"Great" start of the day [TMI, mature themes]

[TMI warning: Themes of abuse, graphic descriptions of sexually demeaning fantasies, etc. The really graphic parts are labeled.]

It's raining outside...
storming actually.

I started my period. I haven't even packed yet. =_=

I ended up caught in some sort of depressive phase before I went to bed because sis was talking to me about... a certain member of my family, and I just...

...

I want to be honest but sometimes I'm afraid to because I think he might read this. I wish sometimes I never gave out the URL of my website. I get more paranoid about it as time goes on. Like... should I censor previous entries I wrote about him?

People might say "you should write the truth", but I'm not always able to write the truth here. There are others I cannot write about either.

Many people don't like the truth. A lot of times it scares them. Or disgusts them. Or makes them feel ashamed. Or puts them in a state of denial. I am put in a position where I cannot feel comfortable speaking openly about any of the abuses I went through. "Isn't it slander?" I might think. But is it slander if it really happened?

Abuse comes in many forms. I already had this revelation before.

As I keep saying, I was never physically or sexually abused. Most people, when they think of abuse, think of something very real and physical. People (decent people) cringe at the idea of a parent beating his child hard enough to leave bruises or break bones.

I think about my favorite anime, Monster. There's a boy who becomes an important supporting character, named Dieter. His adoptive father used to run an orphanage called Kinderheim 511, where children were experimented on to try to develop in them a perfect leader unaffected by morality and undistracted by gentler emotions such as love and happiness. Eventually what happened was one of the kids -- the main "villain", Johan -- led the children to revolt, and both children and faculty members all ended up killing each other but for a tiny handful of survivors.

Anyway, Deiter's father was a cruelly abusive man. He was also, I believe, a psychologist. He would hit Deiter when he displeased him, break his bones and leave horrible bruises, and of course make him stay quiet about it. Eventually if a child sees nothing but pain and despair, they believe that is all there is of the world.

That was a bit of a tangent. But my point is, most people looking at this situation would see the harsh physical beatings as the most abusive part. They wouldn't so easily think of the psychological accompaniment -- in which the father pushes his son to believe he must accept these abuses as just punishment, to a point he no longer believes there's any hope in the world -- as the greater harm. Physical pain IS painful, can be disfiguring and even fatal, but if treated properly, the marks and scars of physical beatings fade. The emotional aspect does not -- not easily, anyway. Maybe if the child is saved early, and exposed to people who are nurturing, caring and do not employ intimidation tactics, they won't be as severely affected by the abuse (that's what happened to Dieter, by the way.) But if not...

...

I was never sexually abused, either. Again this is a point I've been through before. I often say this, because I feel guilty about it. If I write about abuse, it very often has a sexual component (again, I cite Nina from Reborn Again and Exalted Ryshassa). Yet I am pretty certain HE -- and I'm sorry, but I'm not going to directly say who any more, so you'll have to make a good guess -- never did such things to me.

So where does that come from?

Honestly, I never thought anything was wrong with how he treated me until I left home. I was scared of him, and resentful in some ways, but I still thought of these things as normal behaviors parents had towards their children. It just so happened I was not a good daughter, so I deserved these things. I wasn't able to go to school and finish my degree and get a good job like I was supposed to. I stayed home from class too much, missed assignments playing DR or Sims 2 or whatnot. I couldn't even take care of my own responsibilities easily -- I tended to forget about them sometimes, neglect bills too long even though I had the money to pay. At the very end of my last stay at home, I didn't even want to do anything at all. I wanted to disappear into an existence where all I needed to do was play with my Sims and talk to Jon on the phone.

And of course it was my fault. I wasn't being responsible enough, I wasn't behaving in a way worthy of being treated as an adult. I lived in fear, every day of my life. Would he discover how badly I'm doing? Would he criticize me today for taking too long in college, or not doing any chores, or spending too much money? I didn't even cook or clean around the house. I was just useless and ineffectual.

I thought that gave him every right to say and do the things he did. Yelling, mostly. Sometimes physical threats (raising a hand as if he'd hit me) or restraining (grabbed my wrists, my shoulders), but mostly just verbal intimidation. My entire body would tense up in terror when I heard him shout my name. Whenever he wanted something from me I knew it'd be bad in some way, whether veiled or directly spoken. He'd either strongly encourage some form of behavior (take this kind of major, look into this kind of job, listen to me talk about computer engineering because this is the kind of knowledge YOU should know, etc.) or strongly criticize something I did wrong (got a failing grade at school, didn't send those rebates for my new keyboard, overspent with the credit card, kept my room messy, upset my mom, lost something important, got stolen from, car broke down and I paid too much to get it fixed... and so on.)

I know I've written about all this before. But sometimes I need to write it again to help me figure out whether it's abusive or not. There's times when my brain just gets confused and goes "but he didn't hit me hard enough to leave bruises, and he didn't try to molest or rape me, so it's just normal discipline." There's times when I hear things from sis or happen to see an email from him (note: Jon is trying to keep him from interacting with me directly), and I start to get overly paranoid about everything I'm doing, as if I'm anticipating his criticisms. Like, the immigration is taking too long, so it must be my fault for not doing it right. I'm not going to college yet and don't have a job, so I'm a deadbeat. I'm spending my days RPing instead of doing something productive, and I'm just a waste of money.

I told my sister, this kind of constant criticism never led me to try harder or do better. It was supposed to be some sort of "tough love" because he knows the right way of how to succeed in life, and if we don't listen to him we're stupid and foolish. But it never helped me be more responsible or successful. It just made me question everything I did in my life, and be afraid to take risks or make mistakes, and get paranoid and insecure about every little thing that might go wrong. I LOST motivation and confidence. I just wanted to disappear into some sort of bubble where I didn't have to think about how I failed at being an adult.

And in the end... I realized I'm never going to be good enough for his standards. I still believe, to this day, that the only way I can truly please him is if I die for him. Then maybe he'll stop getting upset because I'm not talking to him, or because I'm making a mess out of my life.

God, I can't even begin to say how much I wish I could succeed at killing myself. At least I could do something right then.

It's like I feel like it's my responsibility to remove myself from the world.

I get thrills of pleasure thinking of writing that one last letter to him. "Look, I'm finally going to make you happy. I'm going to die and you never have to worry about how much I fuck up and wasted your money again." The thought makes me so happy, yet makes me shudder and weep. Wait, why am I crying? I don't even know why.

Maybe I'm weeping tears of joy.

The joy of being unburdened by the guilt of having been nothing but a failure all my life.

...

......I get this feeling in my chest when I think like that. My throat constricts. I can feel my heart beating faster. It's like I'm drowning of despair and yet laughing at how wonderful it feels. How can a person do both at once? I don't know.

[Graphic sexual/violent TMI here. Skip to the end of this section if you're not wanting to read such details.]

[I write this as an example of my twistedness. It is NOT meant to be porn. I'm trying to educate, not titillate.]

[However, it is probably inappropriate for minors to read.]

[Warning done... here we go.]

Times like this are when I want to write about Ryshassa and Sydrea again. Or about Ryshy in captivity, gangraped and beaten while she cries out in uncontrollable spasms of pleasure. I've imagined her vomiting while orgasming and it's brought *me* to orgasm. Such a fragile, beautiful woman, so pure and compassionate -- reduced to being systematically broken and violated, forcibly penetrated in every orifice, left to wallow in fluids and filth. I *enjoy* it. Few thoughts make me come faster than the image of Ryshassa abused in the most demeaning and dehumanizing ways possible.

I've had more and more detailed demeaning fantasies as I got older. Like the simple abuses weren't enough to turn me on any more. Double penetration has been been one of my guilty fantasies since I was in college, but I *never* enjoyed imagining it as a mutual, shared pleasure between three people. I've always liked it best when no love at all was involved: two men plunging mercilessly into a woman's vagina and anus, deriding her and goading her on when she cannot help but enjoy it, losing herself in orgasm after shameful orgasm as she overloads on the stimulation. Maybe a third forcing her to fellate him, ejaculating on her face as she climaxes.

More recently, I'll imagine bondage or S&M. I don't enjoy anything that draws blood or leaves bruises. But I'm thrilled by suspension bondage and minor masochistic stimuli: vibrators or small electric shocks on the nipples. Piercings on the nipples and clitoris, strung together by chains so the piercings can be tugged on simultaneously. Very often also with penetration, a faceless (masked, or simply nondescript features) man penetrating one opening while a dildo or vibrator or plug fills the other. I'm never interested in the identity of the rapist/torturer, so long as they're treating the woman I'm imagining (it's never my real self, very often Ryshassa) as an object to be used.

[Again please understand that reading this ought not to be a pure pleasurable stimulation.]

[These are the fantasies I have when I want to be abused and demeaned, as a result of emotional abuse I have suffered.]

[I will not be convinced there is anything GOOD about that.]

[End of sexual/violent TMI.]

The thing about these fantasies is that some aspects of them can be practiced safely, with mutual enjoyment instead of degradation involved. But it's actually the degrading aspect that makes the scenarios so pleasurable for me, and that's what makes them unhealthy. I'm pointing this out just in case people think I believe BDSM or group sex is always demeaning or harmful. That is simply not true.

It's just like that in my thoughts sometimes, because I'm... messed up. Please, don't be like me. :/

My talks with Jon, and various writings I've made on the topic, have convinced me that my tendency to derive pleasure from abuse originated as a defensive mechanism. When I was younger, crying while being shouted at only made [a certain family member] angrier. I had no choice but to endure it because it was supposed to be a proper form of discipline. The only family member who would try to shield me from it was my sister. The rest... yeah. Right. I and my sister were even sent by [other family member] to our punishment, reassured that it would be okay, only to be threatened, intimidated and criticized out of our confidence and self-esteem.

Anyway, the point is that there was no escape from it, and I could not openly express that it was happening to anyone I thought would be sympathetic. I was ashamed that it was happening, I thought at the time it was deserved, and I wasn't abused in a way that was publicly decried as abuse (physical, sexual). So my method of coping with it was to convince myself I was fine with it. I learned to take pride in how much punishment I could take without crying or complaining, and that pride eventually became pleasure.

I wish I wasn't like this, though. As much pleasure as I can derive from it, I wish I didn't feel that way. It's a sad existence... I wish it would stop.

Yet it took my entire youth to understand how much damage was done to me emotionally, and how it led me to be so ineffectual at dealing with stress or responsibilities. It will still take years longer for me to build my confidence to a point I can be self-sufficient. Even now, mere reminders of what I went through before leaving home can put me right back into a depressive, self-degrading episode.

Thus, my feelings last night and today.

I find myself in a position now where I might have to cut off communication with certain family member(s) completely. Not my sis of course, but others. I just don't think it's healthy for me in the slightest.

The hard part is that he will never understand why. He thinks I'm the fool for leaving home and not paying attention to his advice. If I cut him out of my life, he may take it out on others for it somehow, and I think that's the hardest part of me letting go -- MUCH more so than the challenge of financially supporting myself.

I wish I could write words to make him understand that this is simply what has to be done for me to live. I want to finally just lay all of this pain to rest. I'm a captive to my past, and it only serves to destroy everything I try to build on my own (shaky) confidence and merit. I know it's bad when just finding out he's angry at me -- even though he's 3000 miles away -- is enough to make me start thinking I should 1) take the filters off my email client, 2) start reporting to him everything I'm doing with my life, 3) go back to live with him if Jon will prevent me from doing 1 and 2.

Remember, I've planned a future for myself from Montreal. That's why I'm going on my trip (which I am now running late for) to the city. But the hold he has on me is enough that I would drop it and come home if he told me to, and I didn't have my husband there to stop me.

Jon says it's a form of slavery. Maybe it is. I was taught to be a good slave, scrabbling for scraps of praise. I even learned how to enjoy it.

But can I be taught to be a happy, confident adult?
At 29 years old, I still don't know.

The rain is done now, though. The birds are chirping, and the sun is shining outside. I think it's time for me to go, and I'll see everyone again on Friday.