So many stories. So many accusations. My head gets foggy. I shake it, trying to keep myself in the "here and now".
I recently read a post by a woman explaining how she developed a fear of men. If I can find it, I will link it. I have been thinking about it for days now, and I need to write in order to get out my spinning thoughts.
I didn't choose to fear men, men taught me.
In 5th grade, a boy from another class grabbed my ass. I got shy and didn't respond. He did this every time he saw me. He was older than me, and I was scared. Men do what they want.
As a 15 year old, walking to the grocery store, the catcalls from groups of men in cars. Some would pull over a block or so ahead. I would continue walking as they shouted from the car "hey, babe! Where are you going? Let us give you a ride!" I ignored them. "Hey! We're talking to you!" They revved the engine as I walked by, which startled me. "Come on, slut, get in the car!" I kept walking, and eventually they left. As an adult woman, that situation should have scared me far more than it did, but it was the first of many. Men are persistent.
In math class as a freshman in high-school, I heard a boy say "Hey! Watch this!" I paid no attention until he was next to me, and shoved his hand up my skirt and under my panties. He laughed. I heard the others laughing. I sat mortified and shocked. Men want what's under your skirt.
A year or so later, my high-school sweetheart, some friends, and I were off at a church retreat. We were "good kids", so they let us bunk in the same room - my friend (girl), my boyfriend, and I. In the middle of the night, my boyfriend got into bed with me. It was totally innocent at first. We just snuggled and kissed, as teens do. Then he got on top of me. This was my first experience with this. Fear made me frozen - I couldn't make a sound. I managed a whimpered "stop! She'll hear you!" He put his hands under my clothes and grabbed at me. I remember feeling his arms slip through my hands, and for the first time I realized that men are stronger than me. I tried to get out from under him. He was trying to kiss me, and I was squirming away. When I managed to get out from under him, I ran down the hallway to an empty room, he chased after me. Thankfully, the room had a locking door. This was my first panic attack. I remember sitting in a corner of the room, feeling extremely small with the walls huge around me. He kept knocking on the door. Hours went by. When I finally had the courage to open the door that had fallen silent, he was laying outside of the room. Waiting. But, he had fallen asleep. I was able to get to a phone to call my mom to pick me up. Men are stronger than me and they don't listen.
Through the high-school hallways, a boy would come up to talk to me at my locker. When we finished talking, he pressed his finger into my breast, hard, and walked away. I was speechless and confused. Did that really just happen? It happened several other times. My breasts are not mine, they are for men.
I had a date with a very handsome man. We went to his place to sip wine and do what adults do. The classic, one thing led to another... He wanted to try the "other way". I agreed. Though had never done it. I screamed! He shouted at me to "SHH! My roommates will hear you!". I couldn't stand the pain, so I wiggled out from under him. He turned on the light. "What the fuck?!" he said, "you got blood all over my sheets!" Men hurt me and are mean.
I was dating a man for a couple months and he stayed over sometimes. This particular night, while doing what adults do, he suddenly flipped me over so I was on my belly. He jammed his penis into my anus. And I remember seeing white with pain. I screamed a blood curdling sound that I didn't know I was capable of, and he forced my head into the pillow "shut the fuck up!" he yelled over and over again. I was screaming and trying to reach behind me to get him off. I began to feel I couldn't breathe from the intense pain. A strange sensation took over. I remember feeling my body go limp and I floated up to the top of the room. I could feel the pulsing of him thrusting into me, but I was no longer connected to the massive pain of my experience. He finished and rolled off of my body. I got up, put my nighty back on, and went downstairs and sat on the couch in a haunted daze. He yelled at me "get back here!" I silently walked back. He said "you are being rude, just leaving me like that. Get back into bed." I was so afraid that he would do it again, so I obliged, but not before he said "Take the nighty off, I told you, you need to sleep naked when you're next to me." Men are terrifying.
Men taught me to fear them.
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Enslaved
The questions was posed today, "What enslaves you?"
At first I really couldn't think of anything. As a white woman, with a pretty substantial amount of privilege, I don't usually think of myself as being enslaved by anything. But she pressed on, "Are you enslaved by fear? What about food?"
"HEY! was she talking to just me?" I asked myself.
She continued with her list, "Lust? Social media? Fear of past failure?..." She listed many things, but all those are the ones the stuck out for me, because I think they are the things that trap me.
My biggest enslavement is fear. I am constantly fearing rejection. This started at a very young age, and while I won't bore you with the common details of it all, fear of rejection runs deep. After my divorce, this fear is something I deal with on a daily basis. It is sometimes all consuming. Even listening to her speak, the anxiety was rising in my body. I squirmed and reached for my phone - the ultimate distraction, right in the palm of your hand!
I decided "No." I decided to stay with the feeling of being uncomfortable. I had to tell myself I was still safe, and everything is OK. My mind flashed to a variety of scenes from my marriage. I view my failed marriage as the ultimate of failures. The ultimate rejection. I just cannot seem to let this go. My mind, my body, my heart hold on so tightly to this failure - like a reminder that I am, in fact, a failure. Someone unworthy of love.
It is extremely painful. Dear reader, I write this as only a means of self expression, not looking to you to "fix" me, but for you to maybe understand that deep and profound depression exists in your midst.
Out of all the things I feel enslaved by, fear consumes me. Fear eats me alive. Fear has destroyed me. Sure, there are moments when I can fake it. I can play the part of a "successful woman who has her shit together". When I sit alone, however, I am back at the baseline of someone who truly hates herself.
I am enslaved by the fear and the hate. Perhaps just acknowledging is a good place to start, but I do not see this abhorrent view of myself subsiding any time soon.
At first I really couldn't think of anything. As a white woman, with a pretty substantial amount of privilege, I don't usually think of myself as being enslaved by anything. But she pressed on, "Are you enslaved by fear? What about food?"
"HEY! was she talking to just me?" I asked myself.
She continued with her list, "Lust? Social media? Fear of past failure?..." She listed many things, but all those are the ones the stuck out for me, because I think they are the things that trap me.
My biggest enslavement is fear. I am constantly fearing rejection. This started at a very young age, and while I won't bore you with the common details of it all, fear of rejection runs deep. After my divorce, this fear is something I deal with on a daily basis. It is sometimes all consuming. Even listening to her speak, the anxiety was rising in my body. I squirmed and reached for my phone - the ultimate distraction, right in the palm of your hand!
I decided "No." I decided to stay with the feeling of being uncomfortable. I had to tell myself I was still safe, and everything is OK. My mind flashed to a variety of scenes from my marriage. I view my failed marriage as the ultimate of failures. The ultimate rejection. I just cannot seem to let this go. My mind, my body, my heart hold on so tightly to this failure - like a reminder that I am, in fact, a failure. Someone unworthy of love.
It is extremely painful. Dear reader, I write this as only a means of self expression, not looking to you to "fix" me, but for you to maybe understand that deep and profound depression exists in your midst.
Out of all the things I feel enslaved by, fear consumes me. Fear eats me alive. Fear has destroyed me. Sure, there are moments when I can fake it. I can play the part of a "successful woman who has her shit together". When I sit alone, however, I am back at the baseline of someone who truly hates herself.
I am enslaved by the fear and the hate. Perhaps just acknowledging is a good place to start, but I do not see this abhorrent view of myself subsiding any time soon.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
My Privilege
Like many of you, I am disheartened by the Trayvon Martin case. It seemed pretty clear to me that George was guilty of at least manslaughter, given the "Stand Your Ground" (SYG) law. But to be acquitted on all charges, seems not only wrong in a legal sense, but more so a moral sense. Sure, our courts are made of laws, which is an important distinction to make. However, SYG as a defense in this case doesn't hold up. George pursued Trayvon, that was his choice. Even if Trayvon attacked him, because he likely was scared, George was a grown man, who made a choice to profile a black kid, and then shoot him when he supposedly felt his life was in danger, therefore George was protected by law. WHAT?! I call bullshit.
At that moment, the state of Florida made George Zimmerman: Judge, Jury, and Executioner. A grown man, packing a loaded gun, who was asked to "stand down" by 911 operators, took it upon himself to hunt Trayvon. Is this what America is? Have I turned a blind eye towards this virus of racism and hate? How can this still be happening?! And if anyone thinks this isn't about race, think again, and while you're at it, consider yourself infected with the virus.
Which brings me to my main point of acknowledging my own white privilege. Is is said privilege that made me think that George would be found guilty? I mean, I am so dumbfounded at this verdict! I think of the little black boys in my class, who grow up in a world, where a grown mad of lighter pigment may profile and hunt them down, and ultimately murder them. I am embarrassed to say, that I thought those days were over. How shameful for me to be so blind.
It agonizes me to think that my friends, colleagues, neighbors, all those with children whose flesh is darker than my own must tell their children to play in the backyard with their nerf guns out of fear of what the cops will think (yes, this is an actual friends story). That they must tell their children to stay inside after dark, because their mothers don't want them shot in the moonlight. How do we teach personal pride and safety at the same time?! How do we, as a nation, look into the eyes of our young black and brown children, and tell them that their country cares about them? What a joke! This ruling made it clear, that if you're black, and especially if you're black and young, you're disposable.
A sad day for America. We can do better. We must do better. If we want a better place for all our children, we must confront our privildge as white men and women - I don't have to worry about my babies playing the front yard. I don't have to be scared for my life and be taught the proper way to handle police, when I am pulled over. If a black man ever shot a white baby of mine, they would certainly be in jail. I or my white friends can have a gun if I choose, and no cop or court would find it suspicious. My white friends can smoke weed and be called hippies, while Trayvon was called a thug for the same thing. These are things I get simply for being of a paler complexion. There are many, many, more privileges I enjoy as a white person that would simply take too long to list. What is the point? The point is, that until white America faces its deep seeded racist virus that runs through her veins, nothing can get truly better. It is systematic, it is painful, but it must be done.
I pray for America, I pray for my white, brown, black, and everything in between friends. I pray for George Zimmerman, for I was taught to pray for my enemies. And I mostly pray for Trayvon Martin's Mother and Father, and for the rest of his family. I am sorry that America failed you. I am sorry you had to bury your child. I am sorry.
At that moment, the state of Florida made George Zimmerman: Judge, Jury, and Executioner. A grown man, packing a loaded gun, who was asked to "stand down" by 911 operators, took it upon himself to hunt Trayvon. Is this what America is? Have I turned a blind eye towards this virus of racism and hate? How can this still be happening?! And if anyone thinks this isn't about race, think again, and while you're at it, consider yourself infected with the virus.
Which brings me to my main point of acknowledging my own white privilege. Is is said privilege that made me think that George would be found guilty? I mean, I am so dumbfounded at this verdict! I think of the little black boys in my class, who grow up in a world, where a grown mad of lighter pigment may profile and hunt them down, and ultimately murder them. I am embarrassed to say, that I thought those days were over. How shameful for me to be so blind.
It agonizes me to think that my friends, colleagues, neighbors, all those with children whose flesh is darker than my own must tell their children to play in the backyard with their nerf guns out of fear of what the cops will think (yes, this is an actual friends story). That they must tell their children to stay inside after dark, because their mothers don't want them shot in the moonlight. How do we teach personal pride and safety at the same time?! How do we, as a nation, look into the eyes of our young black and brown children, and tell them that their country cares about them? What a joke! This ruling made it clear, that if you're black, and especially if you're black and young, you're disposable.
A sad day for America. We can do better. We must do better. If we want a better place for all our children, we must confront our privildge as white men and women - I don't have to worry about my babies playing the front yard. I don't have to be scared for my life and be taught the proper way to handle police, when I am pulled over. If a black man ever shot a white baby of mine, they would certainly be in jail. I or my white friends can have a gun if I choose, and no cop or court would find it suspicious. My white friends can smoke weed and be called hippies, while Trayvon was called a thug for the same thing. These are things I get simply for being of a paler complexion. There are many, many, more privileges I enjoy as a white person that would simply take too long to list. What is the point? The point is, that until white America faces its deep seeded racist virus that runs through her veins, nothing can get truly better. It is systematic, it is painful, but it must be done.
I pray for America, I pray for my white, brown, black, and everything in between friends. I pray for George Zimmerman, for I was taught to pray for my enemies. And I mostly pray for Trayvon Martin's Mother and Father, and for the rest of his family. I am sorry that America failed you. I am sorry you had to bury your child. I am sorry.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Tortured
I hate living like this. When the fear of abandonment comes haunting my thoughts, all my brain does is assure me of my imminent death. My heart pounds, my stomach cramps, my limbs shake, I cry. While in this state, I can't eat, I can't sleep. I feel like I am trapped and there is no way out.
This fear is deep and pronounced, almost primal. I try and breathe, but it is as if my breath does nothing, like my lungs are steel, and no air is moving in or out. My body goes into a survival mode - shut down time. I am jittery and nervous. I can feel my whole body; the blood moves in my veins, the electricity in my brain fires. My muscles shaking. I am alert and aware of all sounds and movements. I cannot rest.
Eventually, I pray that exhaustion will take over, because feeling like this is unbearable. It is at these moments I find myself fantasizing about death, anything to make these feelings STOP! But my fear of death stops me from really carrying out any plan. I wonder if there will be a day that the desire for the feelings to stop will finally overtake my fear of death - this thought makes me scared and sad.
I am trapped in this ball of anxiety, fear, dread. Trapped & tortured.
This fear is deep and pronounced, almost primal. I try and breathe, but it is as if my breath does nothing, like my lungs are steel, and no air is moving in or out. My body goes into a survival mode - shut down time. I am jittery and nervous. I can feel my whole body; the blood moves in my veins, the electricity in my brain fires. My muscles shaking. I am alert and aware of all sounds and movements. I cannot rest.
Eventually, I pray that exhaustion will take over, because feeling like this is unbearable. It is at these moments I find myself fantasizing about death, anything to make these feelings STOP! But my fear of death stops me from really carrying out any plan. I wonder if there will be a day that the desire for the feelings to stop will finally overtake my fear of death - this thought makes me scared and sad.
I am trapped in this ball of anxiety, fear, dread. Trapped & tortured.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Afraid of the Dark
When the lights turned out last night, I started crying. I am afraid of the dark, but the person with whom I was sharing space with does not sleep with lights on, and he has already been accommodating by agreeing to let me keep a fan running (I also cannot, let me repeat, cannot sleep in silence). The lights went out, and I closed my eyes, because for some reason if I close my eyes tight, it doesn't feel as scary. Then I started crying.
I believe there has got to be something symbolic about me feeling safer while closing my eyes while it's pitch black. It makes no logical sense - it's just as dark. But for some reason, in my child brain, if I don't see the monsters, then they aren't there. My grown-up brain knows better.
If I don't open my eyes and face what is in front of me, then I will be stuck with my eyes closed forever. I won't be able to see the sun come up. I know this. But for the time being, I just can't seem to open my eyes long enough to let them adjust to the loss of light. I cried more.
How does one keep their eyes open long enough to adjust when it is so scary? I am afraid I am going to explode with grief. Like there is just too much to face - it feels better under the covers with my eyes closed tightly, body clenched, and breath held. Dearest reader, do we ever grow up? Are we ever without fear?
I think I'll go back under the covers for a while.
I believe there has got to be something symbolic about me feeling safer while closing my eyes while it's pitch black. It makes no logical sense - it's just as dark. But for some reason, in my child brain, if I don't see the monsters, then they aren't there. My grown-up brain knows better.
If I don't open my eyes and face what is in front of me, then I will be stuck with my eyes closed forever. I won't be able to see the sun come up. I know this. But for the time being, I just can't seem to open my eyes long enough to let them adjust to the loss of light. I cried more.
How does one keep their eyes open long enough to adjust when it is so scary? I am afraid I am going to explode with grief. Like there is just too much to face - it feels better under the covers with my eyes closed tightly, body clenched, and breath held. Dearest reader, do we ever grow up? Are we ever without fear?
I think I'll go back under the covers for a while.
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