Another Memory (artwork; trigger warning)

One of these days my reserve of traumatic images will run low, WON'T IT?  I keep thinking there will come a day when I will finally have processed all of this shit. 

This particular image/memory is from early on in our relationship, before we were even married.  It started out almost romantic.  We had taken an old plaid blanket to a local state park and hiked quite a ways off the trail.  I knew he planned to have sex, and I was okay with that . . . in fact, there was a certain amount of "romance" and "excitement" to the whole idea of having sex in a semi-public place where we might get caught.

But then he started getting really rough and "weird." and I asked him to stop.  We heard some other people on the hiking trail nearby, and for a split second, I thought to myself, "maybe they could help me."  But then I felt really stupid.  Help me with WHAT?  This was my BOYFRIEND, who I had come there WILLINGLY with. . . what would I SAY to them?  The sex had started out consensually . . . I just hadn't been prepared for the change in his approach.  And when I say "change," I mean Dr.Jekyl/Mr. Hyde type transformation. 

I was terrified and did what most young women would probably do - screamed at him to get off me.  He threw the blanket over me and started choking me, telling me to "shut the fuck up" and saying "you know you want it" and that I was such a tease and he "knew" I liked it rough.  Since WHEN?  His grip on my throat got so tight I started seeing stars and thought I was going to pass out.  I maybe did for a second or two, because I vaguely remember him leaning over me looking kind of scared and saying, "oh my God!" I guess maybe he thought he killed me?

Anyhow, yeah, this was such a "fun" memory to revisit/relive.  This is going on 15 years ago and it's only just coming up.  When is this going to end?  Just when I think I must be almost done with this crap, there's always MORE and MORE and MORE.  I'm so sick of it.  I just want to get on with my life and be "NORMAL!"  Is there such a thing?

I don't want to be one of those people who spends their whole life in therapy whining about their past and using it as an excuse for never doing anything with their life.  I have dreams, goals, and aspirations (or at least I'm pretty sure that I USED TO).  I don't have time for this insanity.

And yet, I'm afraid if I don't let all this crap out now and deal with it thoroughly, that it will just come back to "haunt" me at some point in the future.  But I SO want to get on with my life, to leave these ugly chapters behind me FOREVER.  When will this end?

Giving up the Fight (artwork; trigger warning)

I apologize in advance if this piece of artwork is disturbing to you.  I'm simply trying to wade my way through all of the perverse images that swirl around my mind these days.  Sometimes it's so hard to fit the pieces together.  What I find the most disconcerting is that in many of these images, I see myself in such a submissive state, as though I had completely given up, as though I no longer cared what happened to me, and had simply accepted what was happening as my "lot in life."  Sometimes I will have a clear recollection of thinking to myself, "If I do this, at least something worse won't happen tonight."  It's like I had lost all will to fight back. 

I've tried to determine when exactly this change took place.  Was there a moment in time that I decided it wasn't worth the struggle, that pain was inevitable and I might as well choose the least painful thing?  Was there a day that I suddenly relinquished any right to my own body? Or was it a gradual process that incidiously ate away at the very core of my being until I had no strength left to resist?  I honestly can't say.

I'm ashamed to admit that I gave up, that I stopped fighting back, that I just lay there and "took it" like a lump of nothingness.  At some point, I guess I quit feeling.  But did I really?  I find it hard to believe that there wasn't at least some internal response to the excruciating pain, humiliation, and degradation.  It's more likely that I dissociated whenever I got overwhelmed physically and/or emotionally. 

This is a very difficult image for me.  I know it happened a lot.  Several times a week, as best I can recall. I can feel my face mashed into him and his hands pushing so hard against the back of my head that my neck hurt.  I can smell the musky smell between his legs and sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with a choking sensation and a salty taste in my mouth.  I chose the swirly background because sometimes I would get so dizzy that the "room would swim" and I'd "see stars" because it was very hard to breathe.  Aside from the fact that I was probably a little low on oxygen to the brain now and then LOL, I would put myself into sort of a trance and visualize something sort of like the swirls in this picture.  I would close my eyes and points of light would go around and around in circles.

And yet, I would just kneel there. Like a robot. Like a servant.  Like it was my duty.  I can see myself just sitting there totally limp and lifeless, gagging, trying to breathe, trying to pull away just enough to take a breath and him smashing himself down my throat.  "Swallow it," he'd order, "Just swallow it."  I can feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor sometimes.  Other times, he'd have me sit on the toilet and he would stand in front of me.  That was a little "better" because at least my neck wasn't at such a crazy angle. 

Truthfully, even though I DETESTED sucking him off, I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I would OFFER it to him to avoid the more painful alternatives.  I hate myself for being so weak, for thinking so little of myself that I would essentially try to "bargain" my way out of pain.  "I'll give you a blow job if you'll leave me alone for the rest of the night."  I don't know how many times I said that.  The sickening thing is, sometimes I'd go through a half hour of agonizing fellatio, "comforting" myself with the fact that at least for that night I wouldn't get raped, and then he'd go back on his word and wake me up at 2 in the morning ANYWAY and say, "Oh, that was just a warmup.  Time for round 2."  

How did I manage to survive?  Why didn't I go insane?  Maybe I DID go insane . . . a little . . . LOL . . . what "normal" person would spend hours on end recreating disgusting graphic images of horrible memories. 

But at the moment, it seems to be helping me "get it out," so bear with me and I apologize for the content of the "art."  One of these days I'll have to do something a little more "nice" for a change. 

Some more of my "art" (Caged)