Sex is a natural part of our being.
Sex is part of creation, lust, and bonding.
Sex is beautiful.... until it's non-consensual.
No woman or man should ever be able to count the times they didn't consent for a sexual on with a single finger. Unfortunately, I barely can keep them on one hand, and that's just the number of people who did not gain my permission, not the number of instances.
I read an article today written by my boss at Flurt Magazine. It was a piece on how she almost went into the sex industry just to make ends meet, struggling to find shelter, a place to stay, and her mental health was on sharp rocks. A lot of what she said took a lot of raw feelings and experiences; Things that most people would never in a million years admit to, let alone publicly publish an article about it for the world to see. It took Amanda a lot of guts and strength to actually do such an incredible thing. It also got me thinking.
I've been working for Flurt for about two months now. I've recently started writing some more personalized articles on my experiences of life. While I'm open about a couple of my non-consensual encounters of sex, there's still many skeletons I've kept in the closet.
Most people know about three, not the recent fourth one. The first encounter is the one I rarely speak in depth about. I usually just leave it at "I was maybe six years old." Only people I've sincerely trusted enough with details know MOST details about it, and it's only a few people perhaps? Those are details I have yet to even feel comfortable sharing with a therapist.
The second encounter was with an ex-girlfriend of mine back in high school, and again, I don't generally prefer to go into the details.... or on how many instances I had to endure the pain.... or how the first time I willingly had sex with a girl after that, I had a full blown panic attack and started crying.
The third one was an attempt, not an actual act, but it doesn't make it any less traumatizing...especially when you've already experienced it before. Even my friend who was present during the attempt was traumatized...but then again, I would've also.
The last one was more recent. I kept saying no. No means no, no matter how many times it's said. Pushing away, saying no, squirming, are not invites to try to arouse me. I felt like an empty shell already, being drowned in my own storm of depression, and ended up giving in. Afterwards, I got up, and stared at a blank wall for two hours, unsure of what to even think.
I've wondered if I'd ever actually openly publish something about the details of these incidents. Would the massive details being publicly known help with my PTSD healing? Or would it further destroy me writing down and admitting every single detail? Could I mentally handle the criticism that could pop up from the world? It's inevitable as a writer that not everyone is going to like (or agree) with what you have to say, even if it's from your own personal experience. My biggest fear/question: Could I handle my family actually knowing the truth? All the years of hiding the incidents, all the unexplained childhood events that led to the signs of it, but no one knew what was going on.
One of the biggest factors into my depression.
All the secrets I've kept hidden away...
It's all said and done for me. I can't take back ANY of those times, and I have to figure out my own ways of healing and coping with the PTSD attacks that force me to relive the graphic moments; some of which are memories that slowly unravel that I DON'T want to know exist still in my head.
However, I begin to wonder if I actually stated every last detail and made it publicly known....
Could I truly save someone's life or inspire someone to fight through the pain?
Or would it be a waste of my breath?
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