(no subject)
last night i dreamt that this guy i used to hook-up with moved to philadelphia. i
stayed with him while my furniture was being moved into my new apartment, even though we don't really talk anymore. he wasn't expecting much, but i put it on him and it was nothing short of out-of-control wildfire. he kept whispering "i can't believe you're the same person" and i slapped his mouth shut. cos years ago, i was afraid to be an excellent fuck, afraid to do and say what i want, afraid to have fun. afraid to talk.
the concept of survivors having excellent sex always confused me. i knew it was happening all over the place, but since it wasn't happening to me i was half-convinced people were lying about it. making the act of fucking sound way more fun than it actually is to spite the rest of us, those of us who mocked ourselves for being so "vanilla." i felt like being a sexual assault survivor meant i couldn't talk about my fantasies (rape fantasies in particular), and because of that i'd never be in a safe enough space where i'd get to explore such fantasies. sex to me would always be in-out-in-out-flip-it-over-in-out-in-out-okay-im-done and i hated it, but i needed to either learn to love it or ditch the peer pressure and desire to be sex-positive "for the community" and live without it.
i chose the latter - i decided i didn't need to be having sex because it just didn't really do anything for me. i became wary of sluts and slut culture, and incredibly concerned for the health of my premiscuous friends who fuck everyone in the world without sufficient protection. this reached it's peak after hearing about a friend of mine being fisted by 3 people in one night at a play party with no gloves on, people she didn't know. i couldn't call myself sex-positive if that's what the phrase meant.
i took a lot of time to myself to think about sex. i stopped going to therapy and stopped taking medication. i started writing more, excersizing, eating differently, and learning about healing from within without the aid of "jesus" or other intrusive storybook characters. old memories were conjured up, memories from when i was a 7 year old little girl living in jersey city. terrible things happened that i expected would kill me to think about, but instead i was able to seperate them from the present. instead of turning me into a big mess, these realizations turned me into a whole person. i realized i didn't have to be afraid of the past, that i can take control of my future and be happy. & this meant i could do the same thing with sex.
my exploration of self has made me many things. an egomaniac. an excellent lay. a more reliable friend. less reluctant to let people take care of me when i'm sick. i couldn't document how i did it, but time and space were important and just right. i surrounded myself with excellent people and therefore learned to believe in my own excellence. i dropped the dead weight and became positive. i am a happy person with real goals and have sex comparable to the most intensely beautiful natural disasters.
stayed with him while my furniture was being moved into my new apartment, even though we don't really talk anymore. he wasn't expecting much, but i put it on him and it was nothing short of out-of-control wildfire. he kept whispering "i can't believe you're the same person" and i slapped his mouth shut. cos years ago, i was afraid to be an excellent fuck, afraid to do and say what i want, afraid to have fun. afraid to talk.
the concept of survivors having excellent sex always confused me. i knew it was happening all over the place, but since it wasn't happening to me i was half-convinced people were lying about it. making the act of fucking sound way more fun than it actually is to spite the rest of us, those of us who mocked ourselves for being so "vanilla." i felt like being a sexual assault survivor meant i couldn't talk about my fantasies (rape fantasies in particular), and because of that i'd never be in a safe enough space where i'd get to explore such fantasies. sex to me would always be in-out-in-out-flip-it-over-in-out-in-out-okay-im-done and i hated it, but i needed to either learn to love it or ditch the peer pressure and desire to be sex-positive "for the community" and live without it.
i chose the latter - i decided i didn't need to be having sex because it just didn't really do anything for me. i became wary of sluts and slut culture, and incredibly concerned for the health of my premiscuous friends who fuck everyone in the world without sufficient protection. this reached it's peak after hearing about a friend of mine being fisted by 3 people in one night at a play party with no gloves on, people she didn't know. i couldn't call myself sex-positive if that's what the phrase meant.
i took a lot of time to myself to think about sex. i stopped going to therapy and stopped taking medication. i started writing more, excersizing, eating differently, and learning about healing from within without the aid of "jesus" or other intrusive storybook characters. old memories were conjured up, memories from when i was a 7 year old little girl living in jersey city. terrible things happened that i expected would kill me to think about, but instead i was able to seperate them from the present. instead of turning me into a big mess, these realizations turned me into a whole person. i realized i didn't have to be afraid of the past, that i can take control of my future and be happy. & this meant i could do the same thing with sex.
my exploration of self has made me many things. an egomaniac. an excellent lay. a more reliable friend. less reluctant to let people take care of me when i'm sick. i couldn't document how i did it, but time and space were important and just right. i surrounded myself with excellent people and therefore learned to believe in my own excellence. i dropped the dead weight and became positive. i am a happy person with real goals and have sex comparable to the most intensely beautiful natural disasters.