Bad Girls Don't Cry

Chapter 7

That night with Sam left me stranded in a pool of my own self-loathing. I felt ashamed and responsible for what had happened to me. But in a strange way, it may have saved my life. Who knows what dark alleys I would have found myself in over the next decade had I not been confronted with the very real possibility that I wasn't to ever again see the light of day? I began thinking of the worst-case scenarios all the time and it swallowed my passion to explore my dark world again for a long time. I was convinced that everyone around me had a secret life. That thought process inhibited me from searching for myself, or searching for a companion to explore The Game with me. I had started believing that everyone would lose control and that I would never truly feel safe again.

My fear swallowed me up. Every shadow became a terrorizing figure; every creak became a roar. My silence was my prison. I never could tell the people who mattered most to me what had happened. I was too embarrassed and afraid to worry them, so I chose to march on alone. Sure, I had some close friends of mine who were aware of the situation, but their reactions never gave me any solace. I felt judged by them, but maybe that was just because my own thoughts were reflected through their pity. I asked for it; I let him into my bedroom all those other times; I should have known what he would become; I could have taken his threats more seriously; I could have gone to the police; I should have screamed louder; I should have told my parents; I could have done something, ANYTHING, to stop him from coming in, but I didn't, so what should I have expected? It's so easy to pass judgment, but it's a lot more challenging to show compassion, especially to ourselves. I would never tell a friend who had experienced something like that to wallow in their misery and pain. So why tell that to myself?

The feeling of being followed, of being unsafe, lingered closely behind me. I became afraid of my longing. When I was near a man who made my heart beat wildly, I couldn't speak. I couldn't show him I wanted him. I became self-conscious at showing even the slightest hint of interest. I had learned to suppress that side of me for so long. I just didn't know how to act around men anymore. I was nervous and scared they would hurt me and I was ashamed of my thoughts so I just tried to stop having them altogether. When I walked down the street, I looked down. I couldn't look men in the eyes. I was afraid it would invite them to act against me and I didn't know how to handle my sexuality anymore. I didn't trust any of them.

Every encounter I had over the course of the next few years was tainted by the unrelenting memories of fear, torture and Sam's lack of control. I had never before realized how truly powerless I was in facing an attacker. I played the moments over and over in my head so many times that they became a part of my Being. They became a torturous habit, so much so that I didn't even realize what was happening. The more I replayed that memory, the angrier I felt. Sam had taken away my desire to explore my sexuality. I was constantly confronted with the feeling of real helplessness and danger. That night was so much worse than any other night I had had before. I had never really had to use my Safeword in the past and even when I had, it had always been respected. With Sam it was completely different. I definitely realized then what the difference was between having simile-control and none at all. I mentally shrivelled into a small and terrified version of myself. I didn't even know how I could get over that feeling of hatred and mistrust I had for every man, but I knew I would have to eventually, I mean... I didn't want that guy to be the reason I would be alone forever. I eventually wanted to get back out there, to find someone I could play The Game with but that I could actually trust; someone I could feel safe with in The Real and who could make me lose myself in The Game. It's not the easiest thing to find, though.

I remained in my reflections like that for a while. And then, slowly and without my noticing, the longing began to creep up on me again. Every time I met someone new, I asked myself first if he would be able to understand what I craved and then if he could act on it without taking away my real sense of control. I suddenly added new barriers they would have to pass through to get to me. I suddenly had all these rules and I didn't know where to look for a man who actually understood them. I became increasingly isolated and it drove me crazy. I knew I wouldn't be able to settle into a 'normal' life. There I am using that word again, but you know what I mean. Whatever social convention exists within the realm of 'normality'. How on earth do you reconcile that kind of fantasy with reality and safety? Time went on and I adapted to a feeling of longing that had nested at the base of my abdomen. I didn't need to chase it anymore, not for a while anyway.