The key to my lock

I don't wanna post this on tumblr cause this feels a bit too dark and gruesome, too personal and too private. But I need to vent it just the same, so I put it here. It also led me to yet another important realisation.

I really wish I hadn't been raped. It fills me with such sadness today. I'm still turned on by fantasies of random men raping me, and it makes me feel so horrible. Like the fantasies themselves make me wanna crawl out of my skin, cry and go to sleep. They gross me out, scare me and make me nauseous. And they give me the saddest orgasms. I don't know how to break that chain. I don't wanna cum from those fantasies, I don't want them in my head.

It takes more and more effort to even make myself masturbate when those fantasies rape my mind. And those orgasms come almost right away, within a couple of minutes. But they make me feel like shit.

This time I was out for a smoke on my balcony when one of those intrusive fantasies popped up. I've had similar ones before, but not very recently. It's a dystopic future fantasy of a society where it's been decided that everyone has to offer sex to anyone who wants to fuck them, by law, as in no form of discrimination is legal, including sexual. And of course a lot of unwanted, creepy, straight men start going after all the women they want to fuck. And the women can't say no. Of course then one of those sleezy guys comes up to me and demands sex. And I'm repulsed, both in the fantasy and in real life, but at the same time extremely turned on.

I finished the cigarette when the guy in my fantasy tells me I have to take him to my bedroom and he tells me to undress. In reality I lied down on my bed and slipped down my pants, reached for my vibrator and positioned it. In the fantasy the guy again tells me to undress while my entire being tells him to stop. I do not want this. But I undress for him in my mind, reluctantly, and lie down on my back on a bed. He tells me to masturbate until I'm wet, then asks me if I'm wet. I checked with my fingers in reality and tell him yes as I reached for my dildo. He lies on top of me in my mind and the dildo is his dick as I push it inside myself. I came within half a minute, but remained in the bed just lying like that for a few minutes, struggling to get back up again.

It feels like depression right after that kind of orgasm. It feels like I'm suddenly completely dead inside. It feels like I am being raped by my own mind, and I can't excape it.

Yes, realising I'm a lesbian changed everything. And I'm not too happy about it. I can't pretend to like these fantasies anymore. I can pretend that I invited them into my mind freely, when it's so obvious now that they break down the door and take me by force. When I finally started saying no but they don't care. That's when it started to really affect me badly. Cause I started resisting them but they don't take no for an answer. The horniess I feel for them feels like my body betraying me. I hate the fantasies, the men in them gross me out, I don't want to look at them, I don't want them to touch me or fuck me.

But take me, I'm their whore and slave, I guess. All I can do is keep spreading my legs cause it won't stop. But it's affecting me worse and worse. I don't know what it will lead to, eventually.

I feel like my rapist took my lesbianism away from me. And not even now that I finally know I'm gay, not even now, can I have it. Cause I'm being forced to fuck men in my fantasies. The terror and pain he created within me is repeating itself like a nightmare stuck on a loop, again and again, that I can't wake up from, and it's slowly turning me into stone.

Cause it doesn't matter what I think or do, or how much I'd rather think about some cute and sexy woman playing with my pussy and me playing with her pussy instead. Or just sit on a pack of ice until I can't feel my aroused pussy anymore. It almost makes me wanna die. When I get so horny from such an intrusive fantasy that just keeps playing in my head and I get so aroused I can't stop myself from getting rid of the feeling by masturbating to orgasm. It makes me almost want to die when I cum from that. Like it sucks the life force out of me and I struggle to move, think or feel anything at all.

And I'm just lying there. One minute longer for each time, cause I feel so empty I might as well just be a shell.

I would never be turned on like that, or at all, by a man in real life. I never have been. And I don't at all get turned on by "healthy sex" fantasies of men. It's only the rape (and mutilation) fantasies, and they carve out my will to live, cause I feel like my own mind has just raped me. And I know it's because I was raped in reality, all those years ago, cause I know that feeling by experience. What it feels like to have just been raped. I felt like my body had been turned inside out, numb yet hurting, moderately dissociating and extremely disconnected fromy my body. As if I didn't even have a body but just a head floating around in the air. It reminds me of an audiobook I have and listened to a few times. It's about a girl who's a victim of sex trafficking and gets involved in a series of crimes that some detectives try to solve. Sometime in the beginning of the book the writer describes how she, and her friend who's also stuck in the same kind of life (they're "colleagues" I guess), deal with the sex they have with the clients who pay for them. The main character girl describes it as that she "doesn't have a body" but is just a head, and her friend desacribes it as that she "only has a body" but it's not real what's happening. And sadly, both of those describe really well how I've handled my entire sex life.

My dysphoria, that I used to have, of course also confused me in my "attraction" to men. I thought it was because of my dysphoria that I dissociated during sex. It wasn't. That was also because I wasn't into the men and cause I was actually grossed out by being fucked by them. I thought it was my own body that grossed me out, when in fact it was their bodies that did.

I never had any such dark sexual fantasies before the rape. I'm yet again in a phase of being angry at my rapist for having done that to me, and slightly hating him for it. I try not to hate him, to not fuel that fire. Cause it only leads to more pain. I gain nothing from hating him. But I do hate him, cause it feels like he ruined my sex life and took my lesbianism away from me. Well he did, in a sense, didn't he? Like he lit a small flame in a fire stove, but the flames spread and burned down the entire house. My home.

I wanna rip his guts out for it, and choke him with them. But I know not even that would be enough, nothing would, and that's why revenge just never is an a good idea. But fuck I still hate him for ruining my life, and it makes me want to ruin his. But justice is an illusion. It will never feel fair for me, no matter what I could conceivably put him through. It wouldn't solve a damn thing.

But for all its worth... I think he just made me even gayer. Cause he gave me quite a strong distaste for men, making me properly disgusted by even just the thought of sex with men, while the thought of sex with other women, and romance, stands out like a beautiful garden amidst a war torn landscape. That's how I see what I feel women versus what I feel for men, sexually and romantically. It's that strong of a contrast. But just to clarify that I don't idealise my love for women: beautiful gardens do tend to have some sharp thorns, nasty bugs and weeds too. But it also feels like I'm trying to grow that garden with my love for women and wanting to heal my sex life, on what is currently a war torn landscape. But I have to bury the remains of fallen soldiers, collect the broken weapons and landmines, and wash the blood from the ground first. Right now I can't make anything grow there.

Of course I can't know what it would have been like if I had never crossed paths with my rapist, but I don't think I would have been quite this fucked up if I had never been raped. For every single guy I had sex with, it was trying to find my rapist in them. But none of them were even close to as bad as him. None of them cruel enough to treat me like he did... to my utter disappointment.

Something just hit me... Oh my god, I never thought it was an important detail but fuck I've been wrong... When I was raped, he didn't actually quite manage to get his dick inside me, cause my pussy locked up or spasmed or something. It does that sometimes when I'm tense and scared, and it did that during that evening with him. But he kept trying and and pushing his dick against the opening of my vagina until I started bleeding. It hurt really bad and it was clearly against my will, and I had given him my complete lack of consent. But no, he didn't actually manage to get inside me.

But that's good, right? No... it wasn't.

I always felt like it "wasn't actual rape" cause he didn't get it inside me, so I always went with the slightly altered story that he did get it in. But why is that important, all of a sudden? Because for every guy after him... I wanted for it to be my rapist finishing his job, of actually penetrating and cumming inside me, which he never did. Because that's what I had decided would have been "real rape" and it fucked with me. On all possibly imaginable levels.

It's important because I just realised I wasn't trying to repeat the rape... I was trying to finish it.

Cause on some fucked up level I felt ashamed that my vagina locked up for him, that it wasn't "real" rape because of that, but almost. Very, very almost. And that "almost" pissed me off, it dragged me to hell and beyond hell. In my world things just have to be either or and fit into a category, and if I can't fit something into any category, I take the closest fit and shove it in with brute force, crying and screaming that it has to work. I was trying to "finish" the rape with other men so that it would fit into the category of rape. Somehow. I dunno what the hell went completely short circuit in my brain there, but yeah... that's what I did. I couldn't undo the rape, obviously, so I tried to finish it for him with other men instead, fill in the gap... Okay, that pun was not intended. (What the hell, brain?)

And that's what became of my entire sex life, for the past 12 years. The longest trauma I've ever endured so far. He started it. I continued from where he left off.

So that little detail that I kept deliberately leaving out cause of shame... of course that's the key itself. The key I've kept trying to unlock my vagina with. That metaphor... it fits too perfectly to be true. It gives me chills. It all just makes me so sad. And that I missed out on my lesbianism almost entirely cause I was so obsessed with literally trying to fulfill my rapist's desire! Cause I guess in my mind he would have wanted to fuck me until he'd cum inside me... and I've kept wishing he had done that. Cause I'm haunted by that it wasn't enough to count as rape and that I shouldn't feel so hurt by it cause it was "less serious" than the "real rape" I've always claimed it to be. I still wish he had raped me properly. What does that say about me, my damaged mind? I think it just means that I'm craving, yearning, dying for... closure.

I think that's why I've kept fantasising about having consensual sex with him, and why I keep wanting to reunite with him. I think I want for him to rape me again, but properly this time. Or I mean if I'd actually seek him out and want sex with him, it wouldn't technically be rape, but as I'm not even remotely into him, and I'd only want it because he once raped me and I want closure from that... it's in a category of its own beyond consensual and rape and anything in between. It's not attraction, love, care or pleasure that pulls me towards him sexually, but something else entirely.

Could I possibly get pleasure from fucking him though? Well I guess hypothetically that would be possible if he or I would stimulate the right spots and I'd be able to relax enough, but somehow I think I'd be filled with too much fear and disgust to enjoy it much. But as I said, it's not pleasure that pulls me towards him, but closure. I think what I really want with that... is to make peace with him, as well as with myself. Cause it feels like I'm in a constant state of being unable to sleep the night after a fight. And thus, I want to go back to him and settle the argument. It might be a little bit unorthodox... and very dangerous... but I actually believe that it could work, in the sense that it could give some kind of closure to go to bed with him freely, not forced. The thought of it makes me feel a glimpse of relief.

Hmm... it appears I still enjoy my sexual fantasies about him, and that I'm not particularly disgusted by his image in my mind. Not even his dick. I did just masturbate to a fantasy of him, and I didn't feel much of that mortal dread after orgasming. Just a bit of sadness and a bit of emptiness, but not so bad. Cause I also felt some relief. And like... I can allow myself that, if I want to. He seems to be the only man that I like fantasising about and that I don't feel bad about thinking of that way. It is consensual with him in my fantasies, often me taking the initiative and even leading him during the sex, so it feels like I'm in control. But there's no lust or attraction, and I think that's why I'm fine with it. I don't have any other reason to possibly want to fuck any other man, like why would I? But him, I have a special connection to in my mind, which makes him the only exception. And I think I'm still gay despite that exception, cause I'm not into him, or any other man. Cause he's the only guy I'd wanna fuck despite not being attracted. Because he once raped me, and no other guy ever has.

But about that rape in general, I think I'm just so desperately trying to heal a wound that I've resorted to aggressively stabbing it, only making it worse and then screaming at it "why won't you fucking heal?!" so yeah that's going great.

But for all those years I couldn't find him again and didn't dare to call or text that number he once gave me... so I reached for other men. But I kept thinking it had to be him again for it to work. He is the only man who holds the key to my locked up pussy. Because he was the one to lock it. Does that make sense, somehow? I'm not attracted to him, I clearly don't love him in any capacity, but I yearn for him. Like that string of blood in that poem, I feel a certain connection towards him that I can't quite manage to describe. Because I do not understand that connection. What it means, what it wants, or even what it is. Perhaps... it's some kind of Stockholm Syndrome that I've developed for him.

Well he was my abuser. And ever since I left him I've kept clinging to my memory of him, and my altered versions of it. But the more time that passes, the more honest and truthful the story I tell becomes. As I bit by bit let go of my shame and dare to look myself in the eye. There's so much about that one evening that I've struggled to admit happened, that I've felt ashamed by, that I've kept to myself for years before daring to mention, that I've altered to something I think fits the story better to then years later alter back to what actually happened, and so on. Because it was probably the longest evening of my life, packed with details which seemed insignificant at the time but turned out to all have their own very important meanings.

Perhaps I still on some fucked up level want to have sex with him. Even though I'm not into him that way. My trauma bleeds for him. Like a broken cyborg running back to its creator to get fixed, but it was the creator that broke the cyborg. But the cyborg is programmed to always run back to its creator whenever it's been damaged. I feel like my rapist is my creator and that I need to run back to him to get fixed. But because it was him who broke me, I can't trust he could fix me, cause he might just damage me even more.

I feel drawn to the very source of my issues. My mind has decided that's the solution that I need, even though it's irrational and would probably be very dangerous to actually try to do. He could hurt me badly if I'd actually approach him in real life. Cause I have a sensation that he would recognise me, at least subconsciously and react emotionally to my presense, even if he wouldn't recognise me by my looks. I'm not sure I would recognise him by his looks. I can't remember his face anymore, but I do remember his body language, his scent and his laughter. But those things alone might not be enough to catch him in a crowd. If I will actually do it, though? I don't know. Gotta find him first.

I both hate him and I want him. He ruined my life and I want to give him my body. Should I really reward him for that, ahaha... yeah, perhaps I should... thank him, for something. Something I don't quite know what it is, but something within me nods at the idea of thanking him. It doesn't make a lot of sense, but that's just the nature of trauma.

But I found the key. What I've been looking for, what I've been trying to accomplish with all my unhealthy sex with men I never wanted. I figured it had a lot to do with the rape, more so than the other of my traumas, but I didn't know it was entirely because of the rape. Well, now I know.

One last thing: I didn't betray myself by having sex with men. I shouldn't blame myself for the tragedy that my rapist created. Even though he only created that tragedy indirectly. I would not have done that if he hadn't raped me. I did it because of him.

To bi or not to bi, that's the question

I really need to figure this shit out. I'll try to go back to my childhood and look at my first crush and then move on and see what sort of pattern might reveal itself. Am I really into men or not? Let's find out... You like that title? I hope it's not too sublte.

1. First crush ever
The first crush I can remember that I ever had, I was not very young. I was 8, and this was a bunch of months but less than a year before the abuse. It was a teacher, I think around 22 years old. A woman. All the boys in the class had a crush on her. She was truly super sweet, invited the whole class to her home one day, and everyone liked her. She had half her face paralysed but no one gave her any shit about it, everyone thought she was beautiful (she truly was) and went out of their ways to defend her if needed. I didn't feel weird about crushing on her because everyone with even the slightest inclination towards girls did! However I was too scared to tell anyone about it cause I was pretty sure I was the only girl to have a crush on her. I wasn't thinking about sex back then at all. I just got warm, fluffy feelings around her, and some tingles in my pussy that I didn't know what to make of really. But for a childish crush, I think it was genuine. Or at least I can't see why not. The woman was absolutely amazing, at least from that I remember everyone loved her, the other teachers too. It wasn't a very strong crush and definitely not obsessive. I just really liked her and felt warm and tingly in her company. I didn't over-think about her at the time. But I also didn't really understand that I had a crush on her, cause like... I was "meant" to like boys... and then that I felt that for a girl, it confused me.

2. Second crush
At around the same time I felt kind of a slight crush towards one of my bullies, a guy of my age. I really don't think that was a real crush, but my fear of him that made my mind try to make him "nice" by creating positive feelings towards him. I was scared of him, always tense around him and I hated him. I didn't actually want to be in a relationship, or kiss him or even give him a hug. It was just those abstract feelings fluttering about.

3. Crushes soon after the childhood sexual assault
I got several obsessive crushes on boy classmates during ages 10-12. Even one of them I got extremely obsessive over when he got a girlfriend, who was also a classmate of mine. I wanted to kill her for "taking him" and fantasised about stabbing her to death, when I was 12 and really suicidal and messed up from that trauma at age 9. My entire mind was rampantly out of control, I dissociated a lot, self-harmed, constantly wanted to die, was at my first "war" with Anna whom I had just realised was going to stick around forever. Just to remind you of how my psyche was doing at that point in my life: not very well. The male classmate I was obsessed with had no interest in me but I simply didn't care. I felt like I would force him to be with me if I could. But I was also really despondent, shy and just too fucking depressed to even try anything like that. It was a storm in my head but it never leaked out. I felt no sexual feelings towards him. This was probably the most fucked up of my "crushes" and no I don't think I was actually into him. Just very, very damaged, lonely and hurting.

4. Another teacher
From age 11 to 15 I had a long-lasting crush in a male science teacher, who was 27 when I was 11. My best friend was into him as well and we were both being silly teen girls about it. It was only his looks I liked and his sexy voice, but I don't think I ever had sexual fantasies about him, not even later into my teens when I had definitely gotten interested in thinking about sex. I had obsessive romantic fantasies about him, and a lot of "taboo fantasies" about dating him, as his student. I think it was the "forbiddeness" that got me drawn to him, sharing that interest with my best friend and that it was a little extra exciting that he was quite a lot older than me. But did I truly want him? I don't think so.

5. Early teens and with a more active sexual mind
At age 13 I had just started karate and instantly "fell" for a guy there. He was from another village nearby and 2 years older. That was also obsessive and ultimately really shallow. I was not interested in actually getting to know him as a person, but I did have sexual fantasies, and lots of sexual nightly dreams, about him. In my diaries at the time I wrote about him constantly. I filled up entire books just rambling about how I felt for him and all my fantasies, and all the details about how we had accidentally touched each other or gotten eye contact at karate practice. Then about 2 years later when I was 15 and still doing karate, he got his long hair cut off and I was no longer interested in him. That attraction died with his hair. Was I truly into him? I don't think so. I was obsessed with an idea of him, but wasn't into the actual person that he was. We did have maybe just two actual conversations during those 2 years I pined for him, and I didn't like his personality those two times I saw it. Yet I kept obsessing and imagining he was different. That is actually a very common pattern with all of my "love obsessions" that I was just pining in silence but didn't want to actually get to know the person I was obsessed about, or I wanted to get to know them but then I didn't like them and "fell out of love" however messed up that may seem.

(Pause for reflection)
I felt very lonely in my teens and childhood. I was obsessed with the dream of finding a "prince charming" or "the right one" or "my one true love" but no one wanted me cause I was an unpopular, bullied and awkward aspie girl with weird hair and clothes and a bad posture. I've always known I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but I know I'm definitely some people's favourite whiskey. But in my teens and childhood I felt very lonely and unwanted. I wanted romances and kisses just like most teen girls, but I didn't get that and it made me very frustrated and feel even more unwanted and just hopeless. I think that, in combination with the trauma at age 9, and also that I was dreamy and quite detached from reality already to begin with (I was stuck believing in childhood fairytales much longer than what's "normal" for kids), made me obsessed by my ideas of people instead of actually interested in them. I was incredibly unrealistic and overly dreamy so to the point it became unhealthy.

(Back to the story telling)
6. Realising interest in girls/women
Then at age 14, I went to a local church for confirmation. I chose that myself, out of curiosity, and my parents hated it and said that the church was brainwashing me... yeah, my parents are kinda hardcore atheists, although my mother is slightly agnostic. Slightly. However at that church group, which was really quite small, I got crushes on not just one but TWO girls. One of them I just liked looking at, really. She was very pregnant, quite a bit older than me and I knew I could only have her as eye-candy so I kept my distance and it was never brought up or noticed. The other girl, however... she's the one who made me realise I'm really into girls. I pined for her and really wanted to get to know her, but I was so painfully shy and also worried the church would have an issue with it if they noticed gay flirting there. I didn't know if that particular church was gay-friendly or not. It was never brought up one way or the other. Her name is Elena and at that time she lived in another village nearby and at church was the only times I could meet her, cause we didn't go to the same school. That was a dilemma. My fantasies about her were wild. Both romantically and sexually. I wasn't too aware of oral sex even being a thing back then, so those fantasies mostly only consisted of kissing, boob-touching and masturbating each other to orgasm. Likely also some pussy on pussy rubbing, aka tribbing. I'd say that counts as gay enough for my uneducated 14 year old mind.

This one gets two paragraphs cause apparently I've a lot to say about her! Continues: At the day of confirmation she helped me put on a necklace that I was having a fight with, just out of the blue she asked if I needed help. It made me so weak in the knees I nearly lost my balance, and then I couldn't think of anything else for the rest of that day, week, year. When I didn't see her anymore after the confirmation had ended, I kept pining for a few more months, but then eventually let go of her. I saw her once more, 2-3 years later, at the bus stop in the village I lived in. She walked into a bus when I walked out of another, and didn't get the opportunity to even say hi. Then never saw her again. Was I really into her? I think so. It was a groundbreaking crush for me, to realise I like girls. It had a huge impact. Although my focus on her was very sexual, I also didn't actually know her so it makes sense I focused on the physical aspect then, but also felt warm and weak around her, and more shy than otherwise. I don't think I was actually obsessed with her, also because when I knew she was out of reach, I could move on from her. Not right away but within a reasonable time. I always remember her in a kind of special way though, mostly with a sort of gentle nostalgia, for the self-discovery that my crush on her led to.

7. My first sexuality confusions
That following autumn (2004) I found an article about gay and bi girls in a glossy teen magazine and it dawned upon me. I thought I must be bisexual. Briefly that winter, I wondered if I might be a lesbian, cause when I thought of girls vs boys, I felt like I'd rather be with a girl and like my attraction to boys wasn't quire right. But then I thought I was crazy for thinking that, I had lots of crushes on boys and only 2-3 on girls! If anything that must mean I'm more straight-leaning bisexual, right? Well that was my thinking back then. Sometime during spring 2005 I came out as bisexual, to my mother and best friend. I didn't tell the school cause it was the very last term ever (9th glade) there and I thought it would be better and best to just wait that out and not care about that stupid school. They had no business knowing. But yes, I did come out as bisexual all that time ago! When I was 15 or just turned 16, I don't remember the exact time but I think it was sunny weather outside when I told my mother while we were in a car and she drove me somewhere. And she told me that's "the ideal sexuality".

8. First gay date
Sometime that spring I met a girl from Qruiser, for a date. I think she's actually a lesbian, but possible she was bisexual instead, I dunno my memory of her looks and vibes just screams GAY but yeah whatever... She was a couple of years older than me, Asian, punk-sport butch who couldn't speak Swedish and barely English so we didn't understand each other well. She was cute as hell but we didn't connect at all and the date was a flop. But I mean it was my first date with another girl, at just age 15! Considering all of my issues... I'm proud of myself for that.

9. Barely a crush, but maybe noteworthy
For the last few months of my 9th grade we got a new girl as a classmate. She was totally my type and I got curious about her. But I also noticed that she was too shy and I probably wouldn't get along much with her due to that, so I acknowledged that and just liked her as eye-candy. Also I wasn't out as bi or anything at that school, so that also held me back from flirting with girls. But what I felt for her, I think it was a healthy thing. Was a pretty weak but still noticable "I like this girl" feeling.

(Long sidenote about my type)
When I say "my type" in terms of girls/women.... it's very definitely a clear type. Most girls I've crushed on looked pretty much the same. Shoulder long blonde straight hair, very light skin, that soft pastel feminine style, either healthy weight and more or less curvy or really thin with a small frame like that "petite" kind of women that are so small even I look huge in comparison! They look very fair, bright and kinda angelic with platinum blonde hair and snow white skin. I think I like that type cause it's my feminine opposite: meaning my style has always been dark, with heavy makeup, lots of black and dark rich accent colours like wine red, petrol and deep purple, but also bright pink details. So they're like the "angelic" opposite to my "demonic" thing going on, in a symbolic kinda sense. Or that's how I've always seen it. Like a yin to my yang kinda thing but two feminine women, one light and the other dark. I think that's why I prefer blondes and the sweetly softly bright feminine, to contrast my (usually) black hair and sharply dark femininity. Lilith wants to date virgin Mary? No I'm kidding. I don't actually put any sort of personality or value into that type. It's just a look. I do like other types of women, but this in particular feels like truly "my type" as a trademark kinda thing! Cause it happened unintentionally, really a lot. That first teacher, the church girl Elena and that briefly new classmate all fit that "type" to a tee. They seriously looked like they could have been mother and sisters!

This just hit me: I've ALWAYs had a clear type for women/girls, even when I've broadened my taste over the years and just noticing more styles and looks are really pretty and hot... but I have literally never had ANY type for men/guys at all. Not even in the slightest. There have been more masculine guys most likely because feminine guys are quite rare, especially straight/bi fem guys. And I mostly just fell for whichever guy was closest to me! But I think I had at least 3 fem guy crushes, who were all into women, although 2 of them were trans guys, but then 1 of them was a straight cis guy. He wore makeup and had long nails, wore very colourful, kinda "ragdoll" style clothes and I loved his style so hard. But I was a trans guy at the time and he wasn't into me and whatever. I remember he just looked really fucking cute, but yeah he was also just another obsession with no real depth to it.

Actually that was my worst obsession ever. I online stalked him and thought he was my only reason to live, until he got a girlfriend, then I had no reason to live anymore so I tried to kill myself. 5 times. Although he unknowingly gave me an orgasm once... whoops! My neck is very sensitive... and probably just as orgasmic as my pussy is. So when he gave me a neck massage that was like him literally masturbating me. I came. One of my most awkward orgasms ever. But I digress. I have always liked both feminine and masculine styles on men, but I don't think I ever truly cared which of what they were. None of my guy crushes look the other one alike.

R had no style at all, was kinda boring looking and just wore sporty sweatpants and hoodies, you know that really bland and boring kind, and his hair was just that regular short guy style, not dyed. He was quite overweight, but no one really knew how much he weighed cause the scale only went up to 115 kg and he weighed more than that, but I don't think it was much more, and he looked more like he weighed around 90-100 kg, at 185 cm tall. Come to think of it, he wasn't very masculine physically. Like completely hairless, quite high voice, no facial hair. Perhaps that's a little odd at age 17-18. I've never thought of that before. Also he had gynecomastia so he likely had some hormonal issues. Then my next bofriend M was super thin at barely 50 kg and same height, he was actually severely underweight. He had a bit of a punk/skinhead style but also liked some goth stuff. I remember he got a brocade vest tailored cause clothes didn't exist in his very tall, narrow size, but also he was really broke and couldn't afford much nice clothes.

My point in there has never been any sort of pattern to what type of looks the men I've had something with, whether experiences or just obsessions. They've all looked very different, and randomly so. So that's why I say I don't have a type or preference when it comes to men. It seems that with women I feel drawn to them in a much more specific way, like my heart just knows what it wants and looks for similar traits for a next crush, etc... but with men, it was always just completely random and I rarely got sexually into handsome men, only the not so attractive ones, with just a few exceptions, but in those cases I was instead obsessed with their looks and didn't like their minds. With women I think I... have strangely been both more picky and more realistic. Like a hell of a lot more realistic and never actually obsessed, except with just one girl, but that was a celebrity, and not someone I met in reality. I'm getting onto something here... and I'm sure I'll get more into that eventually as I proceed here, but just thought I'd bring it up as it hit me, so you can see how my mind reflects on this and uncover it bit by bit, while I'm going through my past.

(Back to the story telling)
10. Celebrity crush gone haywire
Okay, moving forward. I think if there's any celebrity crushes I should mention here, it's Berny Pålsson. Might sound like a guy's name but it's a nickname for Bernadette. I discovered her autobiographical book sometime that year (2005, to remind you) and I noticed that she looked exactly like me, with the half black-half white dyed hair, and a skimpy, hyper feminine punk-metal style that her journalists referred to as "punk princess". It was like looking into a mirror when I saw pictures of her. And reading her autobiography felt like I was reading my own diary. Well, she was a million times more extreme than me, but I recognised myself in almost all of it to a lesser degree. She was also bisexual, she was also cutting herself, she was also struggling with various mental health issues (including anxiety, depression, borderline... but then she's schizophrenic and a heavy drug addict as well as alcoholic which luckily I'm not) and also had issues with sex addiction although at that time I was still a virgin but addicted to masturbation. My birth name was the same as one of her middle names. She wrote the book at age 17-19 and was at age 22 when I was 15, so a bit older but not a huge difference, and she lived like a teen anyhow.

I did crush on her... obsessively. Very obsessively. I was into her sexually too. Except from when she looked like a totally drugged, drunken and bleeding from self-harm wounds everywhere... she was hot. Like damn, I've never before or after seen such a deliciously softly super curvy fucking perfect hourglass-shape body with such an incredibly beautiful yet adorably cute face... ever before in my life! Fuck, she was extremely gorgeous, and especially enticing to look at when she stuffed her probably DD-cups into push-up bras and that round, big butt in flared mini skirts so short you could see her panties... that made me drool really a lot. She wasn't at all super thin. I'd say she was upper range of healthy weight for some time and then a little overweight. If there's anything I'd call a perfect body, she totally had it. And I'm saying that now as no longer even remotely obsessed with her. She just had the greatest looking body I have ever seen, all time. She doesn't look as good anymore though. Time and lots of drugs and mental illness tends to not have the most kind effects on your body. She's 36 now but looks like half-dead 50 year old.

I obsessively read her book, over and over, brought it with me everywhere. It was my bible. Literally. I lived by its words, which wasn't good considering the content! Yeah, her book did inspire me to cut myself more, overdose on my medications more, attempt suicide more, and made me think I had schizophrenia. It wasn't a good influence. I could write more about her, but let's not make it too long. I'm way over her now, and this is just reflecting over my past. Actually, my best friend told me that Berny had a daughter that she named Laura and that's why my best friend had bad vibes to my new name. She thought I knew about that and had deliberately named myself after the kid. I didn't know a damn thing about it. I guess we just have the same taste in names, or something. But I googled it and even read through Berny's blog all the way back to 2014 to try to find something about that but there was nothing.

The closest I could find was that she was pregnant for some time back in 2014 but had a miscarriage, and then there was nothing about her being pregnant again or having a kid, as far as I could find. I don't know if I've lost enough connection to my "best friend" to think she might have lied to me or if my research skills just weren't good enough. It could be so that my former extreme obsession Berny has a daughter with the same name as me, but, it was a pure coincidence if that's so. A lot of that has gone on with me and Berny, that we just have unbelievably much in common in really random ways. It's possible we're some kind of distant soulmates or whatever. It's strange, but ultimately I don't really care anymore. So what? Let's move on.

11. Getting actual experiences, mid teens
The first 2-ish years of gymnasium (ages 16-17) I had very many short-lived, obsessive crushes on guys. I met Max who was a classmate of mine, 19 year old nerdy ginger guy. He was cute and good-looking but I didn't feel attracted to him. I did however get my first few sexual experiences with him. His was the first dick I sucked, he was the first person to touch my boobs and pussy. It was consensual but I knew already back then I wasn't into him. I was just happy that finally someone wanted me, and he was kind and sweet. So I mostly just went along with it, cause I had a chance. The sexual stuff did turn me on though, like really a lot, I soaked my panties every single time, but I was scared to let him inside me. That felt like a step I just couldn't take with him.

12. First girl on girl experience
And then I had that flop of a threesome with him and another girl. I wanted to fuck her. I would have liked her inside me... I was totally all over her and really into her, it felt so amazing! Like I was sooo eager and turned on by her, and touching her felt so good and just... I dunno it just gave me a very special, firey feeling... but she was only interested in him and when I noticed that I had completely not gotten the chance at girl sex which I had been promised, I got sad and uninterested in the whole thing. Immediately stopped touching her. I felt gross and rapey. And I felt terrible when I just sat by the bed and watched him fucking her, wasn't even turned on anymore. I think I was sad that he got to fuck her while I was rejected. Of course he still wanted me, and asked me again if I wanted to, but I wanted her! He knew I was bisexual and he was bi as well. But I doubt that she was. She might have been bicurious though, but yeah whatever I knew absolutely nothing about her at all so I can't know if she was not really into girls or just not into me. We had not seen each other before that day, so it's very likely she was just not into me.

13. The rape
I then met my rapist online whom I only wanted a friendship with. I had no romantic or sexual feelings for him at all, prior to the rape. And obviously not after it either, cause that didn't turn me on! Yeah... that was a joke. I don't think my fantasies about him as of late have ever been any kind of sign of me actually being into him. Honestly I can't even remember what he looked like anymore. Time erased my memory of his face, as I only saw him for a few hours on that one day. Also, perhaps more relevant now: he was a homophobe. I don't think he knew about my same sex attraction, because he never talked about that and I thought it was best not to mention it. But he did rant about how very scared he was that gay men would "jump" him and... ironically enough, rape him. I don't think he'd deserve that, actually. I don't think anyone would. Makes me really wonder how huge issues he had, though. Maybe mine were minor in comparison...

He does play a very big part in all of this, although he was clearly never a crush, boyfriend or hookup of mine. He's the odd one out, on my list of people I've had sex with. I feel a lot like I have a strange kind of severed connection to him. I do not like him, but I've been obsessed with him too. I've fantasised about sex and even romance, with him, several years after he raped me. I've tried to track him down and find him in real life, just a year or so ago, but to no avail. Although I still have the phone number he gave me all those years ago, written in a diary, but I don't dare to call it. Perhaps some day I'll gather enough courage to. Perhaps I need to heal a little bit more first, just in case he still uses that number and might pick up the phone.

(Another pause)
Let's take a pause and reflect a little. The thought has hit me... I've read/heard about that sometimes when straight people get raped/sexually assaulted by someone of the same sex, they start thinking they might be gay, and I think this is a pretty common reaction. At least my brief research tells me so. Perhaps especially men who get raped by other men starting to think they're actually into men as in thinking maybe they wanted it on some level: self blame gets intertwined with confusion about sexual orientation. That makes a lot of sense. And when I thought of that... cause I was sexually abused at such a young age and by the opposite sex (yes there was a girl in on it too, but she was not the one holding me down and looking at my bits up close, he did most of it, she was just laughing around in the background, and I've now gotten over most of my internalised lesbophobia), and then raped by the opposite sex (also by Anna but that was different and affected me differently, that gave me trust issues and fear towards myself, not to other women)... it's possible I was always a lesbian but I thought I was bisexual cause of those traumas.

The same way that some straight people think they might be gay from having been abused by the same sex... maybe I thought I was bisexual cause I've been abused by the opposite sex. But that maybe it had a more... ingrained (?) or long-lasting, effect on me because heterosexuality is the norm, and I didn't ever think of questioning my feelings for men/guys cause I was expected to be into the opposite sex, as is everyone. I feel like this might actually be what happened. The weight in my heart tells me that's how it is, but can I trust it? It feels like a heavy thing to realise, and quite dizzying.

Also considering how very much my traumas have fucked up my sexuality on other levels, with the getting attracted to close relatives, attracted to kids, all the obsessive rape fantasies, sex addiction, and so fucking on... it actually wouldn't surprise me a lot if I was also always a lesbian but got that messed up with my rapey and obsessive, basically intrusive fantasies about men that made me think I was into them and that I wanted sex and romance with them.

I've always, always struggled to figure out my sexuality, ever since I learned that there are different labels for if you're attracted to men or women, both or neither. I've switched from thinking I'm bi to lesbian, to bi, to pansexual, to gay male, to asexual, to bi again, back to gay male, then to straight female, back to bisexual female and here I'm for the first time ever truly looking at the label lesbian. Literally the only one that never felt like it fit me is straight male, but for the same reason as lesbian. I've dithered between sexual orientations for 14 fucking years, I've had enough, and I demand an answer!!! I don't care which fucking one anymore... I don't care... just please I need to know so that I can put this shit behind me for once in my life...

That's why this is so important to me, cause as soon as I felt this shift, all I could think was "Noooooo not again!!!" cause I don't know how many times I've come out but eventually I just stopped coming out cause it had gotten ridiculous and no one cared anymore who or what I was into. I know, I fucking know, that it's because of my traumas that I simply can't for the life of me figure out my sexual orientation. I just want it sorted out, once and for all. The answer doesn't matter, as long as I get the right answer.

My sexuality is absolutely shredded by my traumas, and I can't make sense of the pieces, bits, slices and strings that's left of it. I can't put the mess together cause I don't know what it's supposed to be like. All I can say about it is just "I think it's broken" and sigh.

So it wouldn't surprise me, it wouldn't... cause I think it's true. But I feel sad about it. That would explain also why my long term relationships with men never worked out. Really the only love or crush that I'm actually unsure about is R... maybe I really did love him? I don't know. I'll get to that very soon, so let's hold that thought.

(Back to the story telling)
14. First romantic experiences
Then I met J a couple months after the rape, on the same online chat site. He was quite a bit older than me. I had just turned 18 and he turned 27 a few days after that. I felt I had a few really cosy romantic moments with him and did feel some butterflies, but I wasn't really into him as a person. He was boring, and we didn't really have anything in common. Except he was a smoker and I finally got my chance to try my first cigarette, which I had longed for for years prior but never gotten the chance. I had sex with him once, at his place, but it was physically painful and incredibly disappointing. I had shaved my pussy for him, but he was very distant, gave me no foreplay what so ever and it was just... literally just in and out until he came in me. It was the worst consensual sex I've ever had, only because he was so distant and unaffectionate with me.

We had been dating for about 2 weeks at that point, and he broke up with me the next day when he was walking me to the bus station. I took a detour back into the city to buy emergency birth control pills before I went back home again. About a week later he came back crawling to me saying he wanted me back, but I felt absolutely nothing for him and thought he was an idiot, so I said no and moved on. Never heard from him again, until I met him at a psychiatric ward where he worked as a staff member, early in my FtM transition 4 years later. He recognised me when I said hi, and he looked absolutely livid, seeing me there. I don't think I've ever seen anyone get so pale so fast... He switched wards the next day, to very obviously avoid me. Then I never saw or heard from him again. Was I ever into him? No, I don't think so. But I also didn't know him long enough to truly know if I could have been into him. I really liked his kisses though. He was an incredible kisser, with an unnaturally long tongue. That tickled my fancy!

15. First love?
Then I met R. Was I in love with him then? Well, because he was very overly obsessed with me, if I was obsessed with him too, it would have looked like a healthy love in comparison. That was the only time I had an even worse obsession to compare my love-like feelings to. I don't know, but I think that's an important thing to bring up. I remember I wanted breaks from him all the time after just a few weeks, and that I didn't ever miss him after it had been a few days. Like I never really wanted to hang out with him, but when I did I usually liked it, before it got abusive between us. When I was with him, I liked him and felt like I was into him... but when I was alone between meetups I didn't feel like I was into him much at all. It's hard to figure out what to really make of that. But I think maybe it was something else going on than love there. I mean, I really did care about him a lot, but I also felt a certain distance, like I wasn't fully there with my feelings for him. I think maybe I told myself I was more into him than I really was. And him hurting me made me feel like it was a heartbreak when I broke up with him but really I was just hurt by all the damn abuse. I... don't think I actually loved him, or was into him even... and realising that... not even him... it's heavy.

Sex with him was absolutely amazing... when he didn't sexually assault me, but I was still always distant from him during sex, and I wasn't into his body at all. He just had amazing techniques at pleasing me and I did dream away into my fantasy world a lot. Romance was great with him... but it also felt phony and awkward, like I wasn't quite "there" with that either. Everything was so very intensely black and white and confusing and conflicting with him. I think maybe possibly I just wanted for it to work out with him, more so than I loved him or wanted him. I was not attracted to his looks at all and the more I got to know him the less I liked him and the less I was into him. Also, this is a VERY important factor to take into consideration as well: he was the first person ever to love me romantically. Of course I "fell" for him then... I just wanted to be loved. I remember that thought... I've thought it before, that it's possible I was only into him because he loved me, and well suddenly that makes a lot of sense.

The rest is sum up, conclusion and last few reflecting thoughts:

Well, this is starting to look like a pattern, don't you think? Cause I see a consistent pattern of a "nope not into, not attracted to, not really in love with, just obsessive, etc" about the guys. While girls are much more varied and depending on the intensity of what I felt, does seem to have been genuine and also a hell of a lot healthier. I always used to think I "lost" attraction to girls I was crushing on cause of a fading attraction to women altogether... but it wasn't. It was really just me knowing when to stop pining for women I had to chance with, cause I was not actually obsessed with them. I actually genuinely liked them and saw them as potentials: not must have's.

Oh wow, fuck. I think I might have solved the puzzle... or damn nearly at least! And... just damn... I don't even know what to say to myself? I'm at a loss for words. I really wasn't into ANY of the guys I thought I was?! And it's been soooo many guys... if I also count all of the crushes... they're uncountable... and ALL just illusions and tricks!? And all the ones I pined for, dated, fucked... Oh fuck, that makes me feel so sick... what have I done to myself!? I've traumatised myself even further by fucking people of a sex I'm not actually into! And several hundred times... far beyond what I can count... with 19 different men!

It's hella dizzying... No wonder my subconscious eventually just snapped at me and made me instantly grossed out by men and dick. I know not all lesbians are grossed out like that strong reaction, but I think in my case that reaction kiiiinda makes sense. And many traumatised/sexually abused lesbians are really grossed out by men/dick, that's totally a thing. This is shaking me up quite a lot. At the same time as my mind is struggling to truly comprehend that I'm actually gay... Like it's just staring at the almost entirely solved puzzle and just goes "wut?" so I guess I'm a little shocked! I see it that way, like I've almost solved this puzzle now and although there are a few more pieces to add... I can see the picture. I only feel slight hesitation still because of the few missing pieces. But I don't think the final result will be any different to what I already see... I think it will be the same, only clearer.

I am freaked out, and scared... cause I believed all my life this was the one sexuality I could not possibly have... and I'm scared of having to start over with sex and dating, as a beginner again. Although I look forward to it really a lot, and dream about it... it would definitely be a dream to find the right woman and marrying her, all of that! But even just finding a first girlfriend and gently exploring her and she exploring me and be cutesy romantic and bicker about some pet peeves and just... ah it fills me with such warm feelings and giggly excitement! But it makes me nervous and kinda scared too... cause I can't choose to be with men anymore, like I can't lean back on that if it gets difficult with women... oh dear, it feels like I'm gonna have to dive without any safety gear on...

Come to think of it, I've never been able to cum with a guy unless I've distracted myself away from him, with a fantasy or just by closing my eyes and focusing on the feeling itself. That's... dissociating. It was just that feeling of being filled up that I liked about dicks... and thinking they look kinda cool. I don't regret that I tried sex with men, although I wish I had maybe tried it a bit less and not so unhealthily. But I very likely would have enjoyed penetration a lot more with women and dildos/strap-on's instead. I'm sure I would love being on the giving end of that too... I did cum from fantasising about that, once, a week or so ago, and I'm taking that as a sign I might be into it in reality too.

Although I seem to mostly be into being on the receptive end of dildos and straps... I'm versatile about fingering, pussy licking and basically everything else. That about dildos maaay just be me being slightly stuck in heteronormative thinking patterns, but I'm sure I'll come around about it if that's what up with that. I feel I'll be a lot less restricted with women and just wanna try and explore everything! Like it's just all so exciting and sexy! And then if I try something I'm not into it, so what, at least I wanted to try it and did! That, only time will tell. I wonder if cumming with another woman will mean... I might actually get off from focusing on her? I can't know, of course but... I can only imagine that would be an absolutely amazing feeling that would make me cry happy tears for weeks. There's a lot such details that I don't know and can't know with the lack of experience I currently have with women, which does make this a little trickier to really figure out, but I try to use what little information I've got about myself on that, and just work with it.

I suddenly feel really grossed out by all my past experiences with men, like I'm tainted. I know I didn't mean to hurt myself by fucking them, and I know I really thought I was into them... but yikes, just yikes... How do I wash the memories of all those 19 dicks off of me? It makes me shudder at just the thought of it. The thought of dick, and men, touching and feeling me, makes me shudder. I suddenly feel traumatised by all of it, even the good ones. This feels like really the cherry on top of the cake that is all of my traumas, another cruel fate to discover... how is it possible to have this much bad luck in life?

The more I peel this onion that is my traumatised mind... it's absolutely shocking how much there is beyond each layer... I can't fathom it. I just can't. I'm just staring at the mess and what's revealing from underneath it with my mouth open, mind blank and the only thing that comes out of my mouth is the sound "öööööhhh" which is Swedish for "eeeeehhh" of all the things you probably didn't know were actually translatable. But back on topic. It does sadden me... I never got to explore my lesbianism, cause I was too fucking busy repeating my traumas with and obsessing over men/guys that I wasn't actually into. Not only do I have to start over as a woman at 30... I also have to start over as a lesbian at 30... Fuck my life?

Some do realise it later in life, and maybe I should look more into that. If maybe I could feel comforted by hearing others' stories of not having realised being gay until you're definitely an adult and "should have" figured it out long before. Lesbians who've even been married to men and didn't know they weren't into them, for example. I know I blame myself for it, like "how could I not have known?" but I also know I'm not the only one to have had that kind of struggle.

I struggle to move on and tell more of my later crushes, relationships and sexual experiences. It makes me feel sick. And also because I know that the closer I get to present time in my sexual timeline... the more sickening it gets. Perhaps I'll take up on it later on from where I left off this time.

I don't think I've ever been into men. That's what my thoughts and feelings and analysis so far are telling me, and it's kinda heavy. I think I really am a lesbian, and always was, but I struggle with it cause it feels like my whole dating and sex life was built on a lie, already from the start. Cause... that too. My life as a trans guy was a lie, and now my interest in men was too. Knowing that creates a knot in my heart. It's painful. How many lies have I lived through, thinking they were true? How many more? Do I even want to know? Just how tragic can my life be? I want a hug so bad right now. Just a friendly hug, but I wouldn't mind it if it's tight and lasts for a long time. For someone to just squeeze away some of my tensions, fears, worries and panicky feels for a little moment...

I'm gonna need to work through this with fucking heaps of therapy and self-care. This also feels like a betrayal towards myself. I might come out as a lesbian after Christmas if that might help me feel better and accept myself more, but I want to bring this up with my therapist first as well, and I see her next time on January 10th. So gotta hold on until then. She's been warned that that's what I wanna talk about. Don't know if I'll tell my parents anything about it on Christmas when I'm visiting them. If the topic just comes up, I might, but not otherwise. I really don't think they'd have any issues with it. Maybe my mother would be happy/relieved to hear it means I'm suddenly highly unlikely to get pregnant. Really the only way I possibly could would be if I'd be raped by a guy again, or if I'd plan on getting pregnant and look into ways to get inseminated or something. Homosexuality is a great and super effective birth control method! I highly approve of it ;)

Cause of having been so obsessed with men for so very long... I've lost out on women really a lot. And all the denial I fought for so many years... it REALLY was internalised lesbophobia, huh? I went in the entirely wrong direction, just completely... and it feels like a loss. A loss for words, if not else! Jeez, what does one even say to this?! It's probably gonna shock a few friends by the time I come out... Cause I can't think anyone will have expected this... although I did already change my facebook profile where it says what/which gender/-s I'm interested in from both men and women to only women. I don't think most of anyone took notice of that though.

But I do want to write a long and heartfelt post about it when I do decide to come out, when the time is right for that. Might be sooner than I first thought, although I don't think I should rush this. I might come out sooner on places like tumblr or Qruiser though, where I only have one or two friends and not literally everyone I know. Baby steps. I really do look forward to that though, actually. The more I just sit with this feeling and realisation and think and feel about it, the more I'm embracing it. Although it's also scary. Cause, I think this time I actually got it right, and then I think coming out will feel like relief. It never has before. Except from my detransing coming out, but never with sexuality... I think that says a lot, if I'll also feel relieved coming out as a lesbian!

So, let's end on that positive note. I can't, however, promise that this won't keep being upsetting for a while. It's both upsetting and relieving. It's great to be a lesbian, I'm sure, but again... why at this fucking price? Okay that didn't end happily, but just re-read the previous paragraph or something! I've gotta end this painfully long entry now before I fall asleep or something.

1998

I just realised that I don't remember anything from year 1997. Maybe because everything happened during the year after. When everything changed, forever. Did you know I was raped twice? Though it's hardly a record and nor should it be. It just popped up in my head right now, as I was thinking about the number 97 which is one of my favourite numbers.

Rape, sexual assault. It changes you. And I was so young in 1998. Just nine years old. Did I ever have a childhood? I ask myself. I's almost like I was born unhappy and then people went and made my life even crappier. It's not so strange I hated elementary school. But my hatred towards it wasn't actually directed to schools as such, cause I really liked going to other schools later on. I guess I just hated my class and school mates back then. They weren't so friendly.

They did that to me. Children, younger than I was. Though I can't even remember all of it. Don't remember how the rest of that day went by, how I felt directly after. I don't remember the rest of the day my second rape happened either. I wonder why. My mother remembered it though. Apparently I was kinda upset.

I guess I just like ranting about the horrible things I went through. Maybe it's a way of facing it, of dealing with it. Maybe I am just crazy and find pleasure in reliving the truly unpleasant. I fantasise about it, how it could have gone differently. For the worse and for the better. Trying to get some perspective. Trying to understand what actually happened, why it happened. How they must have thought and felt. What went through my rapists' minds when the did what they did? Did they think they didn't harm me, or were they cruelly aware of it?

Wonder why I didn't defend myself the second time, in 2007. I knew karate for fucks sake. And I just lied there and took it. I don't understand why. Maybe my fear just paralysed me. So much for learning self defence.

And it just brings me down. How fragile I am, so easily broken. And I wonder if it could happen again, cause I have a feeling that it will happen again someday. I don't know why, but it's like I think the world isn't done fucking me around. At least it gave me Anna as a sad act of forgiveness or something. Cause I still think this is why she came to me. PTSD with dissociation, or DID. My best bet so far as to why I have a split personality. The whole of me split into two people. And most of you only know half of me.

Don't be your own therapist, you just end up getting more entangled in the memories of your traumas. But they're just memories now and they can't hurt me. My scars that will never fully heal. I don't think I've ever heard of another rape victim who's moved on completely from their experience/-s. Cause maybe it just isn't possible.

Make it through

I cannot torture my body enough for all the hatred I feel towards it. I couldn't find my binder as I was about to go to Visby and see my shrink earlier today. You should have seen the despair in me, I can't leave the house without it. I cried out to my mother on the phone, then she's helped me find it. I told her I simply won't go if we didn't find my binder. Then should I ask her if she still thinks the surgery won't do me any good?

It's like nothing can calm me down these last two weeks. I'm a nerve wreck, constantly on the edge. My body aches more than usually, I forget to eat more often, my sleep only seems to make me more tired, it's hard to focus, it's hard to think. Why am I supposed to have this much anxiety? There's not enough room for it inside me.

Well, the anxiety hardly only exists because I misplaced a piece of clothing. No, it's always here. Like my shadow, it's following me everywhere I go. And sometimes it attacks me with full strength, beats me to the ground and I forget how to get up again. Sometimes that happens several times a day.

I have a sensation that February is gonna be a very long month this year. Even though it's technically the shortest. I couldn't tell my shrink about tomorrow, it's just too damn private. Yeah, there's my logic, cause it's easy to write about it online and a whole different matter to sit one on one in a white office and talk about it. But I'm pretty sure she noticed something was up with me, cause it's hard to lie when you're shaking like a leaf. Didn't stop me from trying though, cause it's my life damn it, and I'm just not ready to open up about that yet.

And why isn't that in my chart by the way? I've told shrinks before. Maybe they didn't believe me. Of course they didn't believe me. Why would they? It doesn't matter if I'm shaking and crying, I have no real proof that it actually happened. It was never documented at the time, I never went to a hospital or anything after. I just tried to bury it in the past. All I've got is my words, and that's all I've ever had.

My thoughts are mostly very scattered. I can hardly finish one before the next pops up and then the third and so on. It's like I'm trying to do fifteen things at the same time and it's impossible to keep track of it all. So I just zone out and let it slip away instead. That's why I don't put up everything I write here. It's too much and too little and I don't have the attention span to read it through. Though I'm gonna try to keep you posted, at least once a day or so, especially since things are happening and such nowadays.

I've been smoke free since Friday last week, and it's Thursday now so it's already been a whole week! A little over three weeks left until the surgery, and I still don't know how the hell I'm supposed to survive that. No smokes, no pain killers, no cutting... no nothing? I'll make it, cause I just fucking have to.

But love isn't fair

It's only two days left now, and the anxiety is holding a firm grip around my throat, suffocating me. It's the "Love is in the air" thing in world of warcraft now, and all the pink hearts popping up everywhere make me feel sick. Was it always like this? I don't remember.

This just struck me, what am I gonna do without the cigarettes this time? How can I endure this without the sweet smoke? Blood, alcohol, anxiolytic drugs, chocolate, blankets and warm showers, movies, more video gaming and whatever I can think of. Whatever I can think of...

I just got a phone call, and the person on the other end said they were calling from "Socialstyrelsen" and my heart missed a beat or two. I snapped at them and didn't know what I was feeling. But after they had explained who they were, I was like "oh... it's you" suddenly feeling utterly embarrassed and unnecessarily evil. Or something. It's just the LSS people, no worries at all.

I'm a bit jumpy and freaked allover today. Hardly know what I'm doing and I think I forgot to eat too. My head is spinning and I'm trying to calm down, but it's not easy. A thousand things run through it and I can't keep up. Maybe I shouldn't even try.

At first I thought this might not go so bad at all, considering I seem to take it better every year, but then this about the cigarettes. I'm in abstinence and quite a mess mentally. This... hopefully I don't go and do something stupid that I will regret after. It's just a memory, why do I let it kill me?

I miss my blood elf priest. Gonna go and do some pointless quests now. I know I don't write here that often nowadays, but trust me I do write, I just don't post it. Well, until now that is. The title, I just thought "love is in the air, but love isn't fair". No other reason, or whatever.

Seven years

Valentine's Day is coming up soon. That date is really digging a hole in the remains of my heart and it's getting worse now. The ads and commercials are starting to leak out through the media, taunting me with false hopes about love. They're celebrating the worst day of my life. Opening up that terrible wound inside me every god damn year for soon seven years now. I didn't like the holiday before that either.

When as a kid I was one of those who never got any cards or whatever you were supposed to give each other. I was destined to be alone, it felt like back then, and it still feels that way, even though I've done everything in my power to try to change that. But all I got was a broken heart.

And then that thing happened in 2007. At the moment I hadn't noticed what date it was, it wasn't until right after. Happy Valentine's Day! He said and gave me candy. Oh fuck... now that has really been a mind twister. Mostly I don't think so much about that event, cause maybe I'm over it you know. Well, I might be over it the other 364 days of the year, but when the anniversary is coming up I just sort of... wanna disappear.

Well I don't know what's gonna happen this year in particular. Last year I was doing almost okay, but I was more stable then, less fucked up in a way. But this year... I'm already at the verge of total breakdown, sick with love and hopelessness is slowly drowning me. Yeah, I'm gonna be a wreck, I can tell you that much. Why can't people allover the world stop celebrating the day I was raped!?

Yeah, I really, really wanna disappear on February the 14th. Go far away from the whole world and all the chocolate hearts, red roses and jolly little glitter sprinkled love letters. Ughh... kill me now please. I wish I had someone to be with that day, at least. Someone who would just understand and protect me, keep me safe. I don't require much. Just your full attention, a whole carton of cigarettes, perhaps some tea and lots of hugs. Watching Thelma and Louise, or some other "fuck the world" -movie.

For some reason my parents just don't do. I feel like I'm hurting them in some way. Like as if it was my fault I got hurt and in that way I also hurt them. (Now I know it wasn't my fault, it's just a lingering feeling that I think almost every rape victim carry with them). That I feel guilty to not have gotten over that incident after seven frigging years. I don't want my parents to see me shattered to pieces, no matter what the reason for it is.

I don't think I'm in shape to travel either, and I'm broke as well. I'm just too poor, can barely pay for my own food. So I can't go to Uppsala, at least not for a while. I'll have to make it on my own somehow. I've survived worse, this... it's just memories.