abuse
I watched Kayla’s videos about her abuse (“he doesn’t love you pt.1/2). It really reminded me again how abusive my past was. The further it gets away, the more the intensity of the memories and feelings fade and I am left to ask whether I overreacted.
But I didn’t. I really lived in fear of my mother, so much so that she sat me down multiple times to ask me why I’m so afraid of her. Of course, any genuine attempt to explain why was shot down and resulted in further abuse, so it was futile. Me being scared made her feel monstrous, made her feel like her abusive father, but it didn’t get her to change, she just had to punish me more for making her feel that way.
What happened to me is too much to explain in a single post. My therapy as a teenager was writing about it all on my Tumblr. Pages upon pages detailing it all freshly after it happened. It helped me process it all. Also, talking in chats about it, venting to others experiencing the same. Falling into the hands of predators doing that.
You wouldn’t believe the amount of men even back then who were just waiting for an underage girl to suffer so they could lend a shoulder to cry on and some love and advice before weaponizing it. They got me to engage in sexual acts in writing, sexual stuff over voice call, and send them nude images. They were such a huge reason for why I was so hypersexual as a teenager - it was the only way to be loved, to get positive attention and someone to listen to me, to feel worthy, special.
Later on, I had two therapists in total and talked so much about it all. Of course I also had partners I had to catch up on the “lore”. It gets to a point where all has been said enough times, it was processed, I was validated, and that’s enough. I grow out of it.
Not entirely, as every now and then there will be an additional interpretation to some of the things that happened to me just popping in my head, or memories I had forgotten for over a decade, or a sudden attempt of my brain to understand the point of view of my abusers, especially family. I could literally stand in line to order a drink and suddenly be hit with “Maybe my mother did that in that moment because of xyz.” I wonder if that will ever stop. There is obviously still a part of me spending brain power on trying to make sense of it all, and find harmless, relatable reasoning to why I was abused, why it had to happen the way it did.
What Kayla said also reminded me of some of my ex relationships. I too was called ugly, fat, loose, a whore, a slut by someone that claimed to love me. Another had reckless behavior and would pop off for no reason, endangering us both while speeding when he thought I was going to leave him. Him locking me in his room and not letting me leave. Him trying to pull me back into his car when I tried to leave. Me running for the house door, and slamming it into his face as he almost got me. I remember I just got home and cried so much. Cried how Kayla did.
Later as I was dating someone else, she had an alcohol problem and she would pinch me until I screamed and it left bruises, she would sit on the table opposite of me and kick me in between my legs and twist her foot into it so it hurt, one time she bent my arm onto my back until I screamed. I think a few months longer and she would have outright started beating me, retrospectively.