Rough Draft***** The Rapist
In class we were learning about wound debridement — — the process of scraping away at the necrotic tissue and bacterial layer that forms over a wound and conceals it, and exposing the red and raw layer that lay beneath with sharp scissors, forceps or a scalpel.
But all I could think about was whether or not I was in an abusive relationship, not the kind where you get hit or feel like you have to learn how to fight back but the kind where you play games with each other until someone gets hurt, as well as other destructive properties masked by a night of volcanic sex and copious amounts of alcohol. Because, after all, alcohol is a solution.
My thoughts about my acquired taste for the sadistic man and the chemistry that often accompanied him changed over night. After months of defending our relationship to non-believers like Blanche, and winning, God finally came down and shook me awake.
For so long I argued that my family and I, God and I, and even my current employer and I have had a turbulent relationship with destructive properties that are quick indications that one should give up and get out. If using the same arguments against Michael, then my antagonists could have easily argued that I should have been an emancipated minor, an atheist and put my two week notice in for working at the Peace Corps. And I told them, if I have to take the exact same kind of behavior from those three sectors in my life, there is, to me, no reason I should have to give up Michael or that Michael should be viewed as negativity in my life when all in all, they were exactly equal. Touché Blanche and her alpha female friends would say to me.
Except, it all came undone before my eyes. After a few epiphanies and my wounds still open from my recent session in Michael’s Red Room of Pain I realized — God, my family and my employer may have caused me pain but there was ample let up if I really thought about it. Michael, on the other hand was relentless with inflicting pain, very natural for a sadist. But even sadists knew when to stop and it seemed like he wasn’t ever going to, even if I said my safe word.
I gave in.
“This sounds silly when I say it out loud and I’m almost too shy to say this to you” I began.
My therapist leaned her head to the side and said
“You’re in a safe environment and have no reason to feel ashamed to open up to me about anything”
My therapist was a God send and I knew my worst fears would be confirmed if the bottom line was I couldn’t open up to her about my relationship.
I began telling her about my relationship.
“I’m into……being….submissive”.
That statement was awkward and I was embarrassed to say it out loud to her because submissive almost always translated into being a doormat or being a bitch (a cute dog) or someone who couldn’t function on their own and they needed additional help.
No judgement from my therapist but still I didn’t look at her for a good five minutes.
I told her everything that Michael and I did and even though I didn’t want to admit that they did, I had to name all the times he hurt me for the sake of discovering whether this was love or destruction.
Well, why not start going after guys that are different?
You see, I’ve tried that and they just don’t do it for me. The chemistry is lacking, I lack interest. This is all my fault isn’t it.
She laughed.
It’s perfectly normal to have a type that you’re used to ….I was merely suggesting that since those kinds of relationships have been unsuccessful to try something else.
The thing is her and I both knew what the problem was long before I came to see her. There was no sugar coating it. I loved being abused. I was a masochist. And here she was telling me exactly why I avoided bringing this up in our sessions. The good guy just doesn’t make me come as hard as guys like Michael. Scratch that — -no one’s made me feel as good as Michael has but no one has ever hurt me as much either. He was a seasoned sadist and he hunted for sport. Making chicks come undone was an everyday occurrence for him. He subscribed to the practice, read all books by Neil Strauss, starting with The Game. The words were his creed. I remember being scared when I found out what his hobby was
What do you mean, you hunt?
My therapy session triggered this memory and all sorts of other memories. Things about Michael that he did to hurt me and suddenly it was all I could focus on. I told her that Michael was a little on the possessive side and kind of jealous and that I believed his punishments for me had merely transcended from his insecurity of my past. In the past I was an exotic dancer at one of the hottest clubs in San Francisco and I had been married twice. To him I was a prostitute.
I grew up really poor and a lot of those nights I were not the glamorized nights depicted on T.V. and movies. It was true I had about 3 serious relationships but they were all mistakes. Yet I was taking the most brutal of punishments. And I endured them with joy until I could only focus on the pain.
It seems that he is wrongfully punishing you for your past.
I know but I honestly don’t care. It’s almost as if I want to be punished for my past. I want to prove that if only I had waited for him, he wouldn’t doubt how much he meant to me, which is the worst pain of all.
His past doesn’t concern you
I then told her how I had become fixated on his past and upset about some things and his practices. And that I truly believed that the past of someone didn’t matter, only the present did but I had become so overwhelmed with his past I saw what he saw. I saw the amount of pain he was dealing with and I saw how and why he punished me. I was in so much pain, it was my turn.
I’m in an abusive relationship and I want it to be over. I am going to end it.
