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Kimberly122708

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So... life has this way of sucker punching you.

Although recently I have become more distant from reality... which I am realizing is fucking dangerous... it's not so much... distant from reality, because I am aware of my life, but more... just... being ambivalent about it, and even if I feel the emotions, I'm not overwhelmed by them.. I've carried them for so long.. I feel... just... yeah.

So.. my mom just called. The man who has worked for her, for my family since we moved here and bought the business, Rick, just died. Suddenly, unexpectedly. He was one of those... kinda creepy... criminal record, but basically a fucking good person. Would do anything for you, just a little rough around the edges. He helped my mom through the divorce, he was fiercely protective of us kids.

I distinctly remember one time P (my abuser) made me cry, don't remember why, and Rick asked me who made me cry, and I told him, and he yelled at P.

If he had known that P had.. that we had... were involved sexually, he might have killed him. Or beaten him up.

He was funny, he cared about me, was proud of me, and was overall a father figure.

Here's where this gets all kinds of fucked up... but I wanted to explore it because it's...

So.. even though he never ever EVER touched me sexually, never even anything close.... he did... sexualize me? Or.. add another layer to it?

Let me be fucking clear. I love Rick. I love him, he NEVER did anything to hurt me. I am not trying to befoul his name, I am just... realizing some serious shit. I just need to process this.. and work through it.

So. I also have distinct memories of when I started... developing. Who knows how old... sixth grade through 8th grade? 7th and 8th? Anyway, I seem to recall wearing a thong or something, and that a man (I think it was Rick...?) made a comment about it. Not in a way that made me feel threatened at all, I was flattered by it.

There's another time I clearly remember that he told me I swung my hips when I walked, or something about the way my ass moved. Ever since then, I am pretty aware (and hopeful) that men are noticing the same thing..

And, his tattoos were some of the first ones I ever saw. He had a Tasmanian Devil, a naked Smurfette, and a naked lady with a truck running up on her body. The truck had these... tubes? suckers? that were attached to her breasts, and her groin.

I... I liked those tattoos. I liked the things he said to me (that I'm pretty sure he said to me) about my body.

What the fuck...

I also know that when he found out about P, because he did find out about P... he cried... I know he loved me. I know he did. He was someone who was very important in my life... just.. maybe in ways I wasn't really expecting.

So. Yeah. Life.

And today my husband and I are going to therapy too. Ha. Anyway... Life keeps rolling. There's no stopping it.

I guess over all, I am just realizing how fucked up I am... that feeling abandoned by my dad, and searching for it, then receiving it in sexual ways too young... I can't... that is what I am good at, that is what I know, that is what I want. I am this way, sex runs through everything I do, it is a constant thought, a constant thread...

And that so much of my own self fulfillment and contentment comes from being.. from being the most prized, coveted, and cherished thing in a man's life. Yes his possession, at least in some capacity (sexually). Is that fucked up? Maybe. Probably.

It's me. I'm just trying to figure out how "me" fits into the life I've built.

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