AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH
Screams so very, so very loudly because it is SO awkward to talk about (eeeeeeww) romance/boys/whatever publicly. It’s not something I was in the habit of doing (and don’t plan on getting in the actual real habit of doing, in real life, for a long period of time), but I feel it’s relevant to the whole story of how sexual assault has affected me. So, I’m sharing it here…
I talked about how it affected my closest relationship, my acquaintance-ships, and today, I’m talking about how it affected romantic relationships – not sex (that’s a topic for another post), but the actual like relationship-y date-type stuff.
Soon after being assaulted, I met a really cool guy. He was practically the opposite of sexual assault guy. He was a super feminist (even more so than some women I know, including me (and he never had to brag about it, I just saw it in him)). And I really, really appreciated that.
He was super kind, and thoughtful, and present, and respectful, and just generally great – like, really great.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think even under ideal circumstances that we would’ve been together forever. I don’t know that we have quite enough in common, or that we’re just generally compatible enough to have lasted for a long time, which is fine.
But it was, nonetheless, a bummer that I couldn’t even handle kinda, I guess, dating him or whatever… I cried during sex I think basically every single time. (I know this post isn’t about sex, but that’s a big, glaring, specific, physical reason you can imagine, that helps you to know, “Oh goodness gracious, she was far too much of a mess for this.”)
And even through that, he was very patient, kind, and wonderful… Yet, still, I just couldn’t get it together, and I was on edge nearly all of the time.
And it didn’t work out.
And then, if you can actually believe lightening could strike twice… a few months later, I met…. Oh goodness, if you looked up “perfect man” in the dictionary, his picture would be there.
He was hilaaaaarious. He was suuuuuuuuuper kind. He was soooo thoughtful. He was an amazing listener. He was fun as all get out. I mean, I don’t know that it can really get much better than him.
And yet again, I was still just too much of a mess. I couldn’t handle kinda dating him either.
And of course I don’t know if he would’ve been “the one” (or if I really even believe in “the one”). But it just ended so much quicker than I imagined, and than I wanted, really. I didn’t even get the chance to find out if it could’ve been something more, because I couldn’t handle a barely something.
And I think that’s one of the things that’s upsetting – is that it ended before it really felt like it could’ve, or should’ve… I’ve had potentially good relationships come to an end before… Mainly because, well, there was that guy who really wanted kids… Or there was that lovely man who really wanted kids… (Seemingly ever man on earth wants kids yesterday. (I know that can’t really true, but goodness it seems that way sometimes!))
I’m used to, at the end of relationships, knowing they played their course, and we had fun, and there’s not necessarily anything intrinsically wrong with either of us… It just is what it is. We’re not compatible enough for each other.
But this – this not being able to have even a casual relationship with a prince (twice! – two different possible princes) because there is something now intrinsically wrong with me – because I can’t trust, I can’t be touched, etc. etc. (not even just physical stuff, but like, being uneasy on all levels)… It is devastating. It is devastating, both because I’m missing out on potentially lovely relationships, and also because I’m embarrassed.
I’m embarrassed about this basically trail of carnage I’m leaving behind of these super failed relationships.
I’m pretty certain if you talked to the guy I kinda dated some years ago in Los Angeles, he’d probably be like, “Yeah, Aurora’s great. I had a really good time with her. We still talk occasionally, and it’s nice to keep up a bit with what she’s up to.” (And of course, I’d be like, “Oh, he was so wonderful. I even still have that nice watch he gave me! I’m so happy he found what he was looking for.” [He has a kid now, and seems very happy. And I’m very happy for him.])
But if you asked these princes from last year what they thought of me…. I mean, they’re so lovely and respectful, that they actually probably wouldn’t say anything even a quarter-mean out loud, but they would have every right to be like, “She was a mess. She cried all the time. She couldn’t get her life together. She was a total mess, a crazy person.” [I mean, it’s always mean and not cool to call anyone a “crazy person,” but tbh, if there was every a time to justify it, I think they maybe could, with how much I cried and had a hard time doing any normal human functioning.]
And I don’t like feeling that way at all. It’s an awful, terrible feeling to feel like the reason I will never be able to have an even semi-successful relationship again is because there is something intrinsically wrong with me. It’s not that we’re two good people who happen to want different things – it’s that there is something wrong with me.
And I hate that. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way it must make those guys feel who’ve been with me. I just hate it all.
[*Sigh*]
[This is a post from the sexual assault series.]