On Consent - Guest Post

This guest post is anonymous for a reason. Enjoy is the wrong word. Read and weep. Better still, learn and teach.

On Monday the 2nd of March 2015 I was raped. I wasn’t down a dark alleyway. I wasn’t attacked. I wasn’t in any of the godawful stereotypical situations that society associates with being raped. I was celebrating a friend’s birthday at a club, I met somebody, we went back to my house. I repeatedly said that the invitation did not extend to a cosy conversation between his sexual organs and mine. When my vocalisations weren’t heard I said no. I said stop. Multiple times I said these words. I still wasn’t listened to. I lay there, staring at my ceiling (there’s a crack which I noticed and put getting it fixed on my mental to do list). Giving up my protestations, realising that it wasn’t going to stop and that no wasn’t going to be taken for an answer I waited for it to be over.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t shout. I didn’t fight. I said no and I wasn’t listened to. I was used as a vessel for his sexual gratification. A means to an end. I was the one left to deal with the consequences of his actions. I paid for emergency contraception and I will have to book an appointment for an STI check. I will do all this while he continues with his day to day life, perhaps not even recognising what he did.
I decided to write about this, not only to try and figure out my own feelings about it all but to tell people that rape, that non-consensual sexual acts, don’t always happen to people in the way television, films and the media would have you think. I haven’t cried. I haven’t shouted or screamed. I don’t even really dislike him, after all he seemed like a ‘nice’ enough guy for me to invite him back in the first place.

So I’m writing this partly as a tool to sift through my own feelings but also to demand a more open and realistic dialogue about consent and about rape culture.

After a couple of day’s reflection I’m bloody angry. I’m angry that I don’t feel comfortable taking this to the police, I’m angry that I’m sat here stewing and he probably has little recognition for what he’s even done, I’m angry that had this happened to me two years ago I wouldn’t have recognised it for what it was.

There is no right or wrong way for survivors to deal with this sort of situation. I want people who read this and who can potentially recognise that they have had a similar sexual experience to me, that they have nothing to feel guilty about. That if you didn’t really realise at the time that your voice wasn’t being listened to, that your body was being violated it’s not your fault. The blame is on the perpetrator.

The blame is on the patriarchy.

We live in a society where for centuries upon centuries men have been viewed as the gender with sexual desires that need to be sated at whatever cost. That women function as tools for their pleasure. This has changed somewhat over the last 50 years. People are actually open to discussing women’s sexuality, that women have sexual desires too, and despite some men not knowing the difference between a woman’s clitoris and her nose (jabbing is not a thing gents!), society as a whole realises that no matter your gender you can have lots of sexual desires or simply none at all.

As a society we recognise this but we don’t recognise the need for comprehensive education about consent from birth. As a society we don’t recognise that consent can be rescinded at any moment. That an invitation to my room is not an invitation into my vagina. It is these thoughts and attitudes that silence survivors, that make them even doubt what actually happened to them.

We blame the survivor. We tell them to be more careful, to not drink as much in future, to learn their lesson about bringing people they don’t know back to their house. When did it become okay to say this instead of insisting that people Do. Not. Rape. Of course, in an abstract way we all know this is wrong but a sense of entitlement makes perpetrators act differently.

We need to make sure that young boys and men know that pressuring a woman into having sex with them is not okay. That if someone says no once, they mean no. They should not have to repeat themselves. We need to make sure that young boys and men do not indulge in selective hearing. If your sexual partner says no or stop, guess what? You fucking well stop. If you then get angry because you’ve been told to stop and your pissed because you didn’t get to finish, take a step, raise your hand and slap yourself across the face hard because you’re being a douche and why would you even want to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to anyway? Your male entitlement and what you perceive as your right to sexual gratification whenever and however you want does not outweigh, my feelings, my body and my right to say no at any point.

I’ve had conversations with women where they’ve had sexual experiences that they did not want to have. That they’ve felt guilty for not providing sex and so have done it anyway. This makes me sick. It makes me sick to think that my friends have done this, that our sisters, mothers and daughters may also have done this. That they’ve felt a man’s sexual desire has outweighed their right to say no. That they have felt bad for not wanting sex but have done it anyway.

Our conversations about consent in society have to change. We have to take the focus away from survivors and onto perpetrators. We need to be teaching our children consent, be talking to our teenagers about consent, be having a dialogue with our partners. We must talk about consent in our individual spheres but we must also demand that the rhetoric about consent and rape culture changes in the media and wider society. We must be demanding that our police service does not ask a survivor what they were wearing, how much they had to drink or doubting whether they gave consent or not. We must be demanding that people, our institutions and our government believe the survivor and vow to change our culture and societal attitudes towards rape and consent.

Rape doesn’t just happen to people in the dark as an attack. Rape is the result of a society which perpetuates ideas of male entitlement. It is not necessarily a pre-meditated act. It is an act where someone decides to, quite simply, not listen.

Ched Evans v Football - Guest Post

Yet another guest post! This time from my good friend Kerry Fairless. A man who spends more time than is healthy at Roots Hall and used to be a referee. 

And here it is.

Despite the name, I'm a bloke. And I'm a bloke that does football. And I am going to talk about rape. And football and morality.

Ched Evans. Convicted rapist, professional footballer, scumbag…. Call him what you like. The fact remains that he is a convicted rapist, and should be treated like all convicted rapists.

He has no more rights than you or I.

If I were a rapist, I would lose my job. I would not be welcomed back with open arms once my prison term was over. I would do what everything other rapist has to do, and that’s apply for jobs with new employers with the word “rapist” on my CV.

And I am not special. You won’t find any teachers, policemen, fire fighters, doctors, civil servants, etc with “convicted rapist” on their CV. Whilst forgiveness is to be applauded, there are certain things your history won’t forgive.

You cannot be a role model and a rapist. It sends entirely the wrong message out to young and impressionable young men. Don’t believe me? There were a small group of Sheffield fans singing “Ched Evans, he screws who he likes”. Luvverly.

That hasn't stopped a couple of clubs sniffing around nor has it stopped a couple of Football People speaking out in favour him. But they’re wrong.

Gordon Taylor, as Secretary of the PFA, you were very, very wrong to question the conviction and then bring Hillsborough into the debate as an example when a judicial ruling can be over turned. As a union rep, I know sometimes you have to defend a member you’d rather not, but you massively dropped the ball. You should resign. Now.

Steve Bruce, a fine footballer and a half decent manager, you do not have any legal qualifications that permit you to voice your opinion that the conviction was wrong. You were not on the jury, you have not seen the evidence, you are speculating. If I were you, I’d be concentrating on keeping your team in the Premier League and not spouting shite about something you know fuck all about. On Match of the Day tonight, you should consider apologising for sticking your face in where it is not wanted.

But, despite some high profile rape apologists, there is a massive positive coming out of this…

We are not dealing with another Jimmy Saville or Rolf Harris when it was easy to understand the rights and wrongs of having sex with children. We are dealing with a rapist. A male of consensual age who has raped a female of consensual age.

Many football based forums have seen debates that have moved from people saying “yeah, we should sign him” and “what he did was ok” to “no we fucking shouldn't sign him” and “what he did was disgusting”.

This is primarily down to people speaking out against rape and explaining exactly what rape is, what it constitutes, how you should treat women, what saying “no” means and so on.

Many have now got an education on what exactly rape is. Yes, there is a laddish culture in football, but that is being chipped away at. The message is coming across loud and clear “NO MEANS NO” and silence must not be mistaken for “yes”.

In the real world outside football, I hope Evans apologises properly to his victim and his friends and family stop their campaign against her.

But I really hope that everyone learns a lesson from this, and if it prevents a young man becoming a rapist because he didn't know the rules then this entire debate will be worth it.

Hi, I'm Kerry. I was the man who "used to..". Nowadays I've a job that involves me knowing more about screws than is healthy........

Deeva by Gaslight

Here we go again. Another post. third in two days. You can tell that I am happy that my wrist is healed enough for me to write again and that I have had a lot on my mind.

This one is gonna be a whole heap of personal again. People who actually know me in real life will probably know who I am talking about, but fuck it. Silent no more.

Deep breath Deeva.

I read this today on gaslighting. It proper made me lose my breath. The author of the piece talked about the intentional gaslighting to highlight the unintentional. Powerful stuff. If you haven't yet, you should really read it.

It brought up all sorts of feelings in me. Memories became clearer and I recognised the full extent of what had happened to me. Was a real shock and I have been mulling this post since then.

Oh for fuck's sake Deeva, get on with it!

I have been gaslighted. By people who were supposed to love me. All my life it would seem, though to varying degrees. In what would seem an attempt to control me and keep me down. It bloody worked an all. For years and years. It clouded my image of myself. It clouded my judgement of who I was and it left me easier prey for others to do it too.

So, how to get it all out?

One bit at at time I suppose.

Mum. I know what you did and why. I know that you couldn't bear me to be me as I was, in your eyes, wild and uncontrollable. I know that this is why you would ignore me most of the time and talk about me like I wasn't there even when I was.

I know that you told everyone that they should feel sorry for me and watch out for me as I had no personality of my own and would leech theirs from them. I know you did this to keep me isolated and lonely because you were so scared I would speak up about the abusive shit I was going through.

I know that you hid money and when I found it and returned it that you managed to convince me that I had stolen it in the first place because you knew that I was bad at handling guilt and that I would be frozen and pliable.

When I had a baby to escape, I know that you told me that my son's grandparents had told you that they hated having me living with them because I was so lazy and useless so that you could make sure that I couldn't be comfortable anywhere and you could keep that control. I know you lied about that one because years later I actually asked them and their faces were more believable than your gaslighting.

For years after the first dissociative episode I had (remember that? Two weeks of rocking in the foetal position where you wouldn't call a doctor and you let my sister spit on me and kick me) I truly believed I had shingles. For me to convince the school that's why I was off, I had to be convinced myself.

No more. The 12 years in which we haven't spoken have been better because you weren't in them. And you never will be again.

First husband. What a dick you were. Sleeping with other men literally the whole time we were together and making me think it was all in my head. Just so I could continue being your beard. The thing you hid behind. How many rational explanations did you have for the gay porn? How many times did the phone ring and cut off when I answered?

And yet you made me think it was all in my head.

How many years did you allow your brother to bully me and spy on me before I finally got a moment of clarity?

And the fixing of the bathroom scales so that I would feel fatter than I was and not go looking elsewhere? Yeah, I know you did that too. You made it so that I had no identity outside of you. You were my only mirror and the image I saw of myself reflected in you made me feel worthless.

And you told the children that you weren't controlling it was that I had gone wild. Off the rails.

Well fuck you.

What I had done is broken out of your control. How I found the strength I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Even though you took everything from me, I survived and got stronger. Fuck you.

Big Ex. I escaped you too and am finally happy.

For years I thought I was, but your gaslighting was stealthy. It crept up on me and nearly destroyed me.

I know now that you were petrified of losing me, that you were terrified that with my ever increasing responsibilities with the union that I would outgrow you. But you know what? If you had just told me that instead of making me feel like shit, we might have got through it. There are moments now that I know were just designed to hold me back.

Like when I used a long word in front of our friends and was asked what it meant. 'That she is getting ideas above her station.' was your reply.

Like when you had me convinced that you were acting in my best interests when you told me that our friends only tolerated me because I was with you. That they thought I was boring and all I talked about was PCS. That they thought I was talking down to them.

None of this was true. But you had me convinced it was.

We weren't having sex because I had something to prove. We were having sex because I had something to prove.

I was going mental and I didn't know what I was talking about. Of course you told me about going to your mum's. Of course you did. I must have just forgotten. Or, and here is the ultimate one, I was trying to drive YOU mad by pretending that you hadn't.

Oh what a head fuck you were.

And when I finally got some help. Finally got someone who made me realise that I was intelligent and capable and NICE and convinced me to go and see a doctor as they recognised the symptoms of depression, when I FINALLY did that and got on the anti depressants that I dreaded having to take because YOU said they would change me.

Then. Up it ramped. You tried to convince me that I was a different person. That I was capable of horrible things. That the bullying I was getting at work was my fault. That the panic attacks were because of the dreadful person I was and how I couldn't face her.

You would scream at me for hours then deny doing so. Straight faced. I had no idea what was going on apart from the fact that I had some clarity for the first time in years.

Enough clarity that I could see you for what you were. A controlling, gaslighting piece of shit.

Fuck you.

So, what was the point of writing this post? Why do this now?

It's so I can impart this message.

It isn't you. It's them.

Never again.

Run. Be safe. Be happy.

Dear Sisters, Catcalling Is Not A Compliment

Dear sisters,

I recently wrote a post on how catcalling is based on male privilege. It was pretty well received apart from one man who told me that I was wrong, and he wished he had time to tell me where I was going wrong. 

Bless him for thinking I gave a fuck about what he thought. 

But I digress.

The other type of response I got was from women telling me how sad they were that other women they knew saw this type of attention as a compliment. Sad indeed.

So I thought, in the spirit of sisterhood that I would write directly to you and explain why it isn't something you should be embracing or celebrating.

Are you a thing? No, me neither. However, that is what you are being seen as when someone shouts, whistles or clicks their tongue at you. They do not see you as the wonderful complex human being that you are. They don't care about your personality, your foibles, your hopes and dreams. They just see you as a piece of meat. One that they feel entitled to treat as they wish. An object. A thing. 

Is it a compliment when you get leered at? Is this what you really think is happening? That they are so struck by your beauty that they cannot help themselves?

Think again. That kind of thinking plays right into victim blaming rape culture. It is the same kind of thinking that leads to the idea that it is the fault of women when they get raped because the poor little men cannot help themselves. If only women would cover up/wear flat shoes/not ever go out/stop being so damn sexy all the time then men would be able to go about their merry way and not harass them in the street.

Just no.

Also, when you seek your validation in the voice of men you are playing straight into the hands of unattainable beauty standards perpetuated by the patriarchy. To illustrate, if they shout you are sexy then you will continue to have pressure put on you to stay sexy. If they say you are ugly then you will always be trying to 'better' yourself so that they think you are worthy of being called sexy.

Really? To please the kind of man who thinks it's ok to shout out of a window at someone? Really? 

If you get shouted at when pregnant (as I did, I didn't look pregnant from the back) this is not a compliment but a sad indictment of a society that thinks a woman is a breeding machine and cannot be seen as anything but 'mother' when she decides to carry a pregnancy. Don't believe me? Quickest way to get rid of these assholes is to turn round and show your bump. Watch them flee in a flash of disgust and horror that they might have encroached on someone who has already been claimed by another man. Other Man has planted his seed in you. Other Man owns you. Must not try and take what belongs to Other Man.

Here is a newsflash, you are still you when pregnant. You are more than an incubator and the idea that you would be grateful that someone can see this then that truly makes me sad.

Sisters, the same women who are being shouted at as they walk down the street are the same women who are being raped, tortured and killed by their partners. Two of them a week. Partly because they are used to being seen as a thing. A possession. Chattel.

If a man comes up to you and asks if it is ok to talk to you and takes no for an answer without calling you a bitch, a cunt, uptight, frigid, a slut, a whore then he probably isn't the kind who catcalls.

If he is, then he really shouldn't be the type of man you seek validation from.

Stay safe and stay strong.

Your sister,

Deeva xx

 

On Being Furious At People Missing The Fucking Point

I was a bit hot and bothered last night and it made me grumpy. The Lovely was sleeping but I was too restless. Then I saw something on Twitter that pissed me the fuck off so I went on a bit of a rant using the hashtag #missingthefuckingpoint.

I thought I'd reproduce and add to it here. Explaining the things that made me so angry. It wasn't all on the one day, this had been coming a while and it felt good to get that rage out.

Buckle up, this is going to be a bumpy ride. Here we go...

'Not all men are sexist assholes. Some of us are trying to do the right thing and get you the equality you want'

No. Equality is mine by right, not because I want it. You want to be a good feminist ally? Listen and understand that by choice or not you are part of the patriarchy that damages us all. I'm sure you are a nice guy but being all defensive about your gender is not forwarding making that gender unimportant.

If you try to tell me that not all men are sexist assholes you are #missingthefuckingpoint

The campaign to keep women on banknotes. Yes, I know there are other fish to fry but actually this is important to people. We are capable of campaigning on more than one issue at a time you know.  Try actually taking five minutes to sign the bloody petition rather than snarking from the fucking sidelines and coming up with bullshit reasons why this isn't important. Besides,

Yes, I do understand that the queen is a woman and on every banknote #missingthefuckingpoint

Bloody rape culture and victim blaming gets everywhere. Despite the fact that a woman is more likely to be raped by a partner in her own home or by someone else she knows than being snatched off a dark street. I have written about this at length and I suppose I will keep doing so till it stops.

If you think that women are more in danger of rape while wearing revealing clothes #missingthefuckingpoint

Tell you who isn't though, the amazing End Victim Blaming campaign. They are making the point over and over again. Click on the link anyone who thinks any blame at all should rest with the abused. Go on, educate yourself. And keep that victim blaming shit the fuck out of my face.

Oh yes, while I'm at it, EVERY woman, regardless of gender assignment at birth is my sister. That is it. Not difficult. If you identify as a woman you are a woman. I don't fucking CARE what you have between your legs. I will defend your right to equality.

Claim to be a feminist and yet exclude trans* women? #missingthefuckingpoint

This one should be self explanatory really. Can't believe I have to say it. My body, my choice.

If you think abortion should only be available in cases of incest or rape #missingthefuckingpoint

Don't even think about telling me that women have equality. Don't even think that. Don't say that. Don't even allude to it. I will kick your fucking deluded ass while I explain how we don't.

I see my sisters all over the world being denied autonomy and being treated like chattel. Think I won't be angry? #missingthefuckingpoint

I'm also sick and tired of the division that means the Tories and Lib Dems are able to decimate a society I was once proud of. We will never defeat them if we spend our time being the People's Front of Judea or the Judean People's Front. It's pathetic and it turns people off. The very people who we need to be our army are waiting in the wings to fight while we argue about which strategy is the right one while excluding all the others. Here's an idea, how about we actually fucking unite and realise we have a common cause and merge the strategies where possible for maximum effect?

If you are a left winger spending time provoking and berating other left wingers then guess what... #missingthefuckingpoint

This one took a few to get across. Being a feminist to me is about choice. Not being part of an army with a uniform. It is about the individuals coming together for a common cause. I can't stand the idea that if I don't dress a certain way, look a certain way, have a body hair then I can't be a 'proper' feminist.

If you grow your leg/armpit hair because that's what feminists do #missingthefuckingpoint

Be hairy or smooth. Makes no odds to me but if you do either to conform to an ideal then you are #missingthefuckingpoint

One of my followers put it better than me. She has a protected account so I won't publish her name but she was bang on!

doing shit to fit an ideal is absurd to me. Doing what makes you happy is the way forward.

This last section was about my utter fucking contempt for those against Equal Marriage. What business is it of yours what people do? How the fuck does it impact on your marriage if I wed a woman? Keep the fuck out of my business and I will stay out of yours.

Think that what consenting adults do in the bedroom is any of your damn business then you are definitely #missingthefuckingpoint

This, from the amazing @midweshtener.

If you berate or disdain other folk for life choices that have absolutely no impact on you, you may well be #missingthefuckingpoint

And this from me.

If your god is more important to you than the people around you then you are #missingthefuckingpoint

Rage expelled for a while I went to sleep.

Then.

I woke up to the news that George Zimmerman has been acquitted for the murder of Trayvon Martin. Not exactly a shock to be honest to wake up to the news that Black American's sons can now be hunted down and killed with impunity.

However.

If you think that the potential for a riot after this verdict is the biggest threat then you are royally missing the fucking point.

The biggest threat is that the verdict will create more George Zimmermans.

*sigh* I lost Twitter followers after my rant last night but I refuse to apologise. When the world stops making me angry I will stop ranting. I will live in a world where race, sexuality, gender, disability, none of that shit will make a difference.

But that isn't today, and I can't see it being any time soon so I will continue to speak my truth.

If you think I won't or that I give a flying fuck of what you think of me for doing so then you are MISSING THE FUCKING POINT.

On Being Believed

Trigger warnings for abuse apply.

Earlier I was trying to explain to The Lovely why We Believe You is such a powerful statement.

I talked about rape culture and purity culture and patriarchy and all the other things you would expect. I talked about it being the starting point that might encourage a woman to report abuse. That cynicism, no matter how well meant would be a barrier. Mostly he gets it. He is a good man, a good feminist and a good ally.

But it occurred to me that there was another reason We Believe You is so powerful. And this would not occur to anyone who hasn't been there.

It is because, for many of us it is the first time we have ever heard it.

I heard it for the first time when I posted on the #Ididnotreport hashtag. I cried for hours. And hours. For the first time in my life I felt at peace. It has been a huge contributing factor to the fact that I am able to be so honest on this blog.

I spent my life being told I was over reacting, making it up, being ridiculous. I heard excuses, 'reasons', most of which pointed to it being my fault. I provoked him. I should have been better. Looked after myself better, made myself more attractive, more available.

You know what?

FUCK YOU!

Fuck you the ice cream man who felt me up when I was 14 and told me that no one would believe me if I told.

Fuck you the woman who told me that the occasional slap was ok but I shouldn't put up with full on punches.

Fuck you the man who raped me when I was 14 and let his mates watch. And then told me that no one would believe it was rape because he was my boyfriend.

Fuck you woman who told me not to tell my mum because it was her wedding day and people might not believe me because they might think I was trying to deflect attention from my mother's big day.

Fuck you mum for replying when I finally plucked up the courage to tell you years later that you didn't believe that I would have kept it a secret for that long and that if it was true that I would have told you at the time.

Fuck you man who told me that no one would believe he beat me while pregnant because he was so solicitous of me in public.

To the woman who said I should maybe wear make up more often so that he would find me too attractive to hit. Fuck you.

Fuck you man who told me that no one would believe I didn't know he was shagging about and would assume that I was weak for allowing it.

Fuck you everyone who made me hide inside myself so that I didn't have to face up to all the abuse I had taken because I was such a 'strong woman' that no one would believe me.

Everyone who told me it was my fault if it happened. Fuck you.

Anyone who thinks that a starting point of I Believe You is discriminatory against men. Fuck You most of all. Just fuck you.

In a week where Stuart Hall got 15 months, where Charles Saatchi calls putting his hands round his wife's neck a 'playful tiff' (this is actually an abusers way of saying look how easily I could kill you), where Unison conference voted down a we believe her amendment to a motion because TEH MENZ, fuck you if you think that I will not ALWAYS put I Believe You at the forefront of my mind.

Just fuck you.

To anyone who is being abused. Speak up and speak out.

I believe you.

On Sex As Affection And Validation In Abusive Relationships

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR ABUSE AND RAPE

Had this post running round my head for the last couple of hours and for once I wasn't sure whether or not to write it.

It's gonna be a whole heap of personal.

So I did what any rational, sane internet addict would do and asked Twitter if I should. They said yes, and who am I to go against the will of the Twitterverse?

So here it is. My thoughts, for what they are worth, on sex and abuse.

I have never been shy about talking about the abuse I have survived. I talked about the violence, and the rape, and the emotional as well as physical scars I have. But I survived. I survived able to have a healthy relationship with my friends, my family and especially The Lovely. That I am able to do this is a real victory for me.

So, what does this have to do with sex?

I like sex. I love it and have quite a high sex drive. I enjoy a wonderful sex life and I'm proud that I can after all the abuse I have been through. I have no body issues any more and spend 99% of my time feeling like a sassy, sexy goddess. I'm a regular fucking horndog. Yay me!

It occurred to me today though that my attitude to sex hasn't always been quite so healthy.

When I was in abusive relationships I was being put down. I was fat, ugly, stupid, pathetic.

And I wanted sex. I wasn't horny, I just needed that validation that I was worthwhile. If he was having sex with me it meant that I wasn't as bad as he was saying. There had to be something good about me or he wouldn't want to have sex with me right?

I was being beaten. At one point, one of the abusers thought it would be funny to punch me as hard as he could between my legs. So hard that my pelvic bone was bruised enough that I couldn't wear underwear for three weeks.

And he still wanted sex with me. I get now it was to cause as much pain to me as possible, but in my fucked up way I felt GRATEFUL that he would want to have sex with me, someone who obviously wasn't enjoying it because of the pain. So I cried silently and tried to pretend I liked it.

And I was raped. Continually. But sometimes, (not every time, most of the time I don't even remember what I was feeling, and definitely not during) afterwards, when I was cleaning up blood and putting ice packs on the various parts of my body that were in agony, even that in some proper fucked up way felt like validation.

He had me that dependent on him that he had me convinced that he wouldn't do it if he didn't love me so much.

And that made me feel better somehow. Like I wasn't worthless and useless and fat and ugly. I could cry for how fucked up I was. For how every family relationship where I internalised being unfeminine and unbeautiful and stupid and just plain worthless had led to this point.

And you know what? I needed comfort after his attacks. Anyone would need comfort after being attacked. He had me so isolated from anyone who would or could help me or comfort me, that it had to be him I turned to for that comfort. And there were never any cuddles. So that meant sex.

Like I say, I'm much better these days. Sex is a healthy, enjoyable thing for me. I have no inhibitions and it is ALWAYS on my terms.

But sometimes, just sometimes, after a row or if I'm feeling hormonal or something I find myself wanting sex without the accompanying horn. For affection. For validation. Because there is still a part of me who internalised not being good enough and that will never completely leave.

So always be good to your children and never put them down. They internalise and normalise that shit and it makes them easier prey for abusers.

And when you see someone in an abusive relationship who isn't leaving and seems to still be having a sex life, try not to judge. Try to give some empathy and let them know they can talk to you.

It might save their life.

It certainly saved mine.