A #SurvivorStory by Merry Teresa O’Leary
Today’s post is about (surprise) abuse, an ongoing theme of mine.
But this particular topic of abuse is of the sexual nature. (Trigger warning is in full effect.)
Receiving the divorce papers a few days ago triggered the holy hell out of me. It brought back a nasty secret that I had planned on taking to my grave. I’ve now told 4 people who I trust to keep it to themselves.
Sharing it felt like expelling a demon from my heart and soul, finally not only just my burden to bear. (I am sorry, but I am unable to write it out here, it’s rather horrific.)
I lay awake at night and go back in time, to specific incidents that foretold the future. I was always reassured that it didn’t happen at all (gaslighting) to it not being a big deal, I was just making a mountain out of a molehill (manipulation.)
He did have numerous dalliances with other females during the course of our 15 year relationship, before marriage and then afterwards. I’d just take my giant broom and sweep it under the rug. (Getting awfully dusty in here, cough, cough.)
Like the time his cellphone buzzed off of the dresser and I picked it up only to see a message from someone named Kathy *not real name*. She missed him, when could she see him again?
“Who the fuck is Kathy?” I had screamed, while I threw his cell at him as he snoozed on the couch.
Oh, she was just a smitten groupie fan of his band at the time, nothing to get my panties in a twist about.
It became some sort of an inside joke between us, because the idea that he would ever do something like that to me was unthinkable.
The sexual harassment allegation against him when we worked at the same company, but in different departments. The girl was hitting on him, I mean, everybody knew that Lynne *not real name* was always trying to sleep with the few men who were employed there, bending over on purpose to show her cleavage and g-string. What a total lying slut she was, he wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole in fear of catching herpes.
I believed him.
All of the times when he’d never come home until the next day and then act like I was being unreasonable when I got upset. He didn’t owe me anything, we weren’t even married. He was just partying with his buddies, calm the fuck down and leave him alone.
He would log off of the computer as soon as I walked into the room, looking at me defensively like he was just waiting for me to say something.
The porn (fellatio mostly) addiction that he had, downloading a slew of them onto his computer and watching them right in front of me in the living room, my daughter oftentimes right upstairs.
His inability to go even an hour without making some sort of sexual innuendo. (Yet another joke, I timed him once. He lasted less than 15 minutes.)
Oh, that perverted man of mine!
Picking up a hooker on the video game Grand Theft Auto and then killing her so that he could get his virtual money back.
Bringing me coffee in bed and in return expecting oral sex. (Coffee and a blow-job, he called it.) If I wasn’t in the mood, he’d get all pissed off and annoyed.
His continuous need for me to tell him that he had the absolute best penis ever, even going as far as spending money on male enhancement products that I’d admonish wasn’t necessary.
It’s no wonder that I now have genophobia, which is seeping into my current relationship. It had started long ago with my daughters father, only to be sharpened by him like an arrow.
My boyfriend is careful not to use overtly carnal terms for anything pertaining to sex, but sometimes he’ll slip and unintentionally trigger a panic attack.
I’ll shut down completely and then cry my eyes out.
And honestly…I absolutely despise oral sex, giving and receiving.
How do I explain that to my boyfriend?
I avoid it as long as possible and then I put on my mask, inwardly cringing and waiting for it to end.