Category — recovery

In rereading last night’s post, I’m not feeling comfortable with how the last three paragraphs read. Or rather, I think their meaning can be misread. So just to clarify in case it sounded this way to anyone, I have absolutely NO desire to perpetrate physical harm on anyone else. It’s not within my makeup to do that. I was thinking more along the lines of some female-centric version of a Frank T.J. Mackey “Seduce and Destroy” kind of thing. And that sort of thing that doesn’t really do any party any good in the end or have any positive outcomes (at least, it wouldn’t for me). It’s taking desire and misdirecting it in unhealthy ways. That’s what I meant about destroying lives, even my own.

Nonetheless, the word choice I came up with subconsciously last night leaves me feeling as if I have some thinking to do about this kind of impulse and what’s really behind it. It’s too much for me to examine right now in the early in the morning, but it’s definitely something I might want to think about more when I am ready.

The other day, my therapist asked me if my rape had happened in July. Because I’d told her that I’d been suddenly feeling surrounded by sexual assault issues–no matter where I looked, another story or reference seemed to be popping up.

I don’t remember when I was assaulted. I can’t even pinpoint the exact age I was, let alone the month. But I think I’ve begun to realize that every July for the past few years, something strange happens. I become overwhelmed with desires, and the desire to act out. Not only do I notice sexual assault issues more accutely, but I start wanting things that are bad for me. Compulsively. With no desire for limits. Or rather, with a burning desire to disregard all limits. For instance, I start eating food I know is harmful to me, and I don’t want to stop. My body wants more and more and more. Particularly sweet things. I crave and crave. If I eat a little (and I have), the desire for it burns through me like wildfire. I do. not. want. to stop.

Similarly, and right now, this moment, I want to fuck someone so badly I can barely contain myself. This is not something that can be self-satisfied. This is something carnal that can only be satisfied by wrapping myself serpent-like around a living, breathing, pulsing life and squeezing and sucking and swallowing every ounce of sexual energy out of him, till he and I are both no more.

I want to breathe in his scent until I’m dizzy and lick his sweat until my thirst is quenched–and it will be a long, long drink to satisfy that thirst. I want to hear his voice in my ear. I want to hear his breath go ragged; I want to hear him moan beyond all control. I want to hear him come again and again and again and again. I want to watch his body convulse in pleasure so extreme the thought of coming down from it is pain.

I’m feeling this so acutely I’m afraid to talk to any of my male friends right now. Because I’m not capable of being responsible. Because it’s been too long and I want and want and want. I want so much that I’m willing to take unacceptable risks. I want it so much that I’m willing to play with fire. To disregard feelings and to toy with emotions. To fuck with people’s heads to sate my own need. To cross my own self-drawn boundaries.

I want it so much I’m willing to destroy lives. Including my own.

This is, right in this moment, how bad my need is. And it can’t be satisfied by anything I have in my life right now.