One From the Vaults...

The other day I was looking through an old spiral notebook for a clean piece of paper to make myself a study schedule for finals week. I stumbled upon this, written 2 December 2008, after a particularly difficult few weeks. It is called "Clarity, or the Celibate Life."

I'm having trouble deciding where to start this. As the Mad Hatter says, "Start at the beginning, and when you get to the end...stop." There is no actual beginning, this is only a snapshot, one small story out of a lifetime of abuse, self-inflicted and otherwise.
A few weeks ago someone I cared for very much broke my heart. I don't know if he intended to hurt me like that, but he did. He made me feel used, worthless, disgusting, like a mangy little whore. I told him this, and he got very upset and emotional and apologized profusely, but the damage had been done. He lied to me for over a month, and my trust, being a fragile little thing, was broken.
As soon as I told him he had made me feel like a whore, I realized this was not the first time. This was but the latest in a long line of unhealthy relationships I've had with men. I have known very few men who have not made me feel like all I am good for is sex, and this sudden realization made me very angry. At first I tried very hard to be pissed at this latest guy, to blame him for the whole thing, but this effort was short lived.
A couple days after our last conversation, which I now refer to as the Day My Leaf Collection and My Life Fell Apart, something happened that helped open my eyes to a self-destructive pattern I've been perpetuating for half of my life. I was at school talking to some of my fellow NRWT students after class, and I let slip to one of them that I am "easy." Moments later I went to my car and cried because I was so embarrassed. I heard a voice in my head say, "If you don't want to be treated like a whore, stop acting like one." I didn't think about it too much at the time because my Dendrology notebook was due the next day, but I had done the same thing to the New Guy, the one who had recently broken my heart. Backtrack to the end of September, I told him the easiest, most effective way to get me into bed, so it is small wonder that he used this exact method only a few days later to do just that.
Now, I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not view myself as a victim. This isn't a "poor me, feel sorry for me" kind of thing. My purpose for writing this is to explore my own self-abuse and to accept responsibility for my actions so that hopefully I can begin to heal. These men are not all bad men. Some of them are good men. But I seek out unhealthy and/or inappropriate relationships, and this is what needs to stop.
Anywho, the next day I had craniosachral therapy. Early in the session my therapist, Carla, asked what needed work. I said my heart. As soon as she put her hands near my heart, I had an outburst. It wasn't a thought first followed by speech, it was like something had been stuck and exploded out of me as soon as it was unstuck. As soon as I said it, I felt this horrible tightness in my chest melt away. "The reason men treat me like all I'm good for is sex is because that's how I feel about myself." That's what I said, and Carla, who always knows the best thing to say, said, "Whoa! That was a big one!"
It was a big one, indeed, but how big I didn't realize for a couple more days. That Sunday, I was home alone, bedridden with a horrible toothache, and I started pondering this revelation. It occurred to me that it was a very true statement. I know logically I have so much more to offer than sex. My awesomeness knows no bounds. Yet I thought back over my life and time after time sex was either the first, or most often, the only thing I gave. Clearly there is a huge disconnect somewhere between what I know to be true and how I act. How can I know I am one thing and allow myself to be treated like something else entirely? A better question is how can I repair this? How do I reconnect the dots of something that has been broken since before I can remember?
Honestly, I don't know how, but I do know it's possible. As my craniosachral therapist and my mother say, if I've been through everything I've been through and I'm not broken yet, nothing will ever break me. I'm stronger than I give myself credit for and I have some good ideas about how to start. The only way out is through, and I know I can fix this.

So there you go. I don't remember writing it, but it's pretty awesome.