NSFW. Sex abuse trigger warning.
The last 24 hours have been just fantastic.
This is gonna be long.
Last night I was thinking about my body triggers. I get triggered really often, and when it happens a feeling washes over me, like I’m a child and my body is being used. Just lovely.
Anyway, I’ve got several triggers, but one of them is my nipples. It’s one of the strongest ones, I pretty much can’t touch my nipples without feeling this.
I was wondering about why I have that. There have been different instances in which people have taken advantage of me, and my memory is terrible, so I wonder about where my sex trauma comes from often.
I was thinking of the only situation in which I remembered someone touching my nipples. Even though we were both kids, it was consensual and I don’t think it traumatized me (not that thing specifically, at least).
That whole thing is a long story, I won’t explain it now.
So, I was thinking about that, and then I realized that I don’t get triggered at the thought of someone licking my nipples (like that little girl did). What triggers me is the though of / when I touch my nipples, with my hands. So I figured that the thing with my friend when I was a kid is not connected.
Okay then, do I remember any instances in which someone touched my nipples with their hands?
And then I remembered something.
I don’t think this situation is necessary related to the trigger, since I feel it originated when I was a child. However, it is important that I remembered it.
When I was 15 or 16 I went out with a “date” with a boy I knew. He was an asshole, and it didn’t turn out to be a real date anyway, but long story short, we went to see a movie.
Then something happened. In the middle of the movie, instead of reaching out to grab some popcorn like he was doing, he reached out and touched my nipple. It wasn’t an accident, and he didn’t just lightly brush his hand over it. He straight up grabbed it with his fingers.
I immediately pushed his hand away, it was an automatic response, but that’s all that happened. He didn’t apologize, I didn’t say anything, I smiled and talked for the rest of the date, and then went home. Luckily, at least I didn’t go out with him again.
Obviously, that wasn’t a serious situation, and I didn’t feel like I was in danger. However, there are several things that I can see now, in retrospect, that break my fucking heart.
1. I grew up surrounded by disgusting boys/men, because that’s how the majority of men are. It’s scary to think how predatory they can be, without batting an eye, and how they can get away with it because sadly women aren’t taught how to set boundaries, specially girls.
2. The fact that all I thought is that it had been bizarre, and that he was stupid. That’s all. At not point I got mad, felt like I had been disrespected and violated, told any of my friends later on, or stated my boundaries.
3. And the saddest thing…
I came home and told Abuser A about the date, and how “lame” it had been. I told them about that incident, and they laughed. They also thought it was bizarre and stupid. And that was that.
I know that a lot of people might not think much of it, but that’s wrong. That’s fucking wrong.
We need to teach girls to set boundaries, tell them they have the right to decide and feel respected, encourage them to speak up and warn their friends when someone has a predatory attitude, explain them that all types of violations are wrong, and that usually small ones lead into bigger ones.
That women have to face sexual harassment constantly, and that they need to recognize it as such. Teach them that they have a voice, and they have the right to fucking use it.
I’m so fucking furious at my abuser for not doing shit, for seeing my boundaries getting ignored as a common occurrence.
That is wrong. I should have been taught all of those things.
No fucking wonder I always felt invisible, like anyone could step on me, and like I had no voice. No fucking wonder I don’t feel like I’m the owner of my body.
I could keep going but I’m exhausted. Turns out, I wasn’t able to sleep thought out the whole night. I had anxiety like I hadn’t had in a really long time, to the point where I almost had a panic attack. I don’t think I was anxious about that situation in particular, but about everything surrounding it, and what it represents. And also because thinking about sex abuse, my triggers and sex trauma freaks me out.
So, yeah. I hate my abusers and hope they would fucking die. I’m furious, and heartbroken for my younger self.