what I realized

This is what I realized, asking my spouse to stuff my holes like the slut I am, every time I complained about emotional pain from loving a man who didn’t love me and choose me.  Mostly what I realized was something sad.  Pleasing others is how I get a sense of self-worth, and that was formed in me at a very young age through violence.

This is part two of how to comfort a slut.

like me

I really want to be liked–I think it will help keep me safe.  In the past I’ve contorted myself, as I attempt to be liked.  But that doesn’t even work.  You can give, offer, show up, act extroverted, listen, touch, try to be easy, and suck dick very attentively and skillfully.

Doesn’t matter.  Someone will like you however much they do or don’t.  It has more to do with their issues, trauma, values, prejudices, fantasies, and needs being met than anything else.  It’s not about you at all.

Most people are not engaging the actual other person very much–most people are projecting onto one another 23-7.  Sad but true.

content warning: abuse of child self

When I was young, my caretakers were not skilled, stable, attentive, mature adults who knew how to care for the needs of a child.  They were addicts and / or had been abused horrifically for a long time by addicts.  They couldn’t even care for themselves.  Emotionally, they were toast.

They were unready for an energetic, moody, super languagey disabled child who needed a lot.  So they abused me.

I tried all sorts of ways to turn myself down, in order to receive less attention and less harm.  As a teenager, I was just absent.  As a younger kid, I still needed to be fed and clothed, and before that, to have my diaper changed.  So I needed to show up.

content warning: sexual violation of child self

One of the more horrific ways I was abused was sexually.  In those situations, what could I do, as a small person with very little power?  I could go along with what was expected of me, or I could resist.  If I resisted, the violence would escalate.

Going along with intense violation in order to receive less harm and maintain the support of my caregivers, became a way of being.  It’s chilling to realize how the violated little kid is still here inside me.  A lot of what I do socially, trying to be safe by being liked, is a survival strategy developed long ago by my inner two year old.

Some call it fawning or people pleasing.  Some could say it was manipulative.  Those sound so judgmental–I don’t want to insult myself for brilliant efforts that helped me survive.  How about autistic masking?  We do a lot of weird things to keep getting our needs met, when we’re powerlessly trapped as children.

These days I’m not in the same kinds of danger and don’t need those strategies.  But it’s a lot of work to even see the strategies, let alone show them the door.  What’s part of me, and what’s optional?  What’s central, and what could be shed?

in bed

In bed with my spouse, I often want to be a good girl and a good slut.  Usually it’s playful, hot, lighthearted–a fun bit of conversation with mild power play, during a scene of erotic action.

Topping from the bottom, I ask my spouse to shove his dick further down my throat, for example.  If I suck his dick skillfully, then I’m a good slut, which is my goal.  It’s a pleasure.

But asking to be used for my holes while I was very sadly feeling rejected by a man I loved and wanted, there was a whole other mood I was coming from.  When I asked, “Do you like me?” and if I was a good girl, I wasn’t playing.  It was a pained, weepy ask.  Too much hinged on it.

what I realized

I had lost my own sense of self-worth.  Yikes.  I was honestly checking in about whether I am a good girl.

Yes, inside I was a little kid again, unsafe and panicking to get my needs met.  Looking for safety like a dope fiend searching for drugs.  That’s what I realized.  My early violation is still partly ruling my social interactions, and I don’t want it to.

I whore in the alley for a fix of safety.  I’m sorry it’s true.  I wish safety wasn’t so hard to come by.