Not Only Surviving but Recovering

Trusting people, males particularly, is something that I have never been good at. In my almost 19 years of life I can probably tell you about two guys that I have fully trusted and four women (including family). I know that I am young but this number seems small. I mean I am sure that there are reasons for it, if fact I know the main few reasons, at least for trusting guys. But for girls, I am past clueless.

I have attachment issues with men, my Father is a reoccurring alcoholic and any physiologist I have ever talked to says that he more than likely has aspergers syndrome. My first memory of my father talking directly to me is at around age 13 when my Mother was about to leave him. For a very long time I thought they almost broke up because of me, my freak out is what kept my Mother with him, even though there was far more going on than the way my father treated me. I just hope that my reaction didn’t trap my mother in a loveless marriage.

Before that time period I do remember my father, I would ask him a question and he wouldn’t so much as look at me, much less respond to what I had to say. This sounds slightly spoiled of me to say, but it did hurt me in unbelievable ways. Whenever my father would get me gifts it would be things like the new HALO game that came out. You have to understand one thing about me, I have really never touched a game counsel, nor do I plan to. The gift, even though it was wrapped and my name was on it, it was not for me rather an indirect way to give a gift to my brother. It hurt that my father would not only not talk to me, but insisted on giving gifts to me really meant for someone else. During points of my life I dived into my Fathers interests, tying to allow him to be interested in me as well, every attempt failed. I am to the point in my life that I know that I will never be close to my Father, as well as the Father figure in my life doesn’t have to be my Father.

I expect every male to treat me the way my Father did and often still does. If he doesn’t it makes me uncomfortable. I think the only way a man can look at me is as a sex object, something to use and abuse, then once he is done to abandon. With this logic it is hard to trust any guy obviously, but in some ways it just gets harder. The last guy I trusted probably left the worst scares on me, both emotionally and physically, that any man has ever left.

It started as a blind date and led to a whirlwind romance, the kind that nocks you off your feet and steals the breath right before it hits your lungs. He was in one word, well, perfect. Or maybe more accurately was perfect. He was too driven by his sexual desires and I was naive and easy to control. I remember the first time he had carried me up to his room for what I believed to be yet another innocent make out session, but he was ready for more and I wasn’t. He told me what he wanted to do and I couldn’t move, anytime I tried to scream nothing came out. It was like a nightmare I was powerless to stop. I remember crying for hours afterword, not because it hurt or that I was bleeding but rather because I had trusted him. After a little while this young man became infuriated at my tears and told me to essentially buck up and to expect more and more. He told me that my body reacted just as much as his did, so I wanted it. I spent the longest time trying to convince myself that I didn’t freeze and this was how a relationship was supposed to work. For a long time it worked. A guy I trusted and who said he loved me wouldn’t do anything to me that was bad… right? It took an experience that was petrifying and violent to finally get though that, no, no, in fact this is not how a relationship is supposed to work.

The wounds that these two experiences left on me still hurt. But I have survived, I am alive even though at times even that was questionable. I will tell you that I drag baggage around with me, that things set me off. But all the same I have survived. My goals for this year is to have a relationship with a male that is healthy, that brings me up. To work through all the crap that I don’t in fact need to drag with me, to maybe even get a full nights sleep and not wake up screaming, fighting, hyperventilating, clawing at my neck, being overcome with fear and having no idea why. To be able to believe that men can see me as more than a sex object. To not only just survive but in fact recover.

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