
Abuse and trauma survivor - these are my stories in no particular order. Content warnings and triggers everywhere. Adult blog; 18+ only.
794 posts
I Still Think About Him Basically Every Time I Get A Quiet Moment: In A Fitting Room, At A Red Light,
I still think about him basically every time I get a quiet moment: in a fitting room, at a red light, in my office, in the shower.
Recovery is a bitch.
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More Posts from Enoughdonegone
Too much information.
There is talk of sex under the cut. It is not graphic, and it is in reference to my recovery. But I mention orgasms and shaming.
My woman wants me to climax. I love her for it, and I can usually oblige. However some days my body is a bit more stubborn than others.
"What do you need?" She asks me. "What can I do?"
And this is another spot where I feel the depth of the damage he caused me. Many times, I don’t know what I need or want. It has never really been about me.
Most times, though, I just don't have the ability to communicate it. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
My brain swirls with too many bad experiences where I wasn't allowed to want anything. He rarely asked, even conversationally, what I actually liked. When I was asked and responded, I was corrected as if I didn’t know my own body, or he said “oh” in a disappointed tone, as though he was expecting/hoping I’d say something else.
Occasionally my response disgusted him; he told me he it was so awful he couldn’t continue unless we proceeded the way he liked it. So I learned to ask for what he wanted, to ask for the things I knew would get him off quickly, and off me. Sex was best served swift and efficiently.
I am not there. But I hope she keeps asking. Maybe one day I'll be able to tell her.
I had a successful date. A very successful date.
“What would make someone want to stay in a relationship like that?”
It’s been two years tonight, as of this very moment. Two years since the first time I hated him for a minute.
It took the worst thing that ever happened to me to get me to even consider leaving. And it still took me a year.
No Answer
Silly old emo song sent me into a flashback.
Once I was certain he’d walked away and was done with his rampage I’d take a moment to breathe before trying to stand up and evaluate the damage .
More frequently as time went on I would think the same thing: How did it come to this?
Visiting our grocery store today took my breath away. And I couldn't get it back.