I don’t do this often, any more, if at all because it feels wrong after being sexually abused.
It was something I just felt I had to do because I was tired of hearing the voices of pain and suffering from my past self, which is something I hear often whenever I have an episode.
There is a part of me that tells me this is healthy and normal, and then there is another part of me that says flat out “it’s because you secretly enjoyed the abuse.”
That’s the negative that comes from Doctors calling my memories delusional, and men who believed they had a right to do whatever they wanted to my body. Subconsciously I know this is absolutely true, and yet it still hurts and triggers days of absolute pain and suffering caused by memories of the bad times.
Theoretically I know that the bad times are over and no one can or will hurt me again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get sent into a fucking lunatic spiral of knowing that I am always going to have these underlying fear of shame of enjoying the good old fashioned orgasm.
I know that like eating, drinking, showering or going to the bathroom, the body needs an orgasm every once in awhile, but the pay off doesn’t really seem worth it when I know what’s coming after, which leads me to being absolutely petrified of having a relationship with a man and sends me spiraling into the “holy fuck what if this happens if I let a man get me off?” mental fuck show that is PTSD.
This article quotes a Dr. Moulds who says it’s totally normal, but that doesn’t make it any easier because I don’t yet know how to combat the trigger of that much needed orgasm. To date this year I have had exactly five self inflicted orgasms, and it feels self inflicted rather than self pleasuring because it comes with the absolutely “holy fuck I’m broken” mental break down that can last days or weeks.
I used to have the ability to tell myself graphic sexual fantasy’s that could take me down into a place of self written pornography, but I don’t do that any more because anything I like now sexually stems from largely, being abused. Everything I think about sexually has an abusive context to it, and I forget that it’s just a fantasy.
“How would you feel if someone did this?” interrupts my would have been sexual fantasy’s, and it often leads to “I’d be horrified because that’s wrong and dirty”. Which let’s face it, are where the best fucking fantasy’s come from.
I know where this comes from and if anyone else were asking me I’d tell them to keep at it until it no longer hurts and until the voices learn to shut the fuck up and leave me to my me time.
But I’m not anyone else and I am suffering from a serious lack of orgasm – the idea of going to find a partner to play with is completely off limits, not because I am afraid I’ll be triggered, I know I will be, but because I refuse to put anyone else through this mental mind fuck.
Not until I know how to handle the resulting panic attacks and stressors that come with the fact that I took the time to enjoy pleasure with anyone, much less someone other than myself.
This is the responsible decision, not only for my own sanity, but out of respect for anyone I might even consider having sex with.
I don’t have advice because again I am talking about myself, I have questions. I wonder when I’ll be able to masturbate with any sense of self again. I wonder when my body mind and soul will connect for that perfect moment of “holy fuck awesomeness” again.
I want to know if I am ever going to be able to masturbate without the shame of knowing that my body learned to accept pain as a part of the pleasure factor when in reality I did not enjoy being raped.
I wonder when my brain will remember that having a fantasy is not actually the same as wanting to experience the fantasy for real. And that neither is necessarily a bad thing.
Part of this comes from not knowing other women of color who have been abused, I am constantly stuck in a state of feeling like I am completely alone, when I know statistically speaking alone I am in fact not alone.
I reached out to Karen Unrue from the Tilted Bedroom, because I honestly don’t know how to love my body mind and soul as one complete person any more. I am learning that it’s more than just keeping my house and thoughts clean. Loving myself means doing my nails, going shopping, letting my mom spoil me, letting the feelings out when I have an episode.
It means a lot of things that I am often too tired to deal with doing – even shopping – today we cancelled for instance because we were both too emotionally mentally and physically drained to go out and be around strangers.
Even Karen couldn’t come up with a solution to this problem, but the solution is simple, you keep doing it until your brain relearns to recognize an orgasm with pleasure. You keep forcing yourself through the panic attack episodes until they stop hurting.
I know this theoretically, but that doesn’t mean that I want to do it. Like any exercise to heal it hurts, and it feels like I will never have control over my own body without someone else’s permission ever again.
It takes practice, and it takes effort to heal from abuse, and although giving yourself an orgasm shouldn’t feel like an exercise, in a very real way it’s both exercise and exorcism of the negative reaction my mind has to these moments of isolationist pleasure.
The guilt and shame I feel now as someone who has been abused doesn’t compare to my sudden White Knight Syndrome when I consider the fictional stories I’ve written for myself and the fears that my “characters” might not even like what I am putting them through. I genuinely worry if every fantasy is something that could be from my abuse, or if it’s because I genuinely like it, so that obviously means porn is out.
Which is a damned shame, because I learned to tell my best sex stories from watching Show Case on Friday nights and if you don’t know what that means you missed out on true sexual education.
Red Shoe Diaries was in my special little mind in a very real way – this show taught me what it meant to enjoy sensuality, while other shows taught me the vital nature of empowering myself through my orgasms.
Without that early access to Friday Night Show Case at night, I don’t think I’d have survived all of the things that I’ve been through. I think part of this is the fact that the first time I’ve touched myself in months came the same night I explained what I’d been through to a complete stranger who needed to document my pain.
I think I very much wanted to take control of my own body and day by day I am working on that, and like I said, it’s going to take time, but I have to tell you it’s really difficult to keep putting myself through this exercise in order to regain my control.
I think part of the reason I go so long without is less about controlling my desire and more about the fact that I just don’t want to deal with it, but I also know that’s incredibly unhealthy.
A Body mind and soul are broken and separated after being abused, and they’re going to take their time to heal…and it’s going to hurt, but we have to suck it up, fuck that cunt as much as we can and listen to and enjoy our fantasy’s because we have the right to have sexual fantasy’s.
No one is allowed to hear them unless we say and no one can force us to live them against our will because that’s the fucking law. There is however no law against masturbation. Unless you do it in public, in which case you need more help then you’ll find in this blog.
I think we need a national Masturbation day…whose with me?
Sending all my love to those with the courage to cum,
Devon J Hall