the one where things get heavy

today, well, today was a big day. and this will be a long one. and no im not apologising. just dont read it if you dont like it. its that simple.

nobody who i know IRL knows about this blog, so its safe for me to do this. well thats not true, the inadequate boyfriend knows about it, but i dont think he bothers to read it, and i highly doubt he ever will again after today, so he doesnt really count. haters arent welcome, but cant be stopped, and well, i dont really care. im not canvassing for nice comments either. i dont care what you think, or have to say, really. this is about me.

so i guess the beginning is the best place to start. which means going back quite a way. but its important. its something i very rarely talk about to anyone, even those who were there when it happened and know about it. its not something you just "bring up". but im getting ahead of myself, and today is about the end of excuses, so best i dont go trying to make any of my own.

my dad was an alcoholic. as the eldest living at home, i took the brunt of the beatings, trying to "protect" or "save" my family. a familiar story throughout the world, and through the ages. there came a point where a family friend, a policeman in fact, who lived nearby had had enough. being the decent man he was (as are so many people who choose public service - despite his many, some would call "flaws" as a copper, he was a good man at heart) anyway, he took me in, amongst other things to try to end the violence in my young life.

and so i packed a couple of bags, and went to live in his house, a few doors down. his wife welcomed me, and never made me feel the imposition i so clearly was. never once was a bad word said in my presence about my family, or me. in fact, if anything, no big deal at all was made. whether it was the change, or the relief, for a few days my mood got lower and lower, and lets face it, after the night that prompted Barry to come and remove me from my home (after I had been at the hospital that afternoon with a broken arm and lasted a whole 42 minutes before being laid into again, to the point where the neighbours could hear), well, my mood had started pretty damn low. as an attempt to lighten my mood, and to make me feel less of a guest and more of a part of the family, Marie threw me a party that saturday night. I was to turn 13 on monday, and she thought a party was just what was needed.

unfortunately i wasnt in the mood. i had been having trouble with the kids at school, and didnt really have any friends. the party was a mix of kids who didnt really like me, and friends and family of my hosts who i didnt even know. after being teased by 2 of the girls from school, i went up to my room to be alone.

long story very short because its very hard, as well as far too predictable, my hosts' older son, and two of his friends, violated me in a more than ordinary manner. i was raped, i was hurt, i was verbally abused and manipulated in a way i didnt understand for many years. i was degraded. belittled. laughed at. forced to actively participate. the blood from the loss of my virginity was a cause for much amusement, only to later be joined by more blood and more ausement when their dicks were spent and an inanimate object was then apparently necessary to keep the "laughs" coming.

I dont remember how it ended. only that at some point they were no longer there. i didnt do the usual showering thing. Marie later came to my door and asked if i was ok, but i pretended to sleep. i just lay there, in bed, until morning.

it was 2 days before I turned 12. it was 5 weeks before i went home, to an improved if not abuse-free home. it was about 4 years before i ever spoke of it to anyone outside of that room that night.

in those 5 extra weeks i lived there, i had to act like everything was ok. I didnt have a choice. you might think I did, but at 12 years old, and with nowhere else to go, and not having the maturity to see a way out, I really didnt. so in order to stay with Barry, i felt i had to pretend everything was ok. i had to hide it. it was less drama to just deal with it myself, and not cause a scene. it was less hurt this way. i mean, the hurt wouldnt go away if i told, there would just be a whole heap extra, as well as a big scene, a fight...... it was more than i could handle. so, feeling like it was the lesser of two bad options, I chose to keep quiet. it was easier that way. causing a scene wouldnt fix it, so why bother? it wasnt worth the extra effort.

*****

it seems this event, and the choices i made, have stuck with me. and while in some ways it has had positive outcomes, such as making me stronger (since it didnt kill me - not quite anyway despite my best efforts a few months later) it has also had devestating effects. effects I cant seem to shake. after much introspection, i have learnt many things from that night. its just such a shame that they dont seem to be good things any more.

forgive me if i get graphic, or less than savoury in my prose, however this is for me, and well, the nature of the subject matter doesnt really suit Jane Eyre (not that I've ever been one for writing good like)

*

at times i remember only scenes from that night. like a 2 minute promo covering a 90 minute movie. at other times, or maybe just in other parts, i can remember ever detail, ever word, intonation, touch, pain, smell, sound....... EVERYTHING, almost more vividly than when it was actually happening.

Bear in mind how young and sheltered I was. it was 1992 ffs and my parents were stict and conservative, we didnt have MTV sluts, and anything with even so much as a suggestive title - Dirty Dancing I'm looking at you - was strictly off-limits to me. One thing I vividly remember was being made to suck adam's cock. to someone who barely knew the basics of the birds and the bees, and had never seen a penis, not even on tv, this was a very confronting, frightening and unpleasant experience. one which was exascerbated by what seemed to me at the time (and still does in my mind) to be the veritable niagra falls of cum that subsequently covered my face, hair, mouth, neck, chest, everything. it was the most disgusting shock of my life, and remains so to this day. i remember some went up my nose, and it was hard to breathe. had it not been for shaun sitting behind me restraining my head so adam could fuck my face, id have backed up all the way to perth, i can tell you. I thought things couldnt be any gross-er in my whole life, until adam used his hand to wipe much of it off my face, neck and chest, collecting it, and whilst saying things that have stuck in my mind to this day, forced it into my mouth. I gagged, spat it out, and shut my mouth. shaun pulled my head back bny my hair, and laughing, held my nose to force my mouth open. adam again fed me his cum, and held my mouth shut until i swallowed. it was fortunate he moved his hand away then, as i threw up.

For many, many years afterwards I hated giving blowjobs. I flat out refused. I would feel physically sick to my stomach to even look at a penis, let alone smell an aroused dick if placed near enough to my face. my early consentual sexual experiences were handjobs and even fucks without me ever looking at the guys dick. the sight made me ill. perhaps this was why as a teen i took the lesbian experiment thing alot further than most others, and still consider myself bisexual (although some people dont agree). even though I dont think I could ever "marry" a woman and lean more towards men and therefore cannot "truly" be labelled bi, I still thoroughly enjoy having sex with women, and do so regularly.

it was a boy 2 years older than me who convinced me to finally have sex willingly. if you can call it "convinced". I mixed with a crowd who were VERY sexually active and open, as well as including many openly gay and bisexual boys and girls, and promiscuity was pretty much "expected". I certainly participated in much foreplay and fooling around, and was thought to be having sex. the boyfriend before the one i eventually slept with humped away more than once thinking we were having sex, however it never "went in" i guess you could say. I kept my mouth shut at the time as it stopped the others questioning me when they witnessed this (no, not elaborating) and he seemed happy enough believing he was "doing it right" so i just nodded and was glad the whole thing could be left at that and I didnt need to really have sex, or even decide for real if i wanted to.

anyway, the boy, ryan who I eventually did sleep with, knew this other guy, stephen, and therefore "knew" me to be sexually active over and above the usual teenage boasting/heresay from "best friends". we fooled around a few times, and eventually i stayed over one night (running away from home which was still no fun at all). we stayed up watching tv after his folks went to bed, and kissing turned to touching, turned to him laying on me and kissing/touching, turned to what i had done with stephen, except this time, it DID "go in".

id like to say i was given the choice (and im not for a moment saying i was forced) but really, it just kind of kept progressing, and i didnt know how to say no without offending him, hurting his feelings, looking stupid myself, being teased, or losing my boyfriend, but most of all i was afraid of causing a scene, and having an arguement. so i didnt say yes, i just didnt say no. to be honest i dont think i really wanted to sleep with him, at least not yet, but it wasnt the worst thing in the world, and i guess i just hated fights -  and hated people not liking me - so much that it was worse to cause a scene than it was to "lay back and think of england".

eventually he got to rule my life, all because i was so un-eager to have a confrontation, that I gave in every time, or didnt speak up at all. i never made a suggestion. i never answered "what do you want". i let him decide when, where and who we went out with. what we ate, what *I* ate (even at maccas he would order for me becuase i didnt want to). i liked the music HE liked. i let him decide, and control, EVERYTHING. eventually this got tiresome. and when i started to make new friends outside of his choices (eg through tafe) he got angry. I guess it was because i had taught him he was the boss. i dont know. but angry turned into me giving up all i had gotten independently - friends, music choices, everything. but that wasnt enough. I still saw these people at tafe. so he started coming to "see me for lunch". now i see he was isolating me. but of course, being 16 yr old girls, we spoke all through class, something which he couldnt stop. eventually he picked fights over nothing, accused me of things he knew i didnt do, and hitting me.

one night we caught up with an old friend of mine from church youth group 2 years before. thinking that someone from there couldnt be too bad (oh little did he know what we used to do at church - but thats another LONG story) he left us to go to bed, being tired after such a long pot smoking session. Jason and i continued smoking and catching up. jason kissed me. i pulled away, and made him leave. I went to bed with ryan and tried to sleep, but the guilt was too much. I woke him and told him what happened. he bashed me.

Jason rang to apologise next day. id been crying. he could tell. he came up to apologise to ryan and make things right, worried he had damaged my relationship and caused me trouble. he took one look at my face, dragged me out of there and home with him. later that day, he gathered a group of his friends, and took me back to ryans to get my things. in the huge scene that followed, he found out some of the horrid things ryan had done to me from ryans friends that were there. he went mental.

jason had been my friend a long time, and the bond was there still even though it had been at least a year since we had spoken. i stayed with him for a while. he rescued me. one thing led to another and we slept together, although only the once. it was too weird. we were mates, not lovers. his friends came back early and caught us in the middle of it too.

hanging with Jason, I met his friends. One i really liked. he was hot. Bill. he liked me too, and we started going out. I moved home again, but not for long. it was hell. so Bill "rescued" me and I lived with him. over a long perios, and mostly by making jokes, being considerate, gentle, open, honest and matter of fact, and most of all - relaxed - Bill taught me not to be afraid of his penis. I should have been though - it was HUGE, no joke. he would take ages warming me up, because he knew his dick was so big it hurt unless the girl was ready. im sure that helped. he taught me to like to lick and suck his dick, although it took a long LONG time and i never loved it.

eventually the relationship got older and lost its honeymoon-phase. the foreplay lessened, and sex began to get uncomfortable, then painful. which made it harder and harder to get me to relax enough to take his cock, becuase i'd brace for the pain, which of course, made it painful, and so on. i guess as the sex dwindled, the arguments increased due to the extra tension. less sex and more tension of course made his already high testosterone levels even higher, and being frustrated, he took it out on me. I was being hit again and again, with each occassion worse than the one before. I grew to so hate fights and arguements and "upsetting" bill, I would rather almost anything else than a fight. i would even do anything i could to stop things other than ME from upsetting or frustrating him. i worked myself to exhaustion making him happy. and it never worked. I still got beaten. i didnt leave, because i was too afraid of the size of that final arguement.it was better to be beaten a little than have a huge fight and get beaten alot. eventually i started thinking if i could just do better at making him happy, then he would love me more and be pleased and not want to hurt me. so it became my fault for not being good enough to stop it.

just like it was my fault i couldnt always save my mum or my sisters from being hurt. i wasnt good enough at deflecting dads attention onto me. i wasnt good enough to hold his attention.

just like it was my fault that i made ryan feel like i was too pretty, too smart, too popular and too good for him.

*****

while dating Bill, i met my BFF. she was the girlfriend of Bills best mate, Danny.. It was her boyfriend who rescued me from Bill. Danny and his friend went to the shop while Bill and i had stayed behind at Danny's selecting the next movie to watch while they got snacks. Somehow i wasnt quick enough to diffuse an arguement, and Bill had really started laying in. it was his eyes, they were different this time, and they scared me. I tried to run. I had locked myself in the toilet, my back against the door and my feet against the bowl, pushing all i could to keep him out when he broke the lock on the door handle. I heard him slam the front door, and his car start, and drive off with a squeel of tyres. I waited a couple of minutes trying to get my breath back, and making sure he really was gone. When i was sure he was, I got up, made my way to the loungeroom, grabbed my bag and was ready to leave, to walk home, and to never see Bill again. His eyes had really scared me. I heard a noise, turned around and saw bill running up the hall. He had driven down the road, parked, and jogged back to make me think he had left, and lure me out. I ran for the toilet again. I didnt make it. Bill caught up to me in the outer section of the 3-way bathroom. I saw him reflected in the mirror over the sinks as his hand caught my hair and yanked back hard as his knee or foot or something landed with a thud in my back. I screamed, for the first time in my life that I can remember. my eyes filled with tears from the pain of my hair being yanked from my head, and I couldnt see. My back screamed with pain, and i lost my balance, toppling back on top of him. I landed partway on top of him, and scrambled to get up to get to the safety of the toilet. I wasnt fast enough. Bill caught a fistfull of my hair again, and shoved me. I fell again, this time on my stomach. Bill was on top of me in a flash, sitting on my throbbing back, and punched me in the side of the head. I remember being shocked at the amount of pain. then i realised he was punching my head again, and the reason it hurt so much more this time was that each punch was slamming my head into the tiled floor. I felt my jaw crack. I tasted blood, so much of it i couldnt swallow or spit, and then through the fog realised my nose was stuffed, and it was rather surreal to notice, almost from outside myself, that it wasnt normal to be trying to figure out if it was blocked by snot from crying at what my boyfriend was doing to me, or blocked from blood from what he was doing to me. I blacked out. At some point Danny came back, and finding such a scene in his house, kicked Bill out. Danny, still too young to be allowed a learners permit, took Bills car and drove me to safety, on a double demerit long weekend.

*****

Dannys Girlfriend and I cultivated our friendship, and became BFF's. We still are. We were both newly 18, and Bill had never let me go to the club because he thought all the boys would hit on me and I would leave him or cheat. My BFF turned 18 a couple of months after me, and hadnt been either. With a 16yr old boyfriend, she wasnt about to go with her guy either, so not long after her bday, we went together. It was scary, but cool. Not long after that, home got too hard again, and she invited me to stay with her and her dad. Not much after that, her dad went home to england for a few months, leaving us at home, alone, with fistfuls of cash for food, and no supervision.

I think we spent about $100 on food for the whole time he was gone, and most of that was just before he came home, to fill the fridge for his return. The rest went on alcohol and clothes. we were also both working, so there was HUGe and i mean HUGE amounts spent on both. we were regulars at our favourite clubs on EVERY SINGLE wednesday, thursday, friday and saturday nights, never paid cover charge because - if i do say so myself - we were both 18, very friendly, and HOT AS HELL. We had a card at our MOST favourite club, one which we were at both wednesday and saturday each week, which allowed us to drink whatever we pleased, and the club paid. we were known throughout the entire local city (no word of a lie - and yes i know its only small, but still!). We danced on the podiums, on the floor, with the dj..... you name it. We had an absolute BLAST, never wore the same thing twice, met soooooo many people and drank and smoked ourselves stupid. We made excellent friends with the entire security staff there and could always get a ride home at closing time. we, well, mostly me, had a fair few one night stands (no, never with the staff) and when we look back now, more than a few close calls. We neither of us know how we managed to not be killed.

I managed to collect a crazy stalker, and woke up one night, drunk, to find him fucking me. I called out, and he produced a knife, which he held at my throat - very effective at maintaining my silence - until he came. After which he just got up, left me shaking, stole my smokes from my dresser and calmly walked out the door. I went and woke my BFF in the next room, and when she sobered up enough to understand me, cried, hugged me (despite my hair being covered in cum) and showered me. Whilst I was in the shower, she checked the house, and could not see how he got in. Everything was still locked as her bf had made sure of before bed, as he was the only one sober. We later discovered he had been in the house one day while we were out back, and stolen my key which i never used as she always finished work before me. Somehow I still figured this was my fault for not being careful enough, and not his fault for, oh I dunno, being psychotic, being a stalker, or for breaking and entering.

Toward the end of this crazy time, I met Darren at a club, and we started dating. Again I ended up moving home from the BFF's to try again at mum's insistance, but it didnt last. Again I was "rescued" and lived with Darren. We ended up getting a house together, and then another when our roommate didnt work out at the first one. Yet another relationship where I was abused, assaulted, and felt it was my fault. He had a drinking problem too, which strangely I didnt pick up on until it was too late. Eventually his father intervened when he found me sitting in his driveway one night with 3 broken fingers and 3 fractured bones in my hand.

Darren and I were due to see them but they were late home. We were meant to be there for tea, and had come seperately, me straight from work via a cab, as darren had the car and was with "the boys" in the opposite direction, and we thought this a good plan. Darren was there first, and called his parents mobile to say he had arrived early. Unknown to me, his dad recognised the slurring in his voice, and he and his wife came home as fast as they could. I turned up not long after the call, paid the cab driver, and went to wait in the car with Darren. He picked a fight, which I couldnt diffuse, and immediately felt guilty, more so as we were in his parents driveway and I felt sure the neighbours would see the scene. I realised he was drunk, and tried to let him blow off steam. Unfortunately this made him angrier, and eventually he decided to leave and take us home. with him so drunk i didnt know how he had made it there alive, I tried desperately to get him to let me drive. Eventually he pushed me out of the car. He was so dunk he couldnt start it immediately, and with the extra time, I made it to his side of the car. I managed to convince him to let me drive. He got out, and I got in and shut the door, waiting for him to go round the passenger side. I wanted the time that would take him to get there to let me calm down and collect my thoughts. Distracted, I didnt notice him change tack, and he was at the door again, beligerant, accusing me of trying to leave him there. The he decided i was going to steal "his" car. I tried and tried to expalin and diffuse, when out of nowhere he started kicking the door. I was frightened and reached to start the car. He must have seen i was going, as quick as a flash he was roaring at me that it was his car, that I cant leave him, and he literally crushed my hand around the keys. I was crying out, and his neighbour rushed out and over to us. He was demanding I give him the keys and "LET GO!". Crying and gasping for breath I was telling him over and over that I cant, he is squishing my hand, let go, let me give you them, let me let go, i will i will i will give you them! His neighbour heard me, and reaching Darren saw I couldnt let go. Apparently at first he thought i was trying to leave with "Darren's" car, like he was bellowing, but soon realised not only was I not the bad guy, but also got a whiff of Darrens breath, and then saw what darren was doing. He got darren to release my hand, and opened the car door. Darren pushed him away, dragged me from the car, got in and drove off. The neighbours wife came out, got the story and went in to get ice. The neighbour went in to call the cops, and after getting no answer, took his mobile phone and went after Darren in his own car, fully expecting a fatality or something, and doing his best to either stop it, or ensure the sad eventuality had emergency services there asap. Darrens dad arrived, found me, got the story from the neighbours wife on her return with the ice, and promptly banned me from ever coming back. I now see he did so to try and force me to leave darren for my own good. At the time, i saw it as me not being liked, not being good enough, and also for embarassing him in front of the neighbours by causing a scene. He also made darren move out of my house, and back with them. I later found out he threatened to tell his boss about his drinking, to call the cops everytime he drove, to tell his ex about it all and stop him seeing his kids, and probably much more besides. Now i see it was not just an effort to stop his drinking, but also to save me when i wouldnt save myself. Not at the time, though.

Again, all I saw was that I wasnt good enough. It was my fault.

i still didnt leave him. I only did so when i found him fucking my friend instead of coming to see me.

*****

After Darren was Scott, my son's father. Not a drinker, he was again abusive, thinking i was too good for him and would leave him, he put me down, isolated me, played mind games like all the others, and ended up hitting me as well. He didnt drink, not more than socially, but took up drugs. We were engaged, planning a wedding when i fell pregnant. He had been harrassing me to get pregnant for ages, despite having kids previously, and I now know it was all an effort to "trap" me so I couldnt leave. I didnt want to until after the wedding. Who wants to be a fat bride? Not me! but by the time I was too far pregnant to change my mind, he took up drugs, got very abusive, mentally and physically, and it all went to hell in a VERY big way. I ended up having police escorts, having his brother sent to the house to "bash me till i lost the baby or died - whichever came first" (direct quote) and had the cops arrive just as he kicked in the door...... I was run off the road repeatedly by his friends and family, he made me lose my job by terrorising my employers and destroying their premises more than once.... the list is almost endless.

I still thought it all my fault. That I wasnt good enough.

Had it not been for my son, I dont know what would have happened, but being a mum, well, it forces you to be a different person. its not just you any more. Your responsible for a whole other human being. They trust you. Completely.

I was single for many years. I needed to be. I needed to heal.

*****

When Bugalugs was 4.5yrs old or so, my BFF convinced me to start dating again. Well, no, thats not quite true. I was gagging for sex, and she convinced me to go get some. And so I did. In amongst me simply meeting people, fucking people, and starting to come alive again, I met Inadequate Boyfriend (IB).

IB and I were a 1 night stand. We both knew it. But somehow it turned into more than that. I knew he was trouble. I remember talking to someone about the guys I had on the go at that particular time (not fucking all of them, some i was just dating!) and I said that IB was "the most interesting, and I could really like him, which is bad, because I know he is a player, and I can see him being trouble. I'll have to be careful with that one....."

*****

Which brings me, at last, to my point. At last I have healed, and grown, and learnt enough to be at the point where I can recognise indicators for things like substance abusers, players, manipulators, assault-ers, and the like. I can see trouble brewing.

So why cant I avoid it?

Why did I let myself get sucked in? Why did I play with something I knew to be dangerous?

Today we had a discussion on the phone. Ok, it was an arguement, and a big one too. It was quite a scene. And for at least part of it, I started it.

It all came to a head today. Its been coming for a while, but I had managed to avoid it. Today I couldnt. And it was ME who I had been avoiding. It had been bubbling up inside of me for what I now am starting to think is the last 17 years. And it sort of exploded. Sort of.

It came out in anger, and yelling, and insults and abuse and tears and silence and arguements and calm. And all of that was me. I abused. I poked and prodded at things I KNEW were fight-starters.

I called him a dog. Its the one thing he cant stand, and has asked, even demanded that I never do. And i did it. And not for the first time.

All we do nowadays is fight. And alot of it is my fault. Alot is his too, and I still maintain he starts it, but I certainly dont help it. I say its his fault because he treats me badly, and I wont sit there and smile about it. I wont let him get away with disrespecting me, or making me feel bad, or being nasty, or, or, or, or ........

But its me too. i wont let it go. I wont drop it. I just keep going till I win, and he is a strong, stubborn man who is 42 (im 29) and is VERY set in his ways. He is muslim lebanese, and they dont take crap from their women. but I keep giving it.

i will not for one minute admit I was wrong today, or that he didnt deserve to be called out on what I called him out on. I will not say I deserve or need to put up with the things he did that got me to argue.

shit. look at me. I know Im right and im still trying to excuse him and blame myself.

STOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPIT

Yesterday I went to the dentist. I had a sore mouth. The dentist made it sore-er.

He said he was going to visit last night. I sadi dont come up late, im tired. He arrived at 10.30, and i was fast asleep. grr. not fair. not nice.

He spent the entire time talking about something Ive told him repeatedly I dont want to talk about, especially at the moment, with things between us being rocky. Ok fine, we play around with other couples and other singles from time to time. I dont want to do this right now as our relationship isnt strong. he knows this, and complains about us not having any fun. I find that makes me less inclined to "have fun" as I feel like im not as important, that "we/us" matters less than a casual fuck. its not nice.it hurts. he wanted to meet this couple on saturday. i said no, i didnt want to , and he knew that, and asking again now just makes it worse.

He played with my tits. My son was asleep in the room. He knows how terrible that makes me feel. yuk. not nice.

I ended up playing with his cock.  I ended up giving him a blow job (we had gone to the bedroom, at my insistence, dont worry). He asked if he could take a photo, as we had done plenty of times before. I said no, coz i looked shit. He took one anyway. yuk. ow. grrrrrr. not fair. dont i matter? dont you listen?

I stopped, was angry at him. He apologised. I felt crap. it was uncomfortable. I teetered on the edge of telling him to leave and forgiving him, decided it wasnt worth the drama of stopping, that i would feel worse having that arguement than just getting on with it, and went back to it. He took more photos. yuk. ow. grrr. silent cry inside.

I felt bad, yet continued. so as not to make a scene! so as not to have an arguement! because this wasnt as bad an option as the other one! sound familiar?!?!?!

then he asked if he could send the photos to someone. I felt so shit. not only were other people involved in our relationship again instead of just us, but also the pics i said no to and felt so shit about them still being taken, were to be seen despite never having my permission to even be taken? yuk. ow. hurt. why dont i matter? cry inside some more.

He got a blow job. I got nothing. ow. not fair. dont i matter?

afterwards he got up and left. yes it was late and its a long drive, but he knows leaving right after makes me feel like a whore. yuk. ow. ewww. grrrrr.

then today, i texted him a few times, and he didnt respond. later i discover he had the time to bother texting the wife and trying to organise for us all to meet on saturday night. hadnt i already said no? do i matter at all?

I brought these things up. I told him how i felt, that it hurt, made me feel cheap, like a whore, and like I didnt matter. I told him it was disrespectful.

He argued, he attacked. he did so many things that I recognise from all those other men who used to abuse me.

-----a quick aside, IB has never hit me. he did swat my hand away from the car stereo mid arguement one time and I exploded ove rit. he maintains he didnt hit me, i maintain that it was heading down that road, and that was a road i WOULD NOT TRAVEL AGAIN. it was a huge scene, and he honestly hasnt done so again. I snapped the other day mid arguement when he stood in my kitchen, less than a foot away from me, too closely in my space for comfort, and stabbed/pointed his finger at me. to his credit, he may have yelled at me that he didnt do it, and that he did nothing wrong if he did, but he physicallybacked off and also lowered his voice and reigned in his aggreesiveness. im not for a minute saying he has, or would hit me. unfortunately due to my past i dont completely trust any man not to hit me, but he comes as close to being trusted on that as I can ---------

anyway

I called him on it. all of it. the refusing to answer my questions, the never being direct, the constant accusations with no supporting evidence, the constant subject changes, the never letting me speak, the constant talking over the top of me, the way he demands i answer him FIRST when i ask something, but then he asks 300 questions that distract me and make me forget where we were and what I asked HIM, the double standards, the lies, the telling me he wont put up with something when its exactly what he does to me, the unsubstantiated attacks that are repeated over and over at high speed until he hangs up - that happens whenever I accuse him of something, follow it with proof of my accuracy, and then ask why he does it or to confirm im right, the way i always have to go first, the way he accuses me of lying and demands proof that when i offer it to him he refuses to look at and forever after maintains i lied and couldnt or didnt prove it, the way that despite that im not allowed to ever ask him for proof because that shows i dont trust him and its unreasonable to ask someone to prove things.........

the list goes on

i asked about the photos. he said so what, he wanted to take them, its not like he sent them. when i said i didnt know whether he did or not he got aggressive and accusatory and demanded that if i didnt trust him on that then i was an idiot and should leave.

i told him i didnt know, no, btu i believed he probably didnt, but that it was not unreasonable that I ask him. i used the fact that i said NO to the photos being taken and that he ignored it (after he previously told me how i could trust him and citing that as an example) as a reason for me NOT to trust him. he went mental, accusing me, and trying to guilt me into thinking it was MY fault. he demanded to know why, if i said NO to the photos, and he took one, then WHY didnt I stop when he did it anyway? he said i must have been ok with it because i keep suking him off when he took more.

I pointed out that in fact i stopped when he took the first one and told him off, saying i had said no, so why take it? he had apologised, and i had, like i said, gone back to sucking his cock because it was not worth the arguement.

i pointed out that he KNEW i didnt want him to take them because i said no, i stopped when he took one despite being told not to, and argued with him about it. i asked why he did it when i said no, and why he kept going.

he still hasnt answered me.

he has attacked me, and accused me of 5 billion things, he has made me feel guilty and feel bad, and cry, and tried to mess my head up, confuse me, a million things........ including tell me how it is ALL MY FAULT.......

but he hasnt said sorry. and he hasnt answered me with why he did it.

I can see him manipulating me. I can see him lying to me. making promises he does not intend to keep, because it will keep me sweet, and keep me giving him what he wants.

he is using me

he doesnt appear to mind that he makes me cry, or feel like a whore, or doubt that he loves me. He doesnt seem to mind that i have told him certain things he does says to me that he doesnt respect me.

i guess, mostly, i see that he doesnt love me. despite me trying so hard to make him happy. to give him all i can. i really have given my all. and my all is ALOT. he has benefitted HUGELY from me. for years.

as much as it hurts to know its over, to know it was all lies and empty words and meaningless promises......

it hurts more to know i saw it coming from the start. to know that i saw it all as it was happening. AND I LET IT.

i loved him. alot. i wanted it, badly. I wanted the picture that was painted for me, even though it was a fake, and i knew it.

im still sitting here thinking "maybe it wasnt! maybe im wrong! maybe its real! maybe its possible! you can salvage it epskee! your awesome! you can do it! just try a little longer! try a little harder!"

its fucking pathetic.

im fucking pathetic

its not men abusing me anymore. it me not only letting them but fucking HELPING them.

I worked my ass off to learn to ENJOY giving head. so that adam wouldnt win. i take perverse pleasure in it. im damn good at it. i love it. i love the power i wield with it. i love that i do it, i control it, im good at it, and i love it, but most of all, that those things mean that when it comes to blowjobs, I WON.

why cant iwin when it comes to self respect, and having someone love me back the way i love them?

another failed relationship, another man who wont love me despite saying he does and promising he will love me even more...... it all tells me I'm not good enough, I dont deserve what im asking for....

and fuck that shit. i fucking AM good enough. i fucking DO deserve it.

and thats the problem. wow. lightbulb moment much? i stay so long, because quitting means i agree that im not worthy. and ill be damned if im going to admit that.

Well thats just fucking great. I'm even more fucked up now at 29 than i was at 12.

Maybe IB is right. maybe i do have mental problems, maybe im not normal. maybe i need professional help.

or maybe i just need him to fuck off and stop playing games with me, messing with my head, and being just so damn mean?