Was very close to shattering all of the dishes in the cupboard last night and gluing the shards to pieces of cardboard in the shapes of obscene words and images of genitals.
Peter and I spoke on instant-messanger last night. He asked me never to write about him in this journal. I asked him never to be present in Java Joe's while I am at work. I said, "you don't belong there." He said, "It is a restaurant like any other, and I belong there as I belong in any other restaurant." I do not make bargains like this. I will write about anything I damned well please. But he does NOT belong in Java's. Java's is MY family, and I'll not have it compromised by his witty little comments to my co-workers, and that sweet, hungry face of his staring over the counter -- hungry like an animal after a long hibernation... hungry like "what's yours will be mine..." hungry like... the wolf? Hmm...
The Java Crew invited me along for a social gathering the other night. I was beyond honored, especially knowing that two members of the staff were specifically excluded. Yes, I'm one of the elite -- I am part of the Java Crew. So we went to Lost Dog Café (*shudder* I felt as though I was spitting on the Pope or something), and we talked about things you can't really talk about while you're serving a lawyer a muffin: LSD, suicide attempts, psychos, parties, beatings, abuse... And we were... family. Yes, it sounds horribly cliché, but we all fit together, and we were all welcomed and respected. And that's rare, especially for people with widely varying backgrounds and interests.
A few days ago, the daughter of the owners was discussing Java-finances, and said something like, "And I don't mean this to sound stuck-up, but I mean, [she's] stealing from MY FAMILY." And I said, "Mine too." And she smiled. I was very happy.
I would like to talk about the issue of "force."
Force. n. [ME, fors, force < L. fortis, strong; see FORT], 1. Strength; energy; vigor; power. 2. The intensity of power: as, the force of the blow knocked him down. 3. physical power or strength exerted against a person or thing, as, he used force in opening the door. 4. The power to control, persuade, influence, etc. .....
One would think that when one is told something like, "I wanted to stop having sex with you months before, and you wouldn't let me," it implies some kind of force, illustrated in definitions 3 and 4 in the above. (Also included in the definition was "rape," but I got tired of typing dictionary stuff... Just be aware that that's in there...)
I said, to the above statement, "I never forced you."
And he said, "You made me sleep next to you every night knowing what you would do."
I didn't say anything.
I just couldn't say anything.
I just made myself remember...
I remember nights when he'd get angry at me, and I wouldn't know why, and he'd yell and call me "clingy," and we'd fight, and I'd go to bed upset and angry... And I'd be unable to fall asleep... And all I wanted in the world was to wrap my arms around him, so that, even though I was upset and confused, I could at least keep the bad stuff from solidifying... Maybe in the morning it would all be washed off. Maybe in the morning it would all still be there, but at least I wouldn't wake up even angrier.
I remember saying, "I need you." I remember saying, "please." I remember him being exasperated and getting more angry. I remember crying. I remember thinking I was too revolting for him to touch. I wanted him to tell me that wasn't true. He never told me that.
I remember lying in bed with him in the dark. I remember snuggling into his back and laying my head right between his shoulders. I remember kissing him right there on his spine, just once, and closing my eyes to wait for sleep. I remember waking up three or four times in the night, my anger gone, and maybe snuggling a little closer, or kissing his shoulder, or petting the soft part of his stomach. I remember sometimes he'd hit me when I'd touch him. I think he was asleep most or all of the times he hit me, but I was never sure.
I remember that sometimes I would wake up and be very turned on. Sometimes I kissed him a little, or touched him to see if he'd wake up. I remember sometimes I'd wake up and he would be the one touching me. I remember sometimes we'd both wake up and we'd have sex without kissing. I would lean in to kiss him and he'd move away. It felt so dirty. Sex without kissing is like swimming without water. (I think I stole that from somewhere... Probably a Tom Robbins book.) I remember getting up and sitting on the backporch crying afterwards because I felt so used, and so much like a user. I remember thinking that we didn't even really love each other; maybe we even hated each other; we were just trying to get off. I remember him rolling over and not letting me touch him afterwards.
I remember him telling Nathan I molested him. But I hadn't. I didn't THINK I had. I didn't think we'd had anything more than a fuck that night -- we barely touched. But at least I thought it was consensual.
And then, remembering everything, I started doubting myself. Doubting EVERYTHING. What if, all of those times, he really wanted to say, "get the hell away from me," and didn't? What if, all of this time, I "MADE" him have sex with me when he truly didn't want to? What if, from the very beginning, I'd been seducing him like everybody seemed to think anyway?
And what if I've done that to other people...?
That was when I burst into tears. I've had six lovers in my life. What if none of them really wanted to have sex with me? What if I FORCED them? What if I somehow made them do it? I mean, I'm small; I couldn't physically restrain ANYBODY. But what if, every time I wanted someone, everytime I found someone sexually attractive, I was putting this curse on them, and it was a restraint anyway? So that they couldn't say no, and they couldn't push me away? So that they felt bad for me; so they pity-fucked me and then were disgusted with the whole thing? What if I'm some kind of evil temptress? What if I'm a rapist?
And for the first time in months, I thought, "I want to die."
I remember the first time Peter told me he didn't want to have sex with me, never really wanted to have sex with me to begin with... I walked four miles in the middle of a highway during a snowstorm. I thought, "If I don't die in the meantime, I can go to Denny's and get coffee." Coffee never tasted so foul.
I remember Erich telling people I wasn't really his girlfriend, that I just liked to hang around him, that I just liked to have sex with him. I remember Chris -- last week -- telling people he was drunk or nothing would have ever happened with me... even though he WASN'T drunk. I remember Nathan asking me if I had molested Peter. I remember Andrew lying about me. He was engaged at the time. I didn't know. I remember... "...we didn't do anything wrong..." But I wondered. I had to wonder. Because of Peter. Because Peter thought I forced him. Because Peter never wanted to have sex with me; Peter had wanted to stop having sex with me and I MADE him anyway... How many other people have I MADE do things?
"YOU MADE ME!" he'd typed in all caps.
I remember him teasing me, pointing out stray bra-straps and whispering things into my ears that he perfectly well could have said out loud. I remember him helping me take my clothes off; watching intently when I'd change for bed... But what does it matter? He didn't want sex with me, and we had it, so guess fucking what -- I'm a rapist.
"You're not a rapist," he said. "You are a shitty friend."
I wonder if he knows how I can't stop wondering now, going back years in my mind trying to figure out who came onto whom during every single encounter I've ever had. I wonder if he knows how evil I feel. I wonder if he knows I'll probably never have comfortable, secure, carefree sex ever again without tiny doubts creeping in about whether or not my partner is secretly disgusted with me. One stupid comment, and he managed to say it exactly the worst way.
Now this is ridiculous, Helena. You know DAMN well it takes two to tango -- or foxtrot, or whatever. You KNOW there were times when he came onto you. You know sometimes you weren't even quite in the mood when things happened... You know damned well he could have said no sometimes when things started getting heated up, and he never did. You know you're a puny little thing and couldn't -- and DIDN'T -- ever even think of physically restraining someone, even a skinny guy like Peter.
I've been crying for most of the morning. I'm hungry, but I haven't been able to leave the house because I look like shit and I feel like people will be looking at me. Like I've got a big orange t'shirt on that proclaims "RAPIST!" in big black letters. Or maybe the invisible orange t'shirt just says "YOU MADE ME!"
Yet again, I'm stuck in my house, scared and in a state of self-loathing.
I cannot live my life like this.
I WILL NOT live my life like this.
There are people in this world who love me and find me attractive. There ARE. People who are not ashamed of me. People who kiss me before they fuck me; people who don't tell me I used them afterwards. People who ARE NOT ASHAMED OF ME.
I'm going to Java's. MY Java's. And I am leaving Peter, and all of his words to me, outside the door; they are not welcome inside.
May the force be with you.
~Helena*
"...Usually, I just let him talk into the wind, as it were..."
"Like wind... Wind in trees..."
--a very old email discussion between David and me.