My psychologist at the time found a way to bring this up during every session, trying to get me to acknowledge the wrongness of the situation since my PTSD had begun to accelerate. She dubbed my behavior "extremely self-destructive" and explained that I was putting myself in precarious situations to assert some sense of control.
Sometimes, when you feel like your life is falling apart, quickening the inevitable descent into pariahdom seems like the only thing left to do.
Looking back, it's easy for me to recognize how this must have been what provoked my boyfriend to feel like he had to be there for me all the time, why he chose to carry my weight. He had known about my rapes since before we started dating and about the possibility of my getting worse shortly thereafter. But I had started seeing a therapist at school and he was determined to help me through this dark period of my life.
We thought we could handle anything my past could throw at us, that we were writing a love story whose end had already been determined: I was going to get well. I would stop trying to commit suicide, start playing the piano again, and finally tell my parents about what had happened to me as a child. I would pursue a job in human rights, transfer to Columbia—things would matter to me again. Defiance! Redemption! Transformation!
He had seen my scars and still told me I looked beautiful, what was more proof than that?
But nothing can prepare you for remembering that kind of abuse. How fundamentally less human you feel when you have to rely on someone else to bring you back to reality, as you wake feeling ashamed and emasculated.
We still went to the movies, played the board games that everybody else thought were boring, but when my nightmares started following me into the day, I stopped going to class. In between consoling me, negotiating with my teachers to bring home my assignments, and coordinating with my friends to make sure I was never left alone, he went with me to my therapy appointments, where he'd sit in the waiting room as I cried in the next room over.
extending a hand and building an ethic where former sex slaves and cult escapees can take intellectual responsibility for one another.
What a crock of shit blowing out this guys mouth. Is he really taking "intellectual responsibility" for his age 0+ victims?! The problem with the UN/Obamanation true believers of the world is personified in the fast track branding of Joel Davis as a rising super star of Global Leadership and advocate for victims of sexual violence/exploitation.
You want sustainability? Shut that shit down and save few hundred million trees a year for freaking UN sponsored crap studies.
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letsdothis2 ago
This is an article that Joel Davis wrote: When love is a catch-22 http://archive.is/NlJbP
excerpts:
My psychologist at the time found a way to bring this up during every session, trying to get me to acknowledge the wrongness of the situation since my PTSD had begun to accelerate. She dubbed my behavior "extremely self-destructive" and explained that I was putting myself in precarious situations to assert some sense of control. Sometimes, when you feel like your life is falling apart, quickening the inevitable descent into pariahdom seems like the only thing left to do.
Looking back, it's easy for me to recognize how this must have been what provoked my boyfriend to feel like he had to be there for me all the time, why he chose to carry my weight. He had known about my rapes since before we started dating and about the possibility of my getting worse shortly thereafter. But I had started seeing a therapist at school and he was determined to help me through this dark period of my life.
We thought we could handle anything my past could throw at us, that we were writing a love story whose end had already been determined: I was going to get well. I would stop trying to commit suicide, start playing the piano again, and finally tell my parents about what had happened to me as a child. I would pursue a job in human rights, transfer to Columbia—things would matter to me again. Defiance! Redemption! Transformation!
He had seen my scars and still told me I looked beautiful, what was more proof than that? But nothing can prepare you for remembering that kind of abuse. How fundamentally less human you feel when you have to rely on someone else to bring you back to reality, as you wake feeling ashamed and emasculated.
We still went to the movies, played the board games that everybody else thought were boring, but when my nightmares started following me into the day, I stopped going to class. In between consoling me, negotiating with my teachers to bring home my assignments, and coordinating with my friends to make sure I was never left alone, he went with me to my therapy appointments, where he'd sit in the waiting room as I cried in the next room over.
kestrel9 ago
What a crock of shit blowing out this guys mouth. Is he really taking "intellectual responsibility" for his age 0+ victims?! The problem with the UN/Obamanation true believers of the world is personified in the fast track branding of Joel Davis as a rising super star of Global Leadership and advocate for victims of sexual violence/exploitation.
You want sustainability? Shut that shit down and save few hundred million trees a year for freaking UN sponsored crap studies.