I wish to write, even though I am completely mentally drained.
I am writing because I think I am having some understanding of what courage Survivors have to have.
It is the the courage to go forward with life.
I feel that in the last few days I have reach an emotional state where fear and grief is drowning me.
This for most of my life fear has underpinned my day-to-day experience.
I have live with fear for so long, that most of the time I do not recognise it.
I first felt fear as a young.
It was ignored, so I suppressed my terror.
Only now, it eats at my body. It makes me lose all my energy.
I thought I was depressed, when I was terrified.
I could not let myself be scared, so I turned to self-hate.
When I feel fear, I can see that my stepdad choose to abuse me. I see I did not want to see porn.
When I let in fear, I know I never wanted to be prostituted. I know I hated all the violence.
But, I had to make it what it was not.
I was told over and over that I “force” my stepdad to use me. I was a flirt. I throw myself at him.
I was a tart.
This infected me with self-hate.
I could not stop him raping me. Whatever I said or did made no difference.
So all that was left was to blame myself.
That was the only thing that made sense.
I felt all I was was a “whore”. All I deserved was to be hurt by sex.
For me entering prostitution was a logical action. I know I was worthless.
Prostitution and bad sex became my way to self-harm.
I found that the men left little evidence on my body of their violence.
This matter to me, because I could self-harm and there no cuts or marks for others to see.
Self-hate through prostitution and bad sex is more than damaging to the body, it is more than mentally damaging.
It destroys everything that made me an individual.
I was more than worthless. I had become nothing.
I was raped and raped. I lost track of how many men.
I was raped in too many places. I cannot remember where I was.
I was raped until I was on auto-pilot each time I was with men or a man.
I am scared to remember how that auto-pilot work.
I would be undressed on a bed without thinking why.
I would move into positions that give me pain, but I know from porn.
I was lost.
I did not know how to find myself.
I write this because I did go into that auto-pilot on Saturday.
This is where I understand the meaning of courage.
Since my mind has been showing me the reality of the hate and violence I live through in my teens and twenties, I have been in a great deal of pain.
On Saturday I wanted to run away from myself.
I know having bad sex would make dead again. I know if I went back to hating myself, I would back in a world I kind of understood.
Feeling my past was too bloody overwhelming.
I was getting too scared.
I was like a robot with that man on Saturday.
I was falling back to thinking I was worthless.
But then, courage enter my soul.
Courage to remember I was worth more than being a fuck-object.
That no money was worth the humilation.
I had the courage to walk away.
Then real courage enter me.
All the suppressed emotions re-enter my body and mind.
I have always used self-harm to kill my emotions.
Courage is allowing those feeling in, and not running away.
I feel really terrible. A complete wreck.
But I know I am doing the bravest thing I have done for a long time.