What’s rape got to do with love?

Some time ago I told y’all that I was going through some things, failing to ID myself post-rape because I don’t want to feel defeated but I also can’t act like nothing happened. I should’ve titled it “What now” but I didn’t. Anyway, read it here.

Yesterday, I was thinking about this lonely feeling I have sometimes, a gap that requires some kind of romantic companionship with someone who’ll be the same person to fill that gap when it grows again. But the girl don’t play that, and I’ll explain to you how the first man who raped me has contributed to this.

This person who loved me until I was out of my teenage years raped me.

It’s obvious that when he raped me, he was not doing it to rekindle our long discarded love affair, nor was he doing it because he missed making love to me. (I used to tell myself that he did it because he wanted to remind me of how much we love(d) each other. It didn’t make sense that he raped me, I loved him.) He did it because he wanted to make me feel like trash.

I wonder now, and on other days when I think about him/it, if there ever was a time when he did love me. Rape is evil, disgusting, and dirty. I don’t think you can give such a horrid experience to someone you love.

Yeah, so what does he have to do with my decision to never be “loved” by a man-person?

  1. I don’t think men are capable of love.

This conclusion is based on that experience, and other encounters with people who raped me, and with man-“friends” who ill-treated me after I refused to fuck them. 

Also based on the news of men who rape their own children, beat their wives, ill-treat their family members and attack stranger-women every day, everywhere over anything.

  1. I am a cishet woman, so I am going to be lonely forever and ever.

The only people I trust, and believe can love honestly are the same people I’m not romantically attracted to. I will never have a happily ever after and I’m going to die alone because I would rather be lonely than let man sneak his evil ass into my life and try to kill me when he’s satisfied that I have served my purpose I his life. Shonda said it, “I don’t want a husband in my house.”

  1. I hate men.

Men are evil, disgusting, selfish, untrustworthy and full of shit. I hate them. Their whole existence is an inconvenience to me and I wish they would all die so that we start afresh and raise boys properly.

So yeah, I guess the people who raped me won. If they wanted no one else to ever love me, they win. They’ve ruined my life.

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Open Letter to my Broken Heart

I don’t think my lovers “loved” me but I felt sane with them. My desire to control everything, or at least have clearly defined boundaries (albeit unspoken) was satisfied by them. I knew exactly what it was and what it wasn’t. I knew that my menstrual sadness could be dumped on them when they brought me pain pills and delicious food. I knew what it was and what it wasn’t. It was everything, except the one I can’t identify. (Does it really exist?)

They always dump me, my boyfriends (we call them ‘Him’ now). I will never be the one to call it off because I will not be the one who was wronged, or the one who couldn’t let go of what somebody else had done. I will not be the one who is afraid of it.

I will never call it off. He will. He did. He always does. Because he still wants to pretend after I’ve told him from the very beginning that I am something wrong, there is nothing wrong with me.

This love thing, the commitment. I can’t say what it is or what it isn’t. I don’t know if there are lines to draw or where I would draw them. I can’t stand not knowing what it is, once in a while curiosity (or FOMO) gets to me and I think to myself, “Maybe I will figure it out when I’m in it” but… Nothing. I try, always the same me but a different him and all of them want something (not sex, you who is ready to label me a whore) I don’t know.

Let me be the one who wronged him. Let me remind him of all the things done wrong to him by someone else before. He will be the one who is afraid of it.

He will call it off.

I didn’t want to be the one who gave up so I sacrificed you in an unfruitful quest to figure it out, this love thing. The commitment. What is it? I don’t know but I do know that I always do it wrong.

My dear Broken Heart, I am sorry that I wasted your wholeness on something I don’t know how to do. 

He opened his hand and he touched me on my face. On the same place he used to touch when he said I was beautiful. He touched me on my face on the very same cheeks his used to kiss and he hit me. Three times.

Three times across my face he wiped away his gentle touch, he hit me. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel it. I was numb. I had an out of body experience when he did that I didn’t feel it he hit somebody else. I cam to tell him that now, finally, now that we both knew that we’d both been bad I could talk to him, like normal people. I could finally talk to him and he didn’t want to listen? WHY WON’T HE LISTEN WHY WON’T HE LISTEN I CAN FINALLY TALK TO HIM HE WILL LISTEN, TO ME.

Like normal people.

I can talk to him now.

He used to touch me everywhere. On my forehead, on my cheeks, on the backs of my neck and my knees. He used to poke and squeeze the bulges on my belly, and he told me that I deserved to be loved all over by any one who wanted to feel me. He taught me that I am beautiful, and wrote it everywhere he touched me but then he folded that same hand and shut my eye with a blue & black manifestation of his hatred. I didn’t feel it. I saw him hit someone but it wasn’t me. He was angry at the world and I was his world but it wasn’t me who’s face his fist landed on. He didn’t.

He did, and I healed but he’d shut my eye so I was to never see him again.

SADE – The Love of my Life

For Day 7 of the Writer’s Boot Camp we were prompted to write about an art(iste) who inspires self. I have three words for you: Helen Folasade Adu

I think my introduction should be who she is, what she does & why she does it before I tell you why she inspires me. She is the leader of a band named after her – Sade – a jazz band whose music is so soulful in lyric & instruments. When a Sade song is flowing through the speakers you have to sit still & feel your soul dancing in every inch of your body.. You have to experience it.
I fell in-love with the band when my heart broke, (I was 16y/o and completely sure that he & I were to spend the rest of our lives together). The theme song to my heartache is Is it a Crime
I played this song over & over & over for almost two years while I struggled to figure out why I was so bad and why I loved him despite his being so unkind, and cruel to me. Until this one day when I started to sing-a-long the way I always did, in tears, but the tears didn’t fall. I was over it. My heart was mended.

SADE MENDED MY HEART.

They became my Soulmate. I found a new love who would never let me down.

During the two years that my heart was being repaired by her soul & the jazz band, I discovered more & more of their music. My heart only grew bigger, I needed more love to pour out of me for the sake of loving them enough. I looked her up on the internet, the gorgeous Helen – I see her alone as Helen, something about the name matches her face so well – to find a lengthy interview where she would pour her heart out and tell me why she knows my pain so well.
The longest one I found is about 21 minutes long and she is in it more than what I could’ve imagined her to be. Her energy is serenity. She is peace. She is Sade. MY favorite thing she said in this interview, and when she said it she said this directly to my heart – “…No, never give up on Love…”
Sade inspired me to believe in love. After she said that I stopped thinking of Love as related only to romance or sex, Love means so much more than that to me. Love means appreciating anything which makes my heart want to grow bigger, to create more heart-space to let love in.

I’m kind enough to share this interview with you.

As she sang in Hang on to Your Love:
“So if you want it to get stronger you gotta not let go/
You gotta hold on longer if you want your love to grow”