This is the part I haven’t worked out yet.

I know I need to go back to therapy, but my insurance has more or less sucked, and I’ve been avoiding it, which is always the first and best choice that we depressed alcoholics should make. STUFF THE EMOTIONS, I SAY!! Today was difficult for me, body-wise.

In Moscow, I finally realized why I was pretty much in a panic about people being in my personal space, and it’s because my dad and one of my aunts frequently talked about my body and sexualized me at a very young age. I was about 8-10 years old when my dad made his first comments about my “curves” and how much hair was on my legs. I remember him touching my thigh a couple of times and leaving his hand there while we were watching t.v. I also remember wanting to crawl out of my skin more and more as I grew older. I remember not wanting to have anyone over to our house anymore because I was worried about what he would say.

My aunt started talking about the size of my chest as soon as I developed the tiniest bit. As an adult, I went down to southern Illinois to see her and brought a friend with me. I had started running at that point, and lost a decent amount of weight, and as soon as she got slightly drunk, she told my friend that, “Sally has lost her boobies.” I don’t even remember why the hell she said it. I don’t remember what we were talking about. I only remember how humiliating that was, and that it brought back a flood of memories that I had apparently been saving for a rainy day. She then proceeded to do what a great manipulator does, and blamed me for taking offense at her words.

What this comes down to today and in the last few years, is that while I really like my body, and I’m somewhat comfortable in my own skin, I still freak the fuck out when people get too close to me, and when groups of men stare at me. I wish I could conquer this, but I don’t have the tools right now. I know so much about how to deal with my other stuff, but I don’t have any idea how to desensitize myself to some of this. I will turn and go down an entirely different street if it’s break time for all the construction workers and they are all sitting next to the sidewalk, or taking naps in the grass.

The other side of this is that I feel pure rage toward a patriarchal society that tells me this shit is supposed to be something I just have to deal with. That’s a load of bullshit, and I’m tired of dealing with people who are so fucking stupid that they think treating my body like a public object is okay. Then to TOUCH ME???? I just can’t hack it. Today was one of those days. I hit a step before blinding rage on the walk in to work today, and it got better, then worse for the rest of the day. Since I cannot turn my skin inside out, this is part of my life and my world and I RESENT AND DESPISE EVERY LAST SECOND I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH IT. Every. last. second.

That’s how I’ve been feeling lately, and I don’t think this is the last obstacle I have to get through before I can truly heal myself, but it’s gonna be a big hurdle cleared once I get my heart and head wrapped around this issue. 

I’m so fucking tired.

Word of the day: debilitated


About Sally

It's all about me. ALL OF IT. ABOUT ME.
This entry was posted in Anecdotes and Observations, I Call Bullshit, The Crazy, Then there was The Word, and The Word was good.. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to This is the part I haven’t worked out yet.

  1. I hear you, girl. I wish I had something magical that would help you instantly heal. I really do.

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