Tales of abuse lie within. If this isn’t your thing, please move along.
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11/08/2014
How do I *feel* toward him? I guess I’ll hand it to you, doc, you apparently showed up to the lesson on “using stupid questions to provoke a waterfall of twisted insanity out of people” at shrink school.
I mean, he pretty much crafted my identity for me. Without him, I probably would have done myself in before I hit teenagehood. Aside from the whole rape thing, he was the nicest person I’d ever met, and I only even recognize that “the whole rape thing” throws his kindness into question because everyone tells me so.
I know how utterly ridiculous that must sound, but just, the way he talked to me, the things he said…back then, I didn’t have any basis for comparison. I just thought that’s what it look and sounded (and felt) like when someone was nice to you. After all that happened at home, it felt so good to be wanted and loved, to have someone smile and get excited to see you, someone who actually **wanted** you around. When you come to believe that all you can do is make people hate you, you’ll run to the opportunity to make someone smile like a lemming to a cliff’s edge.
At some level, I knew it was wrong and that the things he said to me made no sense, but it was all I had. If I told anyone and got him in trouble, what was I left with? Being beaten at home? That was going to happen anyway. People say I should feel wronged, that I should be mad, that I’ve been mistreated and exploited. I *know* this, I *understand* it, but I don’t *feel* it. No one understands – I was in a place where being raped and violated was a *reprieve* from the misery. Him and eventually his friends were the only people I knew how to please. All I could do with anyone else inspire hatred and disgust. If giving up ownership of my own body was the price for acceptance and some kind of love, then that’s what it took.
He would shower me with compliments; “You’re an angel. God made you a part of this world as a source of pleasure and joy for people like me. It’s just the natural arrangement of the world; the weak serve the strong, and the strong protect the weak. Some people are made to be takers, and some are made to be givers. You’re a giver; why else would he have made you so stunningly pretty? Do you know how special you are? Do you know how happy you make people? It’s a gift. All the pain you suffer – it’s only made you stronger. It’s a test you’ve been given. And you’ve been blessed with the strength to take it in service to the joy of other people.”
He’d dress me up (and even let me pick my own clothes once he trained the right tastes into me) and stand in front of the mirror with me, one hand holding my head still to keep my gaze locked on the image of what he’d turned me into, the other hand free to touch whatever and wherever he liked. He’d say, “Look at you, you’re incredible, an inspiration. How you manage to smile through the pain and find joy purely in the joy of the people you were created to please? Do you think just anyone could do that and ask for nothing in return? It takes superhuman strength to recognize and accept that it’s your place to trade your joy to others and take their pain and suffering upon yourself. It’s why people love you; you brighten the world of everyone you touch. You’ve been given the gift of great beauty so that others might find joy simply by seeing and touching you. And for someone as young as you to understand such a thing and offer yourself as an object of pleasure to those who need it…it’s unbelievable that something as lovely as you can even exist. You’re a miracle. My miracle.”
And I swallowed every bit of it. It gave me a purpose, an identity. It made what happened at home bearable. If all that pain was just me being conditioned to bear the burden of taking the suffering of other people, then it wasn’t just meaningless hurt. It was strength.
When I matured enough to start asking things like “Why is it always over when you cum? Why don’t I get to? Why don’t you do the things to me that you make me do to you?” he didn’t get mad, he didn’t call me selfish and hit me like I had come to expect at home whenever I spoke up. He knew a much better way to shut me up. Controlling someone is much easier when you make them *take pride* in what you’ve turned them into instead of just forcing them to *endure* it. He’d explain, “Because it’s not your place to seek pleasure. Don’t you understand? The voice in you that asks these questions isn’t you. It’s a devil inside you who wants to take away what makes you so beautiful and lovable. It wants to destroy your strength and self control. Those things are what make you such an angel, because you’re able to resist the impulse for self-gratification and free yourself to serve the needs of others. Someone as selfless as you who needs nothing but to love and care for others, to be the embodiment of beauty and devotion and worship, is destined to make the world better by doing nothing but being you. You’ll understand someday how strong you are. You’ll understand the heroic strength you’ve been blessed with to be able to give up seeking your own pleasure in favour of giving it to others.”
So how do I *feel* toward him? Fuck it, for all my brain and everyone else tells me how fucked up all this is, my heart still loves him for showing me what I am and how to make people love me. Guess that’s why I’m talking to you.
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Have more. Dunno if this goes beyond what anyone out there likes to read…I don’t have the best read on what constitutes ‘normal’ limits lol
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/c2d3us/the_journal_my_psych_told_me_to_keep_reads_like
It’s a good read, but also disturbing that it’s based on true events.
You write incredibly well, so please keep it up :)
Very well written. It’s also very interesting to see from the point of view of that not many choose to explore all that much.
Damn that’s sexy!