Category Archives: Abuse

The Wizard of Oz and Other Narcissists

bookcoversmLast year, a good friend of mine talked me into buying a copy of The Wizard of Oz and Other Narcissists.  Oz isn’t a hard sell, but the idea of Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) is. The question I asked myself was, is being a jerk really a disorder? The answer, apparently, is yes.

From Wikipedia:

Symptoms of this disorder, as defined by the DSM-IV-TR include:[1]

  • Expects to be recognized as superior and special, without superior accomplishments
  • Expects constant attention, admiration and positive reinforcement from others
  • Envies others and believes others envy him/her
  • Is preoccupied with thoughts and fantasies of great success, enormous attractiveness, power, intelligence
  • Lacks the ability to empathize with the feelings or desires of others
  • Is arrogant in attitudes and behavior
  • Has expectations of special treatment that are unrealistic

As it turns out, I know a couple of people that fit this description and then some, so the book’s many suggestions for relating to, being in a relationship with, or remaining family with someone with NPD were helpful to me.

From the book:
“Your unfounded guilt can be your worst enemy, causing you to try one more time to make him happy.” “On the codependent side of the coin, many individuals in England and America were similarly blinded by their righteous attachment to their “pacifist” ideologies- to such a point that they could not recognize the inevitable danger to their own free society. Like the entrenched codependent with the NPD individual, these groups regularly called for soul searching and an ever-increasing intention to reason with Hitler, to prevent conflict.” Get your copy here.   Get your copy here.

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Deliriously Delicious Life

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You probably haven’t missed me, but if you have, you probably already know where I’ve been. If you don’t, here goes: I just got through a disgustingly expensive and time-consuming court ‘battle’ (that word came up repeatedly) over my son. This isn’t a blog where I talk about him, usually, but I figure I have to make some sort of excuse for disappearing. So that’s it. That’s my reason. I’ve had full custody since 2009, when I divorced his father; last year, I started homeschooling because my child was doing abysmally in school, and I rented a second home in his father’s neighborhood so he and the family could help me with the kiddo’s needs. That not only didn’t pan out, they ended up suing for full custody – and they lost, even though I ultimately went to court Pro se (meaning I represented myself).  He still has no custody, and he’s got a visitation arrangement that is actually less visitation than he had last year, but it cost both of us scads of money and it gave me several new gray hairs, and at one point the ex actually intended to use my blog about Loose Girl against me somehow (how?!). His family spammed my fundraising page and my friend’s blogs. His attorney made a huge issue in court about my anti-abuse pages I ‘liked’ on Facebook. And so on and so forth. There are lessons to be learned from this if you have the time or inclination (Marriage is generally a high-risk, low-reward thing, distance from exes is ALWAYS good, and if you have full custody, you have it for a reason so for Pete’s sake steer clear of asking the other parent to ‘help’ if you aren’t sure that their help will actually be helpful, etc.)  – but the biggest lesson is that if you have something to say, someone or several someones out there in the world will try to stop you from saying it. And when that happens, you have to make a choice. Your expression is your light; it is yourself. And you have to choose whether or not to let yourself be silenced, or whether to keep speaking out.

I choose to keep writing. I’m not ashamed of speaking out against abuse, writing about sexuality, or loving literature. The only thing in this  entire blog I’m ashamed of is that I have to confess to having married the sort of person I married in the first place – but life is a process, and I’ve moved on. Now that the mess is over for now, there’s a bit of PTSD, but everything is sweeter, everything is more open, and resuming real life is pretty awesome. So I can get back to the business of blogging, because I’m not ashamed of anything I have to say.

To quote Brian in Vanilla Sky, “It’s the sour and the sweet. And I know sour, which allows me to appreciate the sweet.”

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The thing that buoyed me up during court is my personal philosophy: Pronoia. What is Pronoia, you ask? John Perry Barlow (yes, the guy that wrote for the Grateful Dead) defined it as “the suspicion the Universe is a conspiracy on your behalf.” Ages ago, I ran across a Rob Brezsny book in a Barnes & Noble while looking for a new Wayne Dyer tome. The unique cover attracted me ,and when I turned the book over, I noticed an endorsement by Tom Robbins (the best writer under the moon). The book was:

Pronoia Is the Antidote for Paranoia, Revised and Expanded: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings

And it completely changed my life.

How? That’s the stuff of my next blog. Instead of delving into details, I’ll leave you with a remarkable quote from the book:

“Fairy tales tell of a magic cauldron that cracks apart when a lie is told by the people standing near it. There is one way to restore the pot to wholeness: Speak three great truths in its vicinity.” In my next entries, I will speak my truths.


He Hit Me Last Night

This is something I never talk about. I gloss over it and pretend that my boyfriend isn’t really violent, because it happens so rarely. He’s shoved me topless and shoeless down flights of stairs, left bruises from grabbing my arm when he’s been angry, but those things— I can write those off. I am shaking as I write this. Last night we were at a wedding reception in Charlottesville (his family) and the slit in my dress ripped up my bum. A girl gave me a shawl to cover it, and I entertained myself while he wandered around. I started dancing with one of his female cousins, and he became irate that the shawl (apparently) didn’t cover everything. We left. As we drove down the road, he started telling me that he didn’t want to take me home, that I deserved to walk the streets of this strange town at night. He asked me to get out of the car. I didn’t want to. He threw my cell phone out the window, and then physically tried to throw me out. The next thing I know, the police are here, he’s run off down some alley or side road, and then I was at the police office having photos taken of my bruises, bitemarks and scabs…

It’s really over, I’ve got to find a new place to live, I’ve get to get my stuff out of the home we made together and all of his buildings downtown, I’ve got to decide whether or not to drop the charges that the officers decided to file for me because I was so inebriated. My life is over.

I always promised myself that this would never happen to me; I was too smart for it, because I’d seen it happening to my mother. The really sick thing is how much I love him and how badly I want it all just to be over. I wish I could be with him again. It will never happen, and we’d both be stupid if it did. 

It did. I wrote that in 2005, while we had a temporary restraining order in place, between packing and moving my things into storage so that I could drive the 14 hours “home” to my family. The very hour the restraining order was up, we met. We talked about how much we loved each other and how tragic it was that our love was so cursed.

That night, he sent me a series of depressed and drugged suicidal texts, and I called his father to ask him to please, please check on his son.

He came by the hotel I was staying in as I rested to drive into the hazy homeward sunrise the next morning- to tell me one last time how much he loved me- while his dad waited to drive him to an inpatient rehab facility (which he never completed the program in).

I’d told a friend that was helping me move, “What do you bet I get home and find out I’m pregnant?” That is exactly what happened. “That idiot doesn’t even have to know about the baby,” my grandmother said.

I turned around, drove back, moved back in with him, and married the guy.

That is the definition of codependency.

And this is the definition of oversharing on the internet. Or is it? I broke up with and took him back more times than I can count. We divorced, he signed over full custody- and now we’re embroiled in a costly legal battle in which he’s accusing me of being a terrible mother, and asking for full custody.

There are so many women out there going through this exact same thing, and there are ways out. There are so many things I wish I could tell my 22 year old self. And my 25 year old self. And my 30 year old self.  Breaking the cycle is hard. Unhealthy love is as intense as Twilight, and we’re all more interesting than Bella. But choosing to stay in the cycle is choosing something worse than dying: it’s choosing a life without living.

It’s your choice.

The blog that doesn’t exist anymore


Hiding From Reality

An ironic title for a Reality television star, Hiding From Reality details the physically and verbally abusive marriage of Taylor Armstrong, one of the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills“. There’s a lot of scandal surrounding Taylor Armstrong (Scandal around a “Real” Housewife? No!) and her book – many people feel that although Real Housewives was strongly hinting – and some cast members were outright saying that – Taylor was being physically abused by her husband Russell, when he committed suicide she shouldn’t have published such a public memoir about her story. Publish it she did, and according to the show and to the book, her deceased husband Russell was far from the ideal husband that was portrayed initially.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that abuse is a very personal issue for me.

No one in my circle is personally acquainted with any of the Real Housewives or their husbands. I bet you don’t know them, either. You probably have an opinion about them, though.

Since I don’t know these people, what I’m about to say is pure speculation:’ I think this man’s suicide was a move of cowardice to preserve his reputation, which was already tarnishing rapidly, under the assumption that no one would speak out once he had gone. He realized that the damage done to his public image wasn’t something he could repair.

For a victim, though, it’s important to speak out about your time being abused as part of your own healing process. and for a mother, it’s incredibly important to make sure that your child receives the right message about what is and is not acceptable in a relationship. So, so many women never leave an abusive situation and never speak out about it at all; this particular woman was left by her abuser before she had a chance to go through all of the processes of healing, which added grief to the litany of other wounds this man apparently caused.

When I read the book, I wasn’t expecting much. Reality television show stars aren’t typically known for their writing abilities or their mental health expertise. Anyway, I overlooked the caustic reviews and read the thing, and it actually wasn’t bad. It reads like a tell-all version of every self-help cycle of abuse book published.

  • Even though he had just been physically violent with me for the first time in our relationship, I wanted nothing more than to be close to him.”
  • “All he needs is unconditional love, and eventually he will soften. Eventually he will change.”
  • “I was living under the myth that if I controlled Russell’s surroundings, I could keep him under control.”
  • “I had always been able to partly justify my inability to leave our abusive marriage with the fact that Russell had never exhibited the worst of his anger in front of Kennedy. I still thought it was better for her to live with any imperfect father than no father at all. I know that some people might have difficulty believing that I truly did not think Kennedy was in danger…”
  • “Russell was not happy, overall, with the medication’s effect on him. He told me that it made him feel numb, and he worried that it took off his edge.”

To me, the story all sounds completely believable, because I lived something similar. Again, I don’t know this woman, but I don’t think the book deserves all of the negative publicity it’s gotten. Look how many other reality television stars have leveraged their fifteen minutes of fame to start clothing lines or launch other careers; this woman is using her fame (or notoriety) as a platform to speak out against abuse. I refuse to find fault with that.

If you’re interested in reading, you can get your copy of Hiding From Reality here. 

hiding from reality

NOTE: I purchased this book for my own personal gratification, and I didn’t receive any compensation from writing my review. However, if you choose to purchase the book through my link, I’ll make a few cents on the sale (and thank you for that, really – every little bit helps.)


Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief

Hobbes linked me an article about this book the week it was released, and I immediately downloaded it to my Kindle. It holds the same sort of morbid fascination for me that documentaries about Charles Manson or the Branch Davidians in Waco had; recovering from fundamentalism is a funny thing, and it makes you feel – or realize – that you’ve survived a cult. This book takes things to a whole new level. Scientology is a sales religion at its finest: find/create a need, sell a solution, and keep the solution price climbing. There’s an elaborate system of payment and punishment involved. Check out this segment of an interview with Anderson Cooper and author Lawrence Wright:

We all know about Tom Cruise’s love affair with Scientology, don’t we? He makes eloquent points in its favor before his career tanks and he seems to be completely mental. This clip discusses his personal diagnosis with dyslexia… and how false learning disability diagnoses are. He explains how Scientology enabled him to become a successful pilot, film producer, and – obviously – reader. “Education is the key,” he says.

The book touches on Tom Cruise’s involvement with the church, as well as the involvement of several other celebrities, the history of L. Ron Hubbard, and what his own family has to say about the church. Full of anecdotal accounts as well as solid research and clear, concise language, this book is amazing.

In a court case, the evidence shows a tape encouraging kids to drop out of schools. “This tape basically explains to my parents that you can’t blame me for wanting to drop out of school. It paints a picture of public education as being a harmful thing…” PLEASE LISTEN. “The psychologists spawned the technology of degrading all men to animals. HE IS IN CHARGE OF YOUR SCHOOLS TODAY!

A clear-sighted revelation, a deep penetration into the world of Scientology by the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of The Looming Tower, the now-classic study of al-Qaeda’s 9/11 attack. Based on more than two hundred personal interviews with current and former Scientologists—both famous and less well known—and years of archival research, Lawrence Wright uses his extraordinary investigative ability to uncover for us the inner workings of the Church of Scientology.At the book’s center, two men whom Wright brings vividly to life, showing how they have made Scientology what it is today: The darkly brilliant science-fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard, whose restless, expansive mind invented a new religion. And his successor, David Miscavige—tough and driven, with the unenviable task of preserving the church after the death of Hubbard.We learn about Scientology’s complicated cosmology and special language. We see the ways in which the church pursues celebrities, such as Tom Cruise and John Travolta, and how such stars are used to advance the church’s goals. And we meet the young idealists who have joined the Sea Org, the church’s clergy, signing up with a billion-year contract.In Going Clear, Wright examines what fundamentally makes a religion a religion, and whether Scientology is, in fact, deserving of this constitutional protection. Employing all his exceptional journalistic skills of observation, understanding, and shaping a story into a compelling narrative, Lawrence Wright has given us an evenhanded yet keenly incisive book that reveals the very essence of what makes Scientology the institution it is.
You can read the first chapter here, but it doesn’t even scratch the surface; this book is tabloid meets legitimate news reporting, and it’s absolutely riveting.

Or, you can buy your copy here.


Happy Birthday, Anais Nin!

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No matter how much distance grows between our paths, I’ll always truly love your writing.


Loose Girl

When my boyfriend gave me a copy of Loose Girl a couple of years ago, I was mortified and delighted. My initial reaction was something like, “Um?”

“I just thought you  might like it,” he said. “You seem to be interested in that sort of thing.

He was right.  I was interested.

This book isn’t my story, but it was profoundly interesting subject matter: a young girl that gives of her body rather promiscuously (almost indiscriminately).

From the site:

A Memoir of Promiscuity loosegirl

For everyone who was that girl. For everyone who knew that girl. For everyone who wondered who that girl was. Kerry Cohen is eleven years old when she recognizes the power of her body in the leer of a grown man. Her parents are recently divorced and it doesn’t take long before their lassitude and Kerry’s desire to stand out—to be memorable in some way—combine to lead her down a path she knows she shouldn’t take. Kerry wanted attention. She wanted love. But not really understanding what love was, not really knowing how to get it, she reached for sex instead.

Loose Girl is Kerry Cohen’s captivating memoir about her descent into promiscuity and how she gradually found her way toward real intimacy. The story of addiction—not just to sex, but to male attention—Loose Girl is also the story of a young girl who came to believe that boys and men could give her life meaning. It didn’t matter who he was. It was their movement that mattered, their being together. And for a while, that was enough.

From the early rush of exploration to the day she learned to quiet the desperation and allow herself to love and be loved, Kerry’s story is never less than riveting. In rich and immediate detail, Loose Girl re-creates what it feels like to be in that desperate moment, when a girl tries to control a boy by handing over her body, when the touch of that boy seems to offer proof of something, but ultimately delivers little more than emptiness.

Kerry Cohen’s journey from that hopeless place to her current confident and fulfilled existence is a cautionary tale and a revelation for girls young and old. The unforgettable memoir of one young woman who desperately wanted to matter, Loose Girl will speak to countless others with its compassion, understanding, and love.

Kerry Cohen tells her own story in a slightly disapproving tone. It has a Happily Ever After, with a grateful ‘I don’t deserve it’ twist; I believe she is trying to save others from following her path. I gave it to another friend (Rhiannon) to read after me. “What did you think of it?” I asked her.

“I mean, it was interesting, but I didn’t really get anything out of it.”

We both agree that the book had a moralizing tone that is a bit off-putting. I suppose looking back on one’s own life has a tendency to lead to “should-haves” and “if-onlys”. If I wrote my autobiography, I’m sure it would have something of a cautionary tone to it as well. Contrasted with The Sexual Life of Catherine M., I  much prefer the redemptive story. Not everyone does, I suppose.

I published this blog, and within a couple of hours, a friend texted me to say, “sorry you relate to that.” I guess I don’t, entirely: but it sure is interesting.

You can get your copy of  Loose Girl here.

NOTE: I purchased all of these books for my own personal gratification, and am not being paid to endorse any of them. However, if you’d like to earn me some money, feel free to shop in my Amazon store.


Anais Nin: The Last Days

kraftSometimes I think I’ve made a clean break with Anais except for purposes of nostalgia, but when I saw Barbara Kraft’s memoir of the end of Anais Nin’s life I knew I had to read this book. Several years ago, I began a quest to understand the path that Anais took, and discern whether or not it brought her to a place of happiness.  Perhaps, I thought, if it had, I could follow her lead.

If you’ve been reading my previous blogs (or know anything about Anais), you know that the path she took ultimately led her to maintain open (and even bigamous) marriages and other relationships and run in a fascinating circle of  writers, artists, and other interesting people. Personally, I believe that Anais was one of the most talented female writers to have ever lived, but I got lost in the web of her writing and never got the clear, concise answers that I wanted.

Reading this memoir  took me a couple of evenings. Part journal, part biography, Barbara Kraft includes a lot of her own feelings about her personal relationship with Nin, acknowledging that she wasn’t particularly a fan of Nin’s work before she began being mentored by her. They established what seems to have been a close relationship, and Nin (by this time an icon of the feminist movement) encouraged Kraft to leave her unhappy marriage and publish her own journal, among other things.

The author of this book met Anais and her second husband Rupert Pole, and then independently met Henry and then  Hugo.
If you remember the story, Anais was married to the banker Hugo Guiler, with whom she had an open marriage. She met Henry Miller while living in Paris in the 1930s, and they established a clandestine relationship that lasted for years.  Other lovers and friends came and went throughout the course of the journals – all interesting, many famous – but the erotic parts were all intially edited out of her 7-volume published journals, preserving the people in her life from knowing the realities of her dalliances, glossing over truths. In the final stages of life, there is no more varnish.
Barbara Kraft met Anais during a time when the public perception of her was of a “pure” woman: one that was virtually untarnished by the influence of men. A woman that was true to herself and lived her own way. Women looked to her as a sort of guru, a guide – perhaps that way that I initially did.
When Barbara met Anais, she was living a seemingly normal California life with Rupert, in a small hous. He scrimped and saved his meager income from his U. S. Forestry Service career to build her a house  designed by Eric Lloyd Wright– a place he hoped to anchor her. Anais was young for her years, and in the height of her literary celebrity (despite being taken less seriously by more traditionally styled authors).
While battling cancer, Anais confessionally talked to Barbara in more detail the closer they grew. What is revealed in this book, in a very concise form, is much the same as a condensed version of the unexpurgated journals that Rupert edited and released for her. What is revealed in this book is the simple truth that Anais was a victim of childhood incest and spent her life struggling with poverty, dependent on men. The picture painted in this simple ‘memoir’ is of the “steel butterfly” – an elegant woman that was unable to stand alone, and so spread her dependence out in manageable doses.  Is it really that black-and-white? Obviously not, because she often depended on men to help other men in her life – for instance, doing  radical things like supporting Henry Miller  with her husband Hugo’s money and even financing the publication of Tropic of Cancer with money from one of her other lovers (Otto Rank).
Was Henry the “love of her life?”
Henry would send me twenty, thirty, and forty page letters. Often I received two in a week. They were rather intimidating… I could never respond on that level. Henry didn’t save them [her letters] for the most part. I was really the muse to Henry. I was never dependent on him. We were able to maintain the passion because there was no responsibility involved. I could leave Henry and go home to my husband, who took care of me.” She spoke in this book of how he was too unreliable to count on for anything, but so much fun. Anais needed reliability, security – and found her fun elsewhere, until her last several years. In the long run, though, she left Henry.
 
Henry always missed Anais, but married three times, divorced them all, disgusted that no real woman could meet his ideal.  Anais said

Kraft and Miller

Kraft and Miller

He said the most startling thing to me, Barbara. He asked me, ‘What has it all been about? What are all those words? Why all that writing? For what?’ “ According to Kraft, he told her that if he was reincarnated, he said that he wanted to come back as a gardener because writing is “a curse. Yes, it’s a flame. It owns you. It has possession over you. You are not master of yourself. You are consumed by this thing. And the books you write. They’re not you. They’re not me sitting here, this Henry Miller. They belong to someone else. It’s terrible. You can never rest. … I hate inspiration. It takes you over completely. I could never wait until it had passed and I got rid of it.” Regret at the way he’d spent his life.

Hugo was frail and old, by this time, and Anais still had a room in his place. He’d lost the money she depended on for years “gambling in the stock market,” and her diaries were supporting him. He kept her toothbrush and makeup where she left it, showing it off like an art exhibit, playing film reels of her to guests, saying in awed tones “This is the authentic voice of Anais Nin.” He didn’t even have her other home address, her other phone number; he knew she traveled, and her friends – their friends –  were in on the scheme of keeping her other life a secret. She wished she’d divorced him, made a clean break, but the marriage had been too long, she’d needed him too much, and she owed it to him to spend the end of her time repaying him for his years by taking care of him the way that he’d taken care of her.
Did any of that maker her happy?
When Anais lay fighting death, Barbara asked her the question of happiness:And the next day or the day after, sitting in my usual chair next to your bed, your hand hot and dry in mine, I asked you if you had known much happiness in life. “Hardly any,” you whispered, turning your head to look at out the window at the dank sky…
I never knew much about Rupert before now, but Anais seemed to believe that after years of men after men after men, that he was both solid and passionate. She  told Barbara “In Rupert I found the wedding of marriage and passion. Never deny passion, Barbara. You  never know where it will lead. Passion can lead to love.”
I believe that Rupert Pole was the love of Anais’ life. She was able to settle down with him to a life that appears smaller than many of the other lives open to her. In the end of her days, she was even willing to help him meet his physical needs elsewhere when she was no longer able.  And he devoted his entire life to her words, establishing a literary foundation in her honor, editing and publishing four “unexpurgated” versions of her journals, which included erotic content about her other lovers. He continued to support Anais’ legal husband, Hugh Guiler, even after her death. The woman he spent the rest of his days with as his companion was someone that translated Anais’ works into Japanese.
So- all of the long, convoluted journeying aside, she seems to have ended her days in a relatively normal, contented life, with a man that loved her very much, and whom she appeared to love as well. I suppose that’s about as happy as any ending can ever get.
The one unfortunate part of the book is that it seems that Barbara Kraft, as so many other women,  seemed to forget that Anais was human, and our choices are our own. No results are guaranteed from anyone else’s formula. There’s a twinge of bitterness and blame in this book for the consequences that publicly sharing her own journeys caused Barbara Kraft, and I can relate to that – which is sad, because our choices were really all our own.
Get your copy here.

Sexual Abuse

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copyright: Literatelibran

As nearly as I can tell, survivors of sexual abuse generally go to one extreme or another: either they become incredibly “adventurous” (read: promiscuous), or they become frigid. I’ve known many, many women who’ve whispered, sobbed, or shouted their stories of shame, and as a rule I’ve seen those two variable outcomes.  A decade after the event, one friend got mad and a little too intoxicated and stood on a street corner and shouted “I’ve been raped!” Many, many more victims of sexual abuse have never told anyone. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t wear a lifetime victim hat for the abuse that I’ve been through, but sometimes it’s difficult to know when my scars are showing. I’ve walked the tired tightrope between emotional promiscuity and being emotionally unavailable. I don’t think that I’ve been terribly physically  promiscuous – I can still count my lifetime’s sexual partners on my fingers with room to spare (and if I had a do-over I’d skip all but one of them)  – but I can say that letting someone be emotionally close to me has been tough because it’s become very difficult for me to trust people. Unfortunately, that lack of trust has been further reinforced by a particularly volatile relationship that has spanned most of my adult life. Once you’re really, truly, habitually betrayed by some of the people closest to you, that cycle of emotion tends to bleed over into other relationships.

Today I read a (really poorly written) article with this blurb:

Mark, 35, a copywriter in Oakland, California and his wife Ellen, 31, an accountant, says: “When Ellen and I first got together she told me she’d been molested by her brother all through her affecting our relationship. All I knew was that every time we started feeling close to each other, Ellen would freak out: she’d accuse me of cheating on her; she’d say she knew I was planning to dump her; she’d start threatening to leave me before I could hurt her. Then she’d go into a deep depression,” Mark sighs. “Meanwhile, I was getting hurt, because no matter how I tried, I couldn’t convince her that I loved her. Finally, Ellen started seeing a therapist. Then she figured out that she was afraid to trust me; she thought I’d betray her the way her brother had.”

When I read that, I thought, I know this girl. Heck, I might be this girl. Except that my name isn’t Ellen, and  I don’t have a husband named Mark. Or any husband at all.

Over the past several years, I’ve done the therapy to deal with my past and present, and made an accidental study of reading works by sexually abused women (it turns out that if you read sexual literature – not to be confused with smut – odds are fairly good that you’re reading the intellectual product of someone that’s been sexually abused).

  • Anais Nin was a very prolific descriptive writer that maintained a number of polyamorous relationships after being sexually abused by her father during her childhood. She renewed her relationship with him during her adulthood, and journaled about sleeping with him as an adult in Incest. Her journals, which she considered her true masterpiece, spanned over 60 years, and she published widely received erotica, as well as a study of D. H. Lawrence.
    Anaisnin
  • Virginia Woolf  became a very astute chronicler of interpersonal relationships after being sexually abused by her half-brothers as a small child. She struggled with depression and “insanity” all her life, but nonetheless produced 9 novels, several volumes of short stories, three biographies, and a score of nonfiction works.   “Nothing has really happened,” she wrote, “until it has been described. So you must write many letters to your family and friends, and keep a diary.” VirginiaWoolf
  • Catherine Millet admits in her book The Sexual Life of Catherine M. to having been molested as a child by a friend’s uncle, although it doesn’t focus on the incident as abuse, but rather as one in a series of blunt, clinically described casual sexual encounters, including orgies and other incidents. (I didn’t find this book nearly as titillating as the cover led me to believe I would).the sexual life of catherine m

I want what most normal women want: a healthy partnership with the person that I consider my best friend.  That hasn’t panned out for me just yet, primarily because when I finally found a relationship that fit the description, I wasn’t ready for it. Maybe this time around I will be.  I guess the thing is, there’s no quick fix for emotional habits; you have to break them by making a thousand tiny choices, over and over again, so that you create new habits. Epiphanies won’t help you if you don’t put them into action over and over again. Implementing the things you learn is much more difficult than the act of learning itself. One valuable thing that I have learned is that once you do truly love someone, the risk is worth it – and none of those “other” relationships matter anymore.

If you or someone you know has been sexually abused or assaulted, call the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN) co-founded by Tori Amos (the lovely woman singing above) for help. 1.800.656.HOPE (4673).

copyright: Literatelibran

copyright: Literatelibran

NOTE: I purchased all of these books for my own personal gratification, and am not being paid to endorse any of them. However, if you’d like to earn me some money, feel free to shop in my Amazon store.