Do I need to say it or am I torturing myself?

[Wren]

Hi world. Again.

It feels so narcissistic to keep posting things. For some reason I am beating myself up for spending so much time on this forum. Like I'm making myself miserable when I should be doing things that make myself feel better. But there are thoughts that keep coming back and I have no one to talk to.

I stopped going to therapy recently (for financial reasons mostly) before I could get into my later-life traumas and I guess I'm just trying to figure out if thinking about these events does any good. Do I need to talk about it? Would it help? Or am I just wanting attention and trying to make myself miserable?
I have mentioned to my husband that I was raped once in my twenties by a boyfriend and sexualized by an older man when I was 12 or so. But I haven't talked about all the other things with anyone. I can't tell what's a big deal and what isn't. I guess I want validation. When I think about saying these things out loud though I get panic symptoms.

I wish I could just make a list of all the stuff that has happened/been done to me and have someone tell me for each event: yes this was abuse or no you're overreacting. Like a score card. Each thing could be rated on a scale of 1-10 of abuse.
And then maybe I could move on. Maybe then I would know what I do need to deal with and what I need to get over. I feel like my husband is tired of listening to my stories and tired of seeing me crying and tired of me not doing enough around the house. I feel like whenever I started to bring things up to my therapist she would make a face. Or my husband would make a face like he was bracing himself. And I clam up. Tell myself I'm being a big baby obsessing over stupid shit. And then I ruminate. And I get weird. And I get nothing else done. And I end up feeling like a big fat lazy slob who sits around feeling sorry for myself.

[moonlightwatie]

Sometimes you have to say or write things in order to start processing them.
It's hard to say these things. I was raped 20 years ago and it's still hard to say it out loud.
You need to find an outlet to discuss what's on your mind or it will keep haunting you.
So yes, post here. Or fill out surveys. Anything to start processing what you've gone through so you can get past it.

[Wren]

Alright. Well here I go.

I remember growing up and hearing about a lot of abuse endured by relatives. I cannot, however, remember when I first learned about them. I know it was before I was 11, but who was first? Was it the night my big brother came home and told us he remembered being molested? Or was it my mom as I overheard her discussing her molestation with her sister. It's hard to say but it seems like it was always around. I guess my point is that I've always been afraid I just wanted to be part of their club and been afraid of making things up so I could feel special, to connect with them, and to feel like someone someday would rescue me. There are things that raise my eyebrow now as I delve into my early memories but nothing conclusive there. I remember being 9 or 10 and masturbating with a tampon and wishing I could start my period or lose my virginity. And I had this sudden feeling like, wait, I don't have a virginity. Someone took it from me. But like I said, I can't really figure out if that was just psycho somatic, if I groomed myself to feel that way, or if it held any weight.
What I do concretely remember and what I've been trying to understand are the following stories.
Not that much longer, maybe I was 12 or so, I started hanging out online in message boards. I liked how everyone commented on how mature I seemed and all the adults liked me. I even started talking over the phone with a couple of guys in their late 20s. One of them tried to get me to have phone sex with him which I thought was ridiculous and the other I invited to my house.
I cooked for him and my mom. I only knew how to cook a few things but I already had one specialty: lemon pepper chicken. So I made that. And the three of us ate dinner together in the dining room and I think we said we were going to watch a movie in my room so my mom went upstairs to hers and laid down.
He went to the bathroom and came out in different pants. Boxers. He kept trying to get closer and closer to me but I felt like it was getting weird so somehow I convinced him to come upstairs to the den with me. I think I figured if my mom heard us she would come out of her room. I thought we could get online together and just have fun. But instead he laid on top of me and rubbed his boner on me. I kept looking the other way so as to avoid him kissing me. I hadn't had my first kiss yet and I didn't want to give it to him. I don't know how I wrapped things up, somehow my mother never came out of her room and somehow nothing further happened. Somehow I got hiim out of the house and when he tried to kiss me goodnight I shut the door in his face. I stopped trying to make dates online for a while. And I was filled with shame.

[Wren]

Unfortunately I just got hornier and hornier and humped everything in sight. Because my family had fallen apart and I was left to my own devices most of the time I was pretty fat and weird by the time I got to high school. Friends started losing their virginity and I was desperate to lose mine. When I was 16 I tried to coerce a guy I knew to have sex with me at the movie theater we worked at as I knew he was a pretty promiscuous guy. He instead performed oral on me and I hated every minute of it. I wanted to vomit when I had to the same to him and I hoped to try and forget the whole thing. Sometime around the same time I started doing drugs, smoking pot, taking mushrooms, etc. I knew one of my managers had a big bag of mushrooms I wanted. He said I could do a strip tease for him and he'd give me $80 and the shrooms.
So I got drunk and took of my clothes. It was when he asked me to hold his hand that I felt used and disgusted at myself.

I started talking to guys online again and made a date with another guy in his 20s. I was 17 at the time. I lied to my mom about where I was going for the evening and drove and hour and a half to meet him. We went to a movie, maybe we had dinner, and then back to his house. We made out for a while and he walked me out to my car. I loved the attention and didn't want to leave. I had come there for a purpose. He begrudgingly let me stay. I called my mom and told her I was too tired to drive home safely and would be home in the morning. I thought we I went to his bedroom he would be nice like he was before and I would feel pretty and special.
Instead he just scowled. I didn't feel good anymore. I knew he didn't want me there. He told me if I didn't take off my big skater pants I could sleep on the floor. So I took off my pants and got in his bed. He seemed so annoyed as he climbed on top of me and I realized this wasn't what I wanted at all. He didn't kiss me or anything. I told him it was my first time but he didn't seem to care. He already had his dick up against me when he asked "well do you want to or not?" and I didn't know what to say so I just looked out the window as he started fucking me. He pulled out, came, and rolled over. I looked down not to find a big red spot where my virginity was but just a puddle of cum I now had to sleep in. I tried all the next day to get his attention but he ignored me and when days turned into weeks and I feared I was pregnant he didn't return my calls. I punched my belly and quit eating. I eventually had a period but never recovered from the shame of that event.

[Wren]

From then on whether I wanted to have sex or not sex was had with me because I never said yes or no. Most of the time I wanted it but then felt empty. And I could never cum. To this day I'm still not entirely sure if I've ever had an orgasm. It used to infuriate and beguile the boyfriend I had in college.
We fucked all the time. I lost 40 lbs we fucked so much.
But over time he revealed he was extremely jealous and controlling and ignored me when I was at home and got in my shit when I wasn't. When I finally broke up with him after 4 years he lost his shit. I thought he was going to kill one of my classmates, seriously. He would get this look him eyes sometimes and it was like he was a different person. Before we had broken up we had a fight and I was standing at the top of some stairs. He had me by the arms and he had that look. I knew he wanted to throw me down the stairs. He later even admitted it was all he could do not to. So when we were over and I saw that look not leave his eyes it scared me. I went to home to our apartment after work a week after we had broken up and we sat on the couch and talked. I confirmed that I was firm in my wanting to be on my own and he cried and cried.
He then begged me to have sex with him one last time. I said I didn't want to but he took me by the wrists and led me to our bedroom anyway. I said flat out "I don't want to do this" but I didn't try to fight him. I don't know why. I guess I was still kind of scared of him but in a way I wanted to see just how sick he was..I don't know. But he fucked me and I just laid there as still as I could looking the other way and crying. He kept saying "isn't this good? i love you i love you" and all I could feel was hate and rage and disgust.
After that I had a hard time remembering my college years for a while. I knew the memories were there I just couldn't access them.
And life only got worse from there.

[Wren]

I started drinking heavily and stopped going to our apartment until he was moved out. I couldn't see him again. I started going by another name and fucked everyone I could. I moved to another town.
I got a job as a cook at a bar and drank, and drank, and drank. I started to plan my suicide and the night that I was going to go home and stick my head in the oven a co-worker asked to take me to dinner. He was a thuggish guy, short, tattoos on his neck, bullet scars. I figured what the fuck. I can kill myself tomorrow, might as well get a free dinner before I go.
He ended up moving in with almost overnight. We fought all the time, and he drove me even crazier. He would get drunk and eat a bunch of xanax and black out. I could tell when he wasn't there anymore and sometimes he had hallucinations and mostly I was kind of afraid of him. But I wanted to make him better. It was fucked up.
At our work's Christmas party my best friend joined us but left early. He didn't like that as soon as I got somewhere I started taking shots. I looked amazing that night. I had found this beautiful dress, super low-cut but still kind of classy in that hollywood sexy kind of way. There was a nice regular there who at times I wished I had tried harder to get close to. He danced with me for a song and told me I looked ravishing. Ravishing! I was over the moon. But I guess my boyfriend was getting fired up with jealousy seeing all the attention I was getting and he grabbed me and threw me in the car. I was pretty wasted at this point so it wasn't too hard to do. I figured he was taking me home because I was too drunk but I noticed we were swerving all the way home. When we got to my apartment I found myself in the bedroom and heard my dress ripping. Before I even knew it I was face down on the bed getting the shit fucked out of me. I don't know if it was in the ass or not but I just remember feeling helpless. I felt like he was mad at me. It's all hazy but I remember going to the bathroom to throw up afterwards. We continued to date for another couple or weeks or so. I think I tried to forget it.
We broke up, and years passed. More terrible things happened involving getting mugged and nearly kidnapped at gun point, and then my home was invaded and I couldn't take it anymore. That's a whole other story.
When I finally got my shit together and moved to the town I'm in now I always feared him finding me. I couldn't figure out why I was so afraid to see him. I had worked in the same town as him for another 2 years after we broke up. But I finally found a place where I felt safe and no one knew me from before.
And last Christmas, around the same time just a week or so before the 25th, I ran into him at a vintage store here. I froze. I bought the thing I had in my hands but tried to hide from his eyes. He had passed inches from me. He watched me the whole time.
And then I remembered what he had done.
And I guess now it's all out there in the open. So if you've read this far, what do you think? That was rape, wasn't it? Twice?
I don't know if I feel any better yet but...in a way it's nice to just release that shit.So thanks. lord. that's a lot of shit. I feel like an idiot because I put myself in all of those situations. I feel like I was smarter when I was 12 than I was at 25.

[manuel_moe_g]

You are not an idiot. You were coping the only way you knew how, because you are suffering deeply. We here are not judgemental and we wish for you peace and accomplishment and fulfillment. Please take care.

[Wren]

Thanks again Manuel_Moe_G. Feeling better today. Slept in, read some in this wonderful book about Mindfulness and Self Compassion. And trying not to ruminate this morning. Anything I can do to keep myself calm and panic free seems like a good thing to do right now.
I don't know if drudging all this stuff up has helped but..maybe at least I'm making some connections here.

[Vonnesky]

Hey, Wren.

Wow, what a fucking story. Your pain is your validation, but since it's hard to see things that are so close to you, everything you just wrote is a big fucking deal. When you first wrote about the score card my eyes popped, because I feel exactly the same way. I don't know why it's so easy to assume one's own trauma isn't traumatizing enough to justify its painful and destructive effects. I imagine it's because your (and my) normal is actually not normal at all. It sounds like you never learned as a child that you were valuable and what respect looks like, and so you didn't know when you were being mistreated, or you did know but didn't think you deserved anything better (consciously or unconsciously). As I read through the rest of your posts my heart literally ached for you. It sounds like you had a very dysfunctional upbringing that has had you searching for love and acceptance from a painfully young age. Also, I'm not entirely clear if you were sexually abused as a child (or if it was your relatives and not you) or if you're actually not sure either. You didn't expand on what happened with the older man when you were 12, so I'm not sure. I just know that your sexual experiences are 100% in line with childhood sexual abuse. I'm sorry if I'm overstepping my bounds here, but if this is the case I urge you to do whatever is in your power to continue your therapy. If you can't afford it, please don't bottle it up. Talk to someone you trust. Talk here! Just don't quit working through this issue! It is a big deal. Don't trivialize your past or your emotions. You're not looking for attention, you're looking for help and connection.

Whatever situation you found yourself in, rape is NEVER your fault. Ever. I know it's not something you can just hear and accept, but I still have to say it, because we live in a society where we teach women not to get raped instead of teaching men not to rape. Those men made a choice to violate the autonomy of another human being and that is entirely on them. You didn't deserve that.

To your question about whether or not analyzing the past is helpful, I think it is, but not in the way we hope for. I used to think if I understood what happened to me and was aware of why I am the way I am that there would be some sort of epiphany that would solve the dysfunctional effects of my past. I knew it would be painful, but I always thought the payoff would be some kind of moment of enlightenment - an idealistic view really. But then, like you, it just seemed so painful and I couldn't see any practical benefit. Knowing and understanding didn't stop me from feeling miserable. In fact, I think I felt much worse for a while as I dug up painful things that I had forgotten and realized painful truths. But I think there is light at the end of the tunnel.
My thought is that as we understand our past we become more aware of our unconscious needs and motivations, and it can help us navigate our future more successfully. In other words, if we understand why we are the way we are perhaps we can correct for our unhealthy tendencies and underlying issues and prevent further pain. Basically, we can recognize and stop ourselves from other- and self-destructive behavior that we previously did unconsciously. Think of all the turmoil we could save ourselves if we knew how to make better choices - especially in how we relate with other people.

I don't know if all that seems obvious (or maybe obvious and still not worth all the pain) but I'm just now learning it. Learning from my past and finding out why I am the way I am helps me make my relationships healthier and in return they help me become healthier. The more we understand ourselves the more we can effectively communicate with others (and understand others) and avoid needless conflict. Small changes pay dividends. I also have found it enormously helpful to see what I considered "normal" behavior was actually mistreatment, and I found it by recognizing what abnormal aspects of my childhood shaped my conception of "normal". I expect I can make better choices with this knowledge, especially in areas where I didn't realize I even had a choice.

I think you are on the right track with self-compassion and mindfulness and not ruminating. I'm working on those things too.

I also want to say that I get your feeling narcissistic for posting about yourself on message boards (I feel that way too), but my perspective is that you are benefiting yourself and anyone who reads. Writing is therapeutic for you, but speaking as a reader, I benefited too. You got me thinking and feeling more connected. So in the end maybe we help each other. At least we feel more connected and less alone. So thank you.

[Wren]

Man. I needed that. Thank you Vonnesky!

While the older man who visited when I was 12 did nothing more than lay on top of me with a boner, it's hard to say if anything had happened before that. My mom used to analyze my violent nightmares and her analysis always came to the conclusion that she thought something had happened to me that I don't remember. Now, that in and of itself kind of seems fucked up, but I guess she was just trying to help. Mostly it just compounds my confusion. I had what seemed to be a fucked up memory come up a month or so ago but I can't tell if it's a real memory or something I made up to help myself "find answers." Sexual abuse runs pretty rampant in my family though so if I had been messed with as a younger child it would come as no surprise to me or anyone else. In fact, I feel as if I've been searching for that moment or memory most of my life. Which is why it's hard for me to trust myself on the topic. Since I was a child I've been trying to figure out if someone molested or raped me so what's real and what's not is really unclear. THAT sucks. I have a hard time with that. It's as if I can't accept that the things that really did happen were enough to mess me up so I'm still looking for THE BIG THING that happened. SURELY there's something even scarier and more awful back there that I can find that will explain the way I am.
When really I guess I don't need any more evidence to support my claim to trauma. I hear Paul talk about that all the time on the podcast. Fuck the scorecard.

When you were describing that notion of waiting for the epiphany to come, that's exactly how it feels. And my digging around for more "evidence" I guess is another way in which I'm trying to do that. Which is so weird because when I put the word "rape" on what happened to me there is kind of a epiphany there but it doesn't feel good. It feels awful. And for some reason I keep expecting it to be different.

I find other paradoxes as well in that I wish I could tell people what I've been through so they could understand why I'm weird sometimes, but I also feel like I need to keep that information safe...and also there's shame. And then I don't want people to think that I'm weak. But I do. But I don't. And it goes back and forth and back and forth like that.

I've found a center here where I live through the RAINN website. They offer free services to victims of sexual abuse. I struggle with knowing if I have the right to call them and ask for help. Perhaps my events don't justify using the services that someone else deserves more. It's hard for me to admit that considering all that I've laid out here and even accounting for what You've said Vonnesky but it's true. In some fucked up way I still feel like I don't know if it counts enough to keep me from calling them.

(and THANK YOU again to everyone who has helped me start to feel okay with posting on here and finding a voice. it still feels really self-indulgent and weird but your responses and encouragement mean the world to me.)