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************************************************************************* ‘Ashamed of the many frailties they feel within, all men endeavour to hide themselves, their ugly nakedness, from each other, and wrapping up the true motives of their hearts in the specious cloak of sociableness, and their concern for the public good, they are in hopes of concealing their filthy appetites and the deformity of their desires.’
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There were a lot of things that I was ashamed of, so ashamed that I couldn’t really trust anyone enough to tell them. I did have strange thoughts sometimes that I knew should be hidden or it would only add to the hatred felt towards me. When I was 18 I went to stay with someone who was helping me to recover. I had met her online and grown very close to her over the year I had known her. I went to her house and stayed with her for three months. Her husband began to get closer to me, kissing me more on the lips than the cheek, and lingering there for longer. One week Michele, the lady who I was there to visit, was sick, so I was upstairs watching TV and movies most of the time. Her husband then began to start sticking his hands down my top, and into my bra. He would fondle my breasts and suck my nipples. Later he began to put his hands in my panties. He would always wash his hands after that, which made me feel very dirty. I wasn't sure about what was happening, or how to stop it. I didn't want him to keep doing these things to me, but I felt as if I somehow "owed" him this use of my body, since I was staying in his house and they were taking me out so much and buying me so many things. I told some other people online what was happening to me. It hurt so much when one person told me firstly that she didn't believe me, and then later that it was my fault. That I owed him amends. That only made me feel more bad about myself, as well as hurt by someone I trusted and liked. I was always afraid that my self-harm would be associated with disturbed sexual desires which I really wouldn’t have agreed with. Admittedly I hated it when boyfriends would try and touch me in a romantic way or kiss me, but I was only a teenage girl. Still, I was scared that my cutting would be related to my psycho-sexual development in a world which is, whether it likes it or not, so reliant on Freud’s theories. I was quite worried about how far I would take my evil manipulations, what I would do to get what I wanted. Because I always thought that when I was older and feeling brave I would fake appendicitis or something so that I could have an operation: self-harm the lazy way. I knew that was wrong, but that was me; little miss selfish. I didn’t really think that I could have children when I grew up, because I knew that I’d be a bad mother. Apart from generally being very irresponsible and unreliable, I would hopefully be eaten up with guilt if I cut myself while my children lived with me and were dependent on me. And I was secretly worried that I would use my children to get attention for myself, but perhaps that was just media hype, like the fear that I would really kill my family one day. I don’t know if such bad thoughts run through everyone’s mind or whether there is something wrong with what I think, but I would often fantasise about people dying. I realised one day that I would prefer my best friend to be dead than have her love someone more than me. I wouldn’t act on it, but I feel so bad for being so demanding and needy. |
