I don’t think I’ve written about this before … but feel the slight-ish need to now, due to recent events in my most fabulous life lol.
It’s the subject of intimacy.
I write and talk quite freely about all things awkward, painful and controversial – with the ease of a dissociative twat. But that s how I do’s it; it works for me. And instead of fighting that now, I roll with it.
But the intimacy thing … well that’s all 3 – all kinds of awkward, painful and controversial.
When I say ‘intimacy’ I don’t just mean sex.
I think the cruel ‘irony’ of PTSD by sexual assault as an infant, is that unless you are going to become a hermit, or hermit-tess, you have to be intimate in one way or another, sometime throughout your life.
PTSD comes with flashbacks … sight, smell … intrusive reminders of something you’d rather forget. Sexual assault, at its core, permeates through every little part of you, that is you … that is yours.
Your physical being, that should only be yours … to share when you want … to offer when you want … is invaded long before it should be … in a way that should never be experienced.
And if you believe that your physical being is connected to your spiritual being, as I do, then sexual assault permeates that as well.
And then when someone touches you; stands in your space; comes in for a cuddle; shakes your hand … what do you imagine happens in those few moments?
Thats right, you re-live everything.
You see, I don’t have to be asleep to have nightmares. It happens all the time.
And in those moments, I have to assess what the danger ratio is, before I involuntarily dissociate or have a huge ass panic attack. Fight – Freeze – Flight.
“All she wants is a cuddle” “All they want is to say hello” “All they want is to be close to me”
That is my living nightmare.
And a nightmare I can see the results of everyday, on the faces of the people I care about … and who care about me.
Thats enough now.
I don’t like talking about this.