Why is it that when something good needs to happen, six bad things happen instead?!

Ok, Universe, this isn’t funny. J really wants to see me, so why is everything going wrong for him that possibly could be?!

It’s been one thing after the next for him. I hate being so far away because he’s stressed and has nothing to take his mind off what’s going on. I feel stupid and inadequate being so far away, and I can’t do anything to help at all. All I can do is listen, and it doesn’t feel good enough.

Maybe one day something good will come along, but right now all I’m seeing is one big fucking obstacle after another and all I want to do is HELP, and I can’t. I think this is partially due to stress on my part too, but I feel overloaded right now, and I just wish it was all back to how it was in America on holiday- simple, uncomplicated and fun. I had my little freakouts and they got managed with patience. J had a blast because he was relaxed and with all of us, and he’s a social creature by nature. He loves chilling out and spending time laughing with our family. He prefers the company of people like us, with his sense of humour and with similar tastes.

Right now we’re trapped miles away from each other with things happening that neither of us can control- stuff’s not working right for him, and for me?

Nightmares, insomnia, and a desperate wish to just see him and hold him and tell him it WILL be all right, because I will make it all right.

Right now, frustration is all I have. I just want him to be happy.

Nights like this…

Tonight I’m sleepless and trying to exorcise the demons in my head. J and I have just talked and I love love love the smooth, sweet drawl of his voice. That voice anchors me whilst I’m feeling strange.

I’ve been a little dissociative tonight. I’ve been at Saturday family tea- the whole clan, aunties, uncles, cousins- the lot. My auntie was babysitting her best friend’s daughter, who is a shining gem of a seven year old. She played with the puppy, a rare event- Juno puppy is not the world’s biggest fan of children, but this little girl is an old head on young shoulders. She let me read to her. She cuddled up with me and the puppy, her on my knee and the puppy beside me. I felt very safe, but somehow a little sad.

I think what’s triggered me a little is talking about my ex to her. My auntie was married to her abuser, and this little girl knows a highly edited version of that story. She calls him Naughty, so we all do too. We had gone upstairs in my nana’s house to see one of the many family portraits hanging on the walls, and she mentioned to me that she knew that Naughty was a bad guy because HIS smile was not a good smile. All the other people on the picture had big, happy, truthful smiles, she said. Only Naughty’s wasn’t right.

That really hit me hard. SHE could see, through our eyes, the flaw in him, the defect that ate at his core and caused such harm to my auntie that she ended up in hospital, too. She knew, this seven year old, that there was a man not to be trusted- and she could see that through his smile!

She asked why my auntie had even married him in the first place, so I explained that sometimes, the scariest baddies are the ones that pretend to be your best friend. I said that I had been with a naughty man, for six years.

The wise, innocent little face formed an expression I’ve mostly seen on adult faces: she was appreciating how hard that was for me.

“Whew,” she said, “that’s a long time.”

I said that yes, indeed it was, but he hadn’t started out bad. He’d pretended to be one of the good guys, and I had never seen the badness coming at all. He’d added the bad stuff in, bit by bit, until I didn’t know that he was all bad.

Looking at those feathery blonde brows rise in shock, I was struck with an intense desire to protect her. I would have jumped in front of a bullet for that child, and I still will. I would right now. I didn’t want that angelic creature to have to face what my auntie and I have faced- the sleepless nights thinking he is perfect and I am not, the agony inside as he breaks up with you and demands you back only for the cycle to repeat. I felt something tearing inside of me in my chest- my heart was trying to reach through my chest to keep her safe.

Talking to Dr K, my therapist, on Thursday may have stirred a lot up- I was trying to tell her about some of the things I’ve had to endure under him- but this has made me remember long nights waiting by the phone, worrying about ringing him in case it ‘wasn’t convenient right now’. I’d get yelled at if I didn’t ring at bang on ten pm. I feel like time is slipping backwards, like having a rug pulled out from under your feet. I remember the feeling in arguments, that bad feeling of ‘I’m losing you and it’s my fault and you knew I was going to say that, oh god why?!’

I’ve found a song that sums it all up. He never drove, but the car keys are symbolic. They are the keys to my heart, my freedom, my life. They are the things that drove me and the things he took control of, bit by bit. Those phonecalls I tried to make that he aborted with one stern word. The threats of all sorts, the demands, and finally go to sleep silly girl, we’re getting nowhere tonight. I would try not to get too upset but tears inevitably burned my cheeks, that acid tang, and the feeling of being about to throw up came when he called me pathetic. I was trying so hard. I was. I promise I’m trying so hard to be different and more like the girl you wanted me to be, the girl I was when you met me. I promise I won’t go to anyone with my problems, definitely not you, I’ll solve them myself. I know I’m weak and need to stop being such a little girl I promise I won’t do this again I swear I’m not going to hurt you I didn’t mean to oh god don’t say that to me I’m not like that I swear I’m not-

The loop plays on and on, and I drown it out with other things. But, in the background, it’s always there, along with his replies.

TW: PTSD dreams suck.

I just woke up from yet another dream where I’m worthless and violated as those pictures I posted the other day. I’m curled up on the couch at the moment, desperately trying not to fall asleep again. I don’t want the dream coming back.

It was him but he was pretending he saw nothing wrong in the things he’d just done to me, and I wasn’t supposed to “put this on” him. How can I not!!?? He wasn’t listening again, deaf to me and my protests. Deaf to my tears and my pain.

This morning I really want J, ironically enough. I want him here for a hug, and to let me know it will all be ok, baby. I miss being able to wake up and know he is there, just in case something bad is happening in the prison of my mind. Right now he is hopefully sleeping, so I can’t just pick up the phone. I did drop him a quick message, but he hasn’t answered, seeing as it’s late where he is.

I am so tired. I just want to sleep. That’s all I want. Can some part of my life not be tainted with this horror!?

Rape Jokes are not fucking funny. End of.

HUGE big TRIGGER WARNING HERE- I get angry and say the R-word a lot. This post could upset you via the links I have posted, too- if you feel at all triggered, don’t worry about reading them. The safe one is the one about burlesque.

 

People have warned me, through blogs, that I would lose friends over what happened to me. Rape is a word people don’t like to use, but often when they do, it is all in the wrong contexts.

This is what happened today.

Let me set the scene. A friend of mine is a burlesque artist, fire eater, stilt walker and all-round amazing performance artist. She had posted a rant about a certain so-called “feminist” comedienne who had done a piece about burlesque, supposedly both taking the mick and making it “feminist” at the same time. What she was actually doing was making a fool of herself in front of an audience of idiots. Apparently, bashing other women is a “feminist” thing now, too. See it here: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2014/02/25/nadia-kamil-feminist-burlesque_n_4853522.html

The taking the mick out of burlesque part I thought was childish- burlesque IS feminist, and actually pretty difficult to perform. I have worked with a burlesque dancer, and she pulled no punches. She booked her own shows and bought her own rhinestones, and knew that mostly, her audience was couples and women. She is a true businesswoman, has a degree, and has met important political figures. I actually thought the routine this comedienne did would have been helpfully corrected by burlesquers, and she would definitely have been lectured on her lack of feathers or rhinestone. (See here for a much better refutation of the burlesque side than I have just written- https://lililascala.wordpress.com/2014/02/27/feminist-burlesque-dont-make-me-laugh/ )

What actually had me fuming, and feeling sick, was that the comedienne decided that in her routine, there was going to be a tasteless moment involving a true fact about rape. I watched that, and the bile rose in my throat.

So, as I do if something affects me, I posted it to my Facebook page. I was very much aware that I was skirting close to what has actually happened to me, but I knew that most people I know have seen posts about abusive relationships that I have uploaded. I have admitted to my depression there, but not the rape. I don’t know when, or if, I will be strong enough for that, but those closest to me have already guessed or I have told them.

Anyway… We all have those friends who seem to think they cannot be wrong, and they are so intellectual that everyone else is dumb. I had one of these friends- let’s call her Silly for now. Silly has had not the greatest of upbringings, and has used drugs and drink, but is apparently clean and sober and actually living life properly now. She has been obnoxious since her parents split, and always picks arguments for the sake of arguing. I have tried to explain away her behaviour for years- she has been a good friend and she can be very funny- but she has insulted people close to me, and now they won’t speak to her. I have constantly tried to be a good friend to her, by being understanding and supportive, but the fact remains that she can be very offensive. Silly will pick the wrong side of an argument, and she will argue til she is blue in the face to prove it right- I mean, I wouldn’t put it past her to say that torture was right and acceptable just to piss the other person off, and prove how wonderfully intelligent she is.

 

Silly saw the post, and this is exactly what happened.

She wrote something like what are you objecting over with the rape joke? I thought it was a pretty good one and a very true statement.

I saw red, and replied with my view- rape jokes are never funny. People in the audience who had been through this shit would have to face that in an evening of comedy, which is not what they had signed up for. She was still using the piece of information about rape in a sexualised context, so it still meant she didn’t take it seriously. Feminist my ass. For some people, even the word triggers flashbacks. I agree completely with what was on the piece of paper (100% of rapes are the fault of… the rapist)  but to display it in that way was quite frankly disgusting.

I thought she would understand. Why oh why did I think that? Did I not know Silly? Had I not been there as she insulted her way through our mutual friendship group, in the name of intellect?

Silly then came back with the following:

Well yes, even the mention of rape can be triggering (although you don’t know if she included a trigger warning for her show or not), rape jokes, when done tastefully and entertainingly (i.e. not just Daniel Tosh styley) can still be super funny, just like any other joke about a risky triggering subject ( e.g. any violent crime, the holocaust, 9/11 etc) that may have members of the audience who will be upset by it- and in comedy, it seems like either you can make fun of everything or nothing

Also, comedy is a great way for many people for dealing with things like this- by subverting the issue and pointing out how silly the whole of rape culture is- and the more people realise what a ridiculous joke rape culture is- the less people will be buying into it!

Anyway, there’s a whole bunch of articles out there who cover this far more eloquently than I can, like this one: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/…/can-rape-jokes-be-funny… , but I’ll also leave you with this super funny video- http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded…

www.huffingtonpost.com

 
 
I sat staring at my screen, horrified. What the hell was all that about?! I was so revolted by what Silly had written that I immediately de-friended her.
 
So trauma is fair game now, is it, for cheap-thrills comedians? 9/11 is apparently really funny? How about the Holocaust, does that split your sides? Wow, and I thought me de-friending her was mean.
 
I actually wrote below all that drivel the words, “How could you say that?” before I de-friended her. In fact, I was still so angry I posted a status about it. Within three hours it had seventeen likes already, and I started a conversation with a girl I have recently met who has had bad experiences.
 
Silly had the cheek to send me a stupid beggy-pleady message: why have you de-friended me, I’m confused as to why the rape joke thing offended you, don’t lets waste our friendship over something like an intellectual discussion, I’ll delete all my comments…
 
I haven’t replied. I am still so angry that she has sided with the ‘rape culture’ she thinks she is opposing.
 
It is backwards logic to say that any rape joke is funny. No matter if the joke is flipped on its head to ‘expose the rapist, or societal norms,’ it is not up for you to debate, you silly cow. You have not had this happen to you or you would not be calling it intellectual. Nothing about what I went through was “intellectual”. I live in fear or agony most days. Agoraphobia, phobia of men, insomnia, suicidal thoughts, trauma-induced voices and much more are my fucking bedfellows. I can’t believe that someone who went to the same all girls school as me would have the stupidity to buy into that crap. Our old headmistress, who taught for the first three years of my secondary school life, was a big feminist in the sensible ‘equal rights’ manner. She wanted us to go and fulfill our potentials, and Silly was in the same assembly hall as I when she gave her empowering speeches.
 
The article I read was pure fucking drivel, too. I was so revolted by reading that another “feminist” comedienne thinks that rape jokes are fair game despite the fact that women she knew had been affected by rape. The ‘super funny’ video she posted has just made me retch. I want to get in the shower and scrub til I feel clean. I am SO NOT LAUGHING, I AM FUCKING REVOLTED HERE.
 
WHY is it so hard to get? My experiences ARE NOT A FUCKING JOKE. It’s akin to saying, oh yeah, torture is hilarious, let’s make a joke about thumbscrews and waterboarding. There would hopefully be silence, apart from a few sick fucks, but oh no, when it’s rape it’s hilarious because it’s about sex, of course, and sex is really funny.
 
WRONG. Rape is not about sex. Rape is about pain, torture, power and violation. It is about feeling like a fucking rag doll. It is about having all the trust you once had in someone who claimed to love you torn apart. It is about being reduced to a mere object, used for a cheap thrill.
 
That is why I have lost a friend. I don’t give a fuck about her little guilt trip. Silly, girl, go and grow up and stop pretending to be a fucking rebel. I have had it with your bullshit. Don’t you dare wave your superior intellect in my face and tell me I wasn’t really raped, cause that is where you were going next, isn’t it? Alcohol rapes = no real rape. Partner rapes = no real rape. BULLSHIT, girl.
 
Face up to the fact you lost a friend today because of your shallow intellectual posturing. I have tried, so hard, to explain your bad behaviour away and be forgiving, but I did that with my psychopathic ex FOR NEARLY SIX YEARS, and I sure as hell am not continuing to do it for you. I don’t care if nobody stands up to you: I am doing right now, and you are completely wrong.
 
Stew in that.
 
RAPE IS NOT OPEN FOR YOUR “INTELLECTUAL DISCUSSION” BULLSHIT. YOU WANT INTELLECTUAL? I HOPE IT DOESN’T, BUT CALL ME IF IT HAPPENS TO YOU, AND THEN WE CAN TALK. I will be sympathetic, unlike you undoubtedly would not have been if I had told you about what I had to go through.
 
Sorry, this is a rant, but it had me so angry I wanted to share it with you guys. I don’t feel guilty about dropping her. I actually feel liberated. No more stupidity from a silly little girl who refuses to grow out of the teen rebel phase.

The Valentines Day Bust-Up

I have only ever felt this way once before- that was in 2011. The Valentines Day Bust-Up had happened, I was at home in my flat in London, and I didn’t leave the flat for at least three days. I locked myself away, pretended I had a flu virus to my concerned family on the phone, bit my nails to the quick and cried. I thought I was going crazy, and, in retrospect, I was. He had made me this way. Was he proud?

Now, I am feeling similar. I can’t leave the flat where my friends are because I go into meltdown, flinching and terrified and positive I have seen him wherever I look. My friends, Z and N, have looked after me so well. N took me out for a walk so I wouldn’t get freaked out, and Z has listened to me talk about the stupidity that is this illness for hours on end.

After a while, I worked out that I am experiencing an emotional flashback. He impacted me so badly that Valentines Day that I am re-living it, emotionally. I am feeling the emotions I felt then in response to being aware that it was Valentines Day a few days ago, that back then I couldn’t deal with it because I was still under his thumb.

I’m actually feeling less guilty now about not making it outside to take a ballet class. Now I’ve worked out just why I have been feeling so awful, it actually makes sense that I should feel this way and that I should want to hide from the world and feel what I wasn’t allowed to feel back then.

Maybe with a brief visit back home this weekend, life will get better.

More news.

I rang mum and she has received a letter for me telling me I have an appointment with the psychotherapist. I don’t believe for a minute I will be allowed to keep attending, because all these health professionals do is disbelieve me, but I will go and take mum with me so she can back me up. I think all that will happen is that she will lie to me too and promise me things I will never get, just like the psychiatrists have all done.

Please sign this and share, for the abuse survivors.

Please sign this and share, for the abuse survivors.

I’m sure a lot of you will have heard of the horrific acts the Lostprophets frontman Ian Watkins has perpetrated. He should not be allowed the money from the plays of his records, nor should he be allowed money from the record sales, I think. These children he hurt so badly deserve the money to access therapy, or at least a charity that can help them certainly does. I’ve signed, not only because of my experience with assault, but for a wonderful girl on here who survived ritual abuse, and I want those children to be able to slowly heal themselves with expert help.

I hope that there have been no more children damaged by this man, and I hope karma catches up with the sick fiend. I wish that the poor children didn’t suffer as they did, and I wish that they soon learn that not everyone in the world is as callous and cruel as their parents and this evil man.

Peace all.