those "I want you to treat me like your boyfriend but I won't want to be exclusive so I can juggle you and another girl" types. I was only interesting when I sexualized myself. But when I threatened to walk away, he would threaten to hurt himself. Another vicious cycle.

Eventually, I did leave, and he was fine.

My following boyfriend, we'll call him Z, was the worst f#cking mistake I have ever made. I gave my virginity to him. But before our relationship even got serious, he made a joke about raping me. I laughed it off and said, "yeah, right." He looked me in my face and told me, "No, seriously. I would."

Why that never alarmed me never made any sense to me. I still have yet to piece that together. Maybe it will never make sense. But he kept his word. And it happened more than once. I always brushed it off. It took months for me to fully grasp that what he did was rape, because... well, he was my boyfriend. And I sexualized myself. And it was the attention I had been craving... right?

It took me a long while to recover. I mean, you never just fully recover from rape as if it's washed clean from your past, but you get what I mean. I avoided relationships for a little bit. Yet, I still craved that attention because deep down, I was still wounded and insecure from the neglect from my family and bullying I was still experiencing at school. The only way I could get it was to sexualize myself again. Except, now it's different. I would have severe panic attacks when it came down to my body because I was afraid of being violated again. So I would only pleasure them instead.

This lead to a years-long pattern of exploiting myself for shallow validation. Most of the time they were either grown men online or my own so-called "friends" at home who used me. And I let them.

Now, as an adult, I still struggle with my self image and allowing other people in. I am married now, and my husband is the most patient man I have met. He will often remind me that I'm safe when we are intimate. It's everything I've been craving, but in a healthy way this time.

Yet... as gross as it sounds, I am sometimes.. almost nostalgic?? of the abuse, of the power imbalance I was once a part of. It isn't at all like I seek to keep the cycle going. But sometimes, deep inside, there's this disgusting part of me that wishes I could relive being 13 and feeling the validation I felt from behind the screen when an older man would give that attention.

Somehow I romanticize the times when I used to put out for boys who wanted nothing to do with me, just have a 'good time' while I was there.

It's so appalling. I hate myself and cringe whenever I feel it. I will never understand why. I have everything I have ever wanted and more, and for a while I truly believed I had healed. But every so often, the nostalgia creeps up like goosebumps on my neck and I just want to bury myself.

I don't even know who to blame. Myself? My parents? The generational curse of sexual trauma that's been haunting us all?

Who knows?

I just hope that one day it fades and doesn't return.