Bad Enough? (TW: SA)

 There are a lot of old stories rattling around in my head these days. Things shoved into the folder labeled "not that bad". As it turns out, after working through some of the "yeah, it was that bad" folder contents, I've found that the "not that bad" scraps have exploded their way out of the filing cabinet and I find myself slipping on scraps of paper at the most inconvenient of times. 

Let me take you back in time to an evening my mom had my bus driver take me home until she and my dad got home. The bus driver sent me and her 3 sons down to the basement to play out of her way. As soon as we got down to the basement S, the oldest boy (6-7 years older than me) suggested we play strip poker. Being the naïve 7 year old that I was, I kinda knew what poker was (mom loved card games), but I didn't know what kind of poker strip-poker was. I asked multiple times and simply got "you know, STRIP poker". No, I didn't know. But they were going to show me.

Once the cards were out, S explained the rules...not how to play poker, P would help me with that, but the part about taking clothes off. I immediately stated I didn't want any part of this game, but was told that I wasn't allowed to quit because I already said I would play. It was gross, and horrible, and scary. And it could have been a lot worse-I don't say that to minimize, but really, it could have been worse. Looking back at the whole situation...knowing now what that erect penis was and meant, it could have been so much worse.

I shut my eyes, and shut down, and I got through it. Eventually I was saved further humiliation when Bus Driver hollered at us to come up stairs. At that point none of the boys had touched me, but on the way up the stairs, S behind me slammed his hand so hard into my crotch that he knocked me off of my feet. As I struggled to regain my feet, he painfully groped me, then smelled his hand. And unfortunately, that was not the last time that it happened. Fortunately, I wasn't around him particularly often, but any time he and I happened to be on the stairs at the same time he took full advantage to repeat his disgusting behavior. The last time he did it was at school 5 years later with all his buddies watching (besides a stairway full of students heading to their next class), and then he and his homies laughed at me when I yelled "DON'T TOUCH ME!" into his face. These assaults were always humiliating, but to have a crowd of witnesses, especially ones who laughed...it just...I don't know, it was a reminder of how alone I was...how no one had my back. If I couldn't stop it, no one else was going to step in...and if I couldn't stop it, it must be my fault.

I've had a lot of shitty experiences. This is one that felt like his intention WAS to hurt me. Not just that he was oblivious, or apathetic to the pain he was causing me, but that he wanted to hurt me.

Maybe it was bad enough?

vi·o·lence

/ˈvī(ə)ləns/

noun

1. behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something.

Freezing is not Consent (TW: discussion of SA)

It's been awhile since I've posted. TikTok has been my place to post my thoughts, and process my crap for the last few years. But I'm feeling like going old school today, especially since I only have a few followers here, as opposed to 6k on TT. 

I looked at a couple old drafts before I started writing, and not surprisingly, there was a tidbit that applied to thoughts that are currently rattling around in my head (and which will hopefully find themselves on this page in a coherent order soon enough). So, here is the tidbit in question:  I'm flipping through the rolodex of memories, I remember all the adult men I had to navigate myself out of situations with AS A TEENAGER, and it was always our shame to carry (I say our because my friend L was dealing with the same shit, sometimes the same man during the same camping trip). The camping trip incident was my introduction to "it's my job to make sure that this adult male that I don't want anywhere near me doesn't force me to have sex" as someone old enough to know what sex was.

So here's where what I pasted from my old draft meets what's in my head right now. There's an event that I have yet to process, not just in therapy; anywhere. I haven't journaled about it, I haven't talked with friends or partners about it (beyond vague hints), I haven't even really let myself think too much about the details as it tends to flood me when I do. I've avoided processing this memory not because it was the worst thing that has happened to me, but because of shame brought on by self-blame. I've had all of these ideas in my head about why it was my fault, why I shouldn't feel so traumatized by it, why it wasn't that big of a deal. And it all comes down to that sense of responsibility-it's my job to prevent adult men from (raping) me, not adult men's job to not (rape) me. I used parentheses in the previous sentence because I have believed for these many decades that if I didn't do "enough: {whatever that means} to prevent it, then it was my fault, and if it's my fault it isn't rape (or whatever flavor of sexual assault it might be). Now, if we were talking about your story, dear reader, I would have no problem identifying your experience as rape/sexual assault, but for me, unhitching myself from the burden of blame has been a doozy. 

Just to clarify, the incident in question wasn't rape. Violation maybe? Assault? I'm still working that out. But the place I keep getting stuck at is the belief *I* should have prevented it. Especially since at this point I was a whole 18 years old. 

Another place where I get bogged down is the idea of violence. I had a reminder this weekend of an incident where my sister's boyfriend was about to beat the f*** out of her right in front of me when I was a kid. It was a terrifying situation, and he had beaten her to the point of needing to go to the ER previously, so I knew the level of damage he was capable. So, if something happens and my eyes aren't swollen shut from a beating, have I tried hard enough to stop it? Was it violent enough for me to call it an assault, or was it just a misunderstanding...that happens to be my fault? My therapist has been helping me redefine my idea of what assault, violence, and force are. 

T    "So, was he just being affectionate?"

M   "Ugh, no!" 

T    "Did he block the entrance."

M    "Yes."

T    "Sounds like force to me."

T    "You tried to reason with him, and he didn't listen; you didn't consent. Freezing when he wouldn't listen to you in NOT consent."

I have a lot more work to do on this memory, but one thing I have been able to clarify is that he was not taking "no" for an answer, no matter how I phrased it. No he didn't beat me or threaten me, but he also crossed my physical boundaries, even after I gave him reason not to. He was a bull in a china shop, and was not going to be deterredunless maybe I hit him. I wish I could have hit him, but the layers of trauma from years of boundary violations shut me down. And that is hard for me- I was a little fucking scrapper...but I was too shut down, too up in my terror to move. "Freezing is not consent."