I have had this happen before. More than once, is all that I will say. I call it “heart-raped”, because it is the only term I can come up with that explains how it feels to have my heart, my emotions, so violently violated. When someone comes along, who, in the beginning appears to be everything and everyone I’ve been waiting for, and, upon finding out this fact, begins the process of such a violation, it happens so insidiously one is barely aware of it, until it’s too late, and you find that, you have indeed, been heart-raped.
I swore that I would never, ever allow myself to be violated so sadistically again, after the last time. My lover/Master of 4 years, in whom I had invested so much of myself that I became hopelessly addicted to him, raped my heart visciously, over and over again. It was akin to being thrown into a garbage can, and the can became more full of garbage with each time, until I would become wretchedly sick, towards the end of things, until there was just no more room, for any more pain. There was nothing left of “me”. I was gone, my soul sucked dry, by an emotional vampire, taking from me, what he needed to feed his own narcisstic ego, ever using me as his “donor” to deliver to him doses of power, which, of course, were superficial and false, as they did not come from within himself. People like this, are just too fucking lazy to generate their own, so they continuously take from others, what they cannot, or rather, will not manufacture for themselves.
I would take a physical beating any day, over this kind of abuse. It would be far less painful, and much quicker to heal. I have come to realize, that I was programmed, early in my life, to accept lies, belittlement and depreciation, as ‘normal’. It is not, and somewhere deep inside we inherently know this, but draw those who will most likely treat us this way, nevertheless, becoming magnets for these parasites.
For as long as I can remember, my uncle, who was my favorite aunt’s husband, molested me everytime he got anywhere near me, and the backs of my parents and any others around, were turned, even momentarily. This bastard had his hands up my shirt and/or down my pants at every opportunity, and when I was about 11 years old, I began to feel physically ill everytime he was around. I finally told my mother, who was clueless, when during one of their visits to our house, I was so fearful of him that I had barracaded myself in my room, by pushing a heavy dresser in front of my door, to keep him out. To this day, I don’t know how in the hell I did it, for it was a very heavy piece of furniture, but that’s how determined I was that he would keep his fucking hands off me. When my mother tried to open my door, and upon finding it blocked, demanded I let her in. I used all the strength I had in my little body, to push that dresser back and let her in. Of course, she wanted to know why I had done such a thing, as our house was an “open-door” home. She sat on my bed with me, and I poured it all out, every bit of it, letting her know just what this pedophile had been up to for all these years, literally all of my life. I remember crying and crying, I could not stop, as I finally got this out.
I remember feeling so scared, after all was said, because my father was well-known for having a “black rage” temper, which is what the Irish call this state, where someone goes so ballistic with rage, they just “black out” and usually don’t even remember whatever damage they’ve done until long after the episode and someone tells them. I thought that for sure, within the next few minutes, my uncle would be beaten to death, when my mother told my father of this.
Strangely, to me, at least, nothing happened. I was so confused by this I didn’t know what to do, and wondered why my mother had not told my father. I just did not understand why. (to be continued…)
