Enigma87

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ This memory resurfaced on the same night in conjunction with the memory of my having mercy on my father for hurting me. This memory took place the day after I “Had Mercy on My Father”. I was still recovering from the blow to my head and had sore spots on my body from where I slammed into the wall, and fell to the ground. I was still confused as to why he gave me the option to turn him in. Was it reverse psychology? Or did he really have a change of heart? I was so distracted at school the next day. It was Monday. I was sitting at school in a daze, still trying to cover the bruise with makeup and my long curly hair. My art teacher - who we will call “FM” - noticed I was looking down a lot and just wasn’t focused. He had me stay after class and asked me what was going on. I broke down crying, and telling him about how Daddy had gotten angry with me and hurt me. He hugged and consoled me as I cried. I begged him not to tell the guidance counselor, or anyone, because I didn’t want my father to get in trouble. He assured me he wouldn’t tell. I remember he softly let go of me, and said to hold on... he went to lock the door, and came back. He made sure we were not in eyesight of anyone. He said he had his free period right at this moment, so I could hang with him for a bit, and he’d just write me a late pass to my next class. He put his arms around me again, and just held me close against him and caressed me as I cried. I was just so out of it. I felt so trapped in my home situation, it felt really nice to be hugged by a strong man like FM. He just let me cry against him, and told me he would always be there for me. But now I remember… as clear as ever last night… that this was the day... The day things “really” began with FM. Before long, I felt him getting “excited” through his pants as he was pressed close against my body. He started breathing deeper and heavier. He then looked at me grabbed my face and said “let me make you feel better”... He moved my hair out of my face, and kissed my forehead, then my cheek near the bruise as if he was making it better, and then he lifted my chin up to kiss my lips. It was a long deep kiss with his tongue. No one had ever kissed me like that before. Then he moved down to kiss the base of my neck and began firmly squeezing my breasts through my shirt. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I felt electricity throughout my body, but stood so still. Then he told me to look up at him. He had this weird lusty look In his eyes, as if I was all he wanted right now. He kissed my forehead again, and then his eyes dropped down… My stomach dropped for a second knowing where he was headed. He slowly undid the button and zipper of my jeans. I held my breath... and to this day, I don’t know why I didn’t stop him. I could have... But I just stood really still watching him as he slipped his hand down into my panties. He began to rub “that spot” slow but firmly between my legs. I remember he said I was so wet. He then asked me to look back up at him again, while he was rubbing me. He asked me if it felt good, and I just nodded. I remember I couldn’t get words out. I knew what was happening was so so wrong. But I was too wrapped up in his control over me. He was staring into my eyes and nodding his head, softly whispering, “that’s a good girl“. He was rubbing me with one hand, and holding me up by my arm with his other hand. I began to feel weak, closed my eyes, and grabbed onto him. He said, “Yea that’s it...”. I felt like I was losing my breath, and every bit of composure I had, including my balance. He spun me around so my back was leaning against his body, as he reached around in front of me to continue rubbing me. I had this feeling of being out of my body in a state of shock. I felt a little nauseous and a little scared all at the same time. But I was extremely aroused at this point. I didn’t completely register what was happening. It felt as if I wasn’t “me” and he wasn’t “him”. I just felt this raw emotion of someone deeply loving me, and rubbing me in such a sensitive area, and it felt so good. He finished me off. At that moment, all I could think was that this grown man, really really cared for me, and showed me such a deeper level of affection than I’d felt from any man before ever. Part of me knew this was extremely wrong, and the other part of me was already used to keeping secrets for my dad and other men in my life, so what made this time any different?

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ This memory resurfaced last night while trying to fall asleep in bed. I think I was 15 and my sister was 10 at the time. It was Sunday morning. We were getting dressed to go to our Sunday Meeting at our usual place of worship. My mom was out of town for the weekend. My father is the coordinator of elders (equivalent to a church’s pastor). He said we needed to leave in 10 minutes. I came downstairs ready. I walked into the kitchen, where he was straightening his tie. He made some remark to me about something I’d done wrong. To this day, I cannot remember the subject of conversation. I just remember him getting upset, and me saying something angrily back. I can’t remember why I had the gall to even challenge my father knowing how he was. All I remember was saying something he thought was disrespectful, and he reared back, and hit me across the face so hard, that my body slammed into the wall behind me, and I fell to the ground. I can’t remember whether I blacked out for a minute or not. I opened my eyes and the room was spinning. I was seeing what looked like glitter in my vision. My left ear was ringing. Apparently, the clock on the wall behind me had fallen to the floor when my body hit the wall. So dad was picking it up and hanging it back on the wall. Dad walked back over, now standing over me, telling me to get up and let’s go. I didn’t even cry. I was just trying to digest what just happened, and get my bearings. I got myself up, straightened my dress, and composed myself to leave. Then he noticed the bruise he left on my face. I assured him I would cover it with makeup, and switch my hair to the other side of my face, to cover the swelling. He was silent. My sister was peering from the top of the stairs, but looked too afraid to say a word. We got in the car, and dad began driving. I was still holding my head because I was still dizzy. Dad glances over. I think it is setting in just how hard he hit me. He started crying which I’ve never seen him do. He said “if you need to tell the elders, I would understand.” I was confused, because he’d hit me before and left marks. But what was different this time? I don’t know… All I know, was he was crying and wouldn’t look me in the face. I don’t know what came over me. I think I was surprised to see a gentler side of him. I started looking down and tearing myself. I said, “No daddy, that’s ok. I won’t tell anyone. I know you didn’t mean it. It was an accident.” I don’t get it… I’d had all this anger toward my dad for years of physical and emotional abuse. The very moment he gives me the opportunity to turn him in, I couldn’t do it. I knew it would destroy him if I reported him to the elders. He would lose his prized position as the lead, and they would be obligated to report him to social services. I couldn’t let that happen. As much as I hated him, I also loved him. So I wiped my tears, he wiped his, and we composed ourselves to walk into our place of worship before God, like nothing had ever happened. My dad walked in greeting members with such care and concern, and got ready to appear before the congregation to talk about God. Meanwhile, I could barely hear out of my left ear, my head was still throbbing in pain, and I began to feel sore spots from where my body hit the wall and then the ground. I took a deep breath, and played my role with grace for the congregation as everyone expected… daddy’s perfect daughter, the elder’s daughter.

OMG... This is an area that has haunted me for years since my SA began. You don’t know how much this means to me to read this. The “Hyper” description fits me so well. I was made to feel like something was wrong with me for all this time. TW! - I will try to explain this as best as I can without being graphic... My first experiences with sex involved my most sensitive areas being violently overstimulated with torture & pain for hours. I wildly cl*xed several times back to back, because was I immobilized in such a way that I couldn’t move enough to prevent myself from being stimulated. My abuser would laugh as he was entertained by my frustration and agony, and would even increase the strength or time of stimulation to see me squirm and writhe in pain. I felt like a wild animal. I felt like I was in hell. But what has messed me up most, is that although the pain was so excruciating, I continued to feel the most intense and unexplainable pleasure/euphoria leading me to cli*. Every time I did, my abuser would throw it in my face to degrade me for liking it. So I found myself submitting to the intense pain, knowing that the intense pleasure would follow. I also passed out after almost every instance that I can remember. So in my consensual experiences (past and present), I literally crave pain and overstimulation, because I get the most pleasure that way. It’s the only way I’ve been able to fully enjoy sex, because that’s what all I’d known first. My partners are either freaked out by it, or have been sex addicts themselves and obsess over it. My abusers have shamed me into thinking I wanted everything they gave me because of this, and I have shamed myself for so so long, thinking I’m some kind of oddity or a freak of nature. It has greatly impacted my self-esteem and confidence. So I very deeply appreciate this article’s explanation. It means so much to me and makes me feel less like “this is just how I am”. Thank you

Invisible~, Thank you so much. It’s nice to know we can support each other in all of this. It has been really hard lately. I appreciate your openness and sincerity. Hang in there ♥️

Invisible~, I’m very new to this website. This is my first comment. Hopefully, it is not too long. From reading just this post alone, I can feel your pain and the depth of the struggle you are going through. Despite the constant flashbacks and suffering you experience from day to day, you are proving your strength. The fact that you can openly express your ordeal no matter whether you feel people want to hear it or not, is very admirable. I know that feeling... one day of each week, I sit there watching the clock in my therapists office, not wanting to get up from my chair because I know that once I do, I have to face the outside world for another week using the “skills” that I know work, but don’t always seem like enough for the pain I feel. My abuse and rape ended 8 years ago. I thought the more I pushed the painful memories away, the more I’d forget. During those 8 years, I finished college, worked different jobs, did volunteer work, had intimate relationships (with their challenges). I felt like I’d succeeded at distracting myself from my trauma. But when my rapist resurfaced a year ago, I crumbled... I didn’t realize how pushing those emotions away was creating a pressure cooker effect - the more & the longer I crammed my trauma into this cooker, the hotter it became and the more lethal the release of pressure would be. So I am just now dealing with it. I just revealed to my family, that a man they placed their trust in, molested me from 15-18... and that a member of our religious community drugged and brutally raped me soon after that. I am just now coming to terms with it all as if it just happened all over again. So I can identify with you about feeling like people around you being able to process only but so much, esp when it involves people they knew in the community... & the frustrations of having to endure panic attacks, flashbacks, and triggers that are hard to explain or even anticipate. If we stay strong & persist in processing our pain... I believe it will get better with time if you continue to give your pain a voice. I hid my pain behind shame for more than 8 years (technically 11, including the years of abuse)... and lied to myself about what really happened to protect myself. I reality I just allowed those men that hurt me to retain a measure of power over me. Some days I feel weak and other days, strong. My determination is to take back that power by working through my pain so that it doesn’t control me forever. Sounds easier said than done... but I have to hope that it’s possible. I hope the same for you too. Much love and support to you.