I have decided to write about my distorted relationship with my body.
Fortunately on the radio is Mozart, who is my absolute favourite composer. This may help me to write without giving myself more pain.
For most of my life I have hated my body.
My body betrayed all the time. My body was weak when I wanted to be strong.
I decided my body was attached to me, but I wanted little to do with it.
Now as I have pain. Now as I have illness. Now I am afraid to deal with my body.
I have high blood pressure, bad thyroid, I am overweight and other stress illnesses.
But I also have a phobia of doctors. A phobia of taking care of my body.
I find so hard to love my body.
I do eat fresh food, I walk instead of getting the bus. But I am also lazy, love TV too much. I have sweet tooth. I am not a vegetarian.
I am scared to know my body, scared of the grief deep inside of it.
From when I think I have memory, I thought my body was my enemy.
I knew I should not cry, but tears came out. I could not stop wetting my bed.
My body would be out of control, when control was the only thing I had to hold onto.
So I hated my body.
I taught myself not to cry.
But as my stepdad abuse me, the bed wetting went on and on. I was too old to wet my bed. My mother was angry.
I was angry.
I was ashamed.
As the abuse became my norm, my body grow into it.
From around 12, my body would betrayed me.
I had orgasms.
At first, I had no idea what was happening. Only it felt wrong. It felt like I was destroying myself.
I thought I am still wetting myself. Only I felt dizzy.
When I begun to know what was happening, that it was called arousal. That I was told that shows you are having good time.
“You are loving it, my little whore.”
When I knew, I truly despise my body. It was having a good time, when I wanted to die.
So I split my mind from my body. I thought I would have a safe space then.
This did not work, but it help me pretend that I was dead.
Only my body reacted.
My body would release orgasms. My body would back away in disgust or pain. My body would not be calm.
I wanted to lie dead, and my body would move.
“Don’t move. it will only hurt if you move.”
My body moved, and it bloody hurt.
It hurt as his fingers went into holes too small, holes resisting by being dry or closing up.
It hurt as he eat my cunt. His beard scarping at me, his teeth putting fear into my heart.
It hurt as force his penis into my mouth.
It hurt, but I refuse to show my pain. I would not cry, I did not turn away. I would not let pain control me.
I would not show my humiliation, it give him too much pleasure.
As I write, my body betrays me again. I had to be sick.
I want to say my truth as clear as I can, but my body is so damned scared.
My body is terrified to know how it was treated during my teens and early twenties.
It closes down so much knowledge of that time.
But sometimes it will remember. It will make me listen and know.
It comes if I sleep on my back, When I feel unknown men on top of me. When I feel my cunt in agony. That is from that time.
I know when my anus is always scared of the slightest discomfort. When it is hard to even sit on.
I knew when having sex with love and affection, and I put my hands above my head. Then I froze and felt terrified.
I know each I think I deserve to have pain every I even have sexual thoughts in my mind. As I still think sex is a punishment for something I can’t remember.
This all was forced into me during my years in prostitution and violent anonymous sex.
I hated my body with a vicious intensity then.
As men ripped, poked, tie me up, bite and beat me. My body would never go dead.
It did go dead as I was raped in the mouth, ear, anus and vagina. No, it stay alive.
It still reacted.
My mind wanted it all not to matter, wanted to pretend it was not happening.
Only my body flinched in fear, making the men laugh or hurt me more.
My body bleed, had bruises and give out pain.
And my body still had orgasms, making me so angry.
Now, I know I could not control how my body reacted. Now, I am learning to forgive my body.
As my body shows me the truth through pain, I am choosing to no longer to run away.
I want to let my body have peace.
To have peace, I must feel as much as I can in however much time that take.
To have peace, I need not be scared to say how terrified I am of facing the tortures my body had to live with.
My body did not betrayed me.
It made the best of surviving inside a world that was attempting to kill it.