Mental Health


*Content Warning: This piece contains references to sexual assault, which may be triggering to some. 


I had sex for the first time in two years. 

And before you ask. No, I wasn’t being celibate in any man’s name God, Jesus, Allah or anywhere in between. 

And no, it wasn’t new wave feminist social experiment so if you are here hoping to read some politically charged well informed, researched expos on this new societies “reliance on sex and sexual acts to express themselves” I’m sorry this is not it but if you do finds that article drop the link it sounds amazing. 

And no I am not nor was I pregnant at any point in those two years. 

So that just leaves. Why?

Well, I’m glad you asked. I stopped doing anything sexually purely out of one reason. I was assaulted. 

But this blog post isn’t about my assault, maybe I’ll tell you that story later on when we know each other a little better. (*cheeky wink*) But today I wanted to talk about my first statement to you. I had sex for the first time in two years and with someone, much to my ex-boyfriend’s disappointment was someone who didn’t know anything about my past. He knew nothing of any previous hands that touched, grazed or engaged at any level my body malice attention or not. He knew nothing about my jagged history with self-pleasure, or of my struggle with male authority. Hell, I don’t even think he knew my middle name and I didn’t offer it. Instead, I offered something more precise, my body and he obviously accepted.  So maybe I did lie it was sort of a social experiment, one he was unaware of his participation in. This might sound like a bitch move but I counter the fact that I a consenting adult used a mutual benefiting encounter to help understand more about myself could be seen as “bitch move” should be pointed out. (Don’t mean to be that girl but if I was a guy there would have a different light shown on it *shrugs*) But at the end of the day, he got what he wanted and I got what I needed. Clarity, I still don’t really know what drove me to agree to go with him, to choose him to trust my body with.

I had a boyfriend last year who I loved and who loved me. He knew my past and everything I could ask of him to know about myself, and yet when he touched me I still crawled away. This knew so little maybe it’s the fact that he did know so little and yet he checked in with me throughout the entire night activities, or how he was completely open in communicating his intentions from the moment I got into the car. Maybe our social society has put such a negative light on un companionship the blissfulness of not knowing being unburdened with the history of your partner being a plant canvas ready to be painted by whoever you choose to give your paintbrush to, as well as paint your partner. Or I could’ve just been horny.  I don’t fully know or understand this new trauma I have or this new body I have but my therapist says I need to journal more, so here I am and here you are.

by Misce_contet

I am a coffee addicted insomniac writer.


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