3. Sex and respect, Part 3.

My family never questioned why they never met my boyfriends. I kept many of them away, with so many hidden secrets I could not risk them being exposed. My family were needy and I was sure they would reveal themselves at some point and uncover my pretence.

My mother rarely asked about my love life. By the time I reached my early twenties, my sister had been with her boyfriend for eight years. They married when I was twenty two. Her relationship was far more important. I couldn’t turn to her with boyfriend problems. She had only experienced it with one man. She was lucky as he was devoted to her, she never had to deal with the games people played. I wanted to have those chats with my mum but she was more concerned with my sister. I felt she’d just laugh at me as I had always been a source of amusement to the pair of them. I could hardly turn to my father, he would only use it as a weapon against me in the future, saving all the casual remarks I made to him or the times I was truly upset and using them to insult me. I wouldn’t tell friends in fear they would laugh too. I just kept it concealed from everyone.

I continued to meet pointless men and have disastrous, fleeting relationships. Everything was meaningless and had no depth. I longed to meet someone I connected with. In 2007, after dating an imbecile, I decided enough was enough. I was at my lowest. Things were awful at home with my father, I was unhappy in my career and I had put on over two stone in weight in the space of two years. It was time for a drastic change.

In the space of four months, I managed to shed the two stone I had put on. My confidence had returned and it didn’t take long for the men to follow. This time it felt different and the confidence felt real. I actually had a bit of fun that year and I didn’t berate myself for it either.

By 2008 and the point I met my husband David, I looked back on my dating and sexual history. I was surprised by how many worthless men I had met and how I had lowered my respect for myself so much. I wished that I could have discovered true inner confidence sooner and not fallen for the compliments in the dating game. I wish I wasn’t so desperate to feel loved or be needed by a man. I just looked for everything my father was not giving me and I don’t mean that in an incestuous way. I mean security, love, kindness, honesty and most of all,

DECENCY.

I wish I had learnt these lessons earlier and been a bit more prepared. All my friends had long term relationships and weren’t seeming to be making the stupid mistakes that I was. I needed the guidance from the two people you expect to get it from.

I was lucky to meet my husband at the right time and feel like I was truly worth something, I was attractive and appealing and that I deserved love and respect from a man.

3. Sex and respect Part 1.

I was never given any guidance around the subject of sex. My parents shied away from discussing it with my or my sister and we never saw any evidence of attraction between them. Where some children are embarrassed by their parents’ display of affection, we never had that feeling. They rarely embarrassed us.

As a child, I had no knowledge of sex. I never questioned things as most curious children do. The reproductive system and menstrual  cycle was taught at school in Science. We were never taught at home. My parents left that to our teachers. My sister and I never talked about that side of things, we were not close and our relationship was already unsteady and resentful. I wanted to confide in her and ask questions but my fear to approach her in this matter was too overwhelming and I backed away. Fellow peers at school always seemed more enlightened on the subject than me. I wondered if they could talk to their family about their curiosities.

At my all girls secondary school, I remained intellectually inexperienced in sex, looking to my more confident peers to set the example. I was envious that many of the girls knew about sex and could talk about it freely to each other. I would not have dared joined in. I just listened from the sidelines picking up information without them realising. My teenage years were turbulent at home and my needs were pushed to one side. Socially, I was doing okay. I had friends and due to my dream-like and false reality, I was able to appear confident and capable. No one truly knew how much I was suffering inside.

At the age of 16, when my mother and sister had gone and I was left with my ever-changing father, sex became more of a forefront in my life. I switched school and my year group was now mixed. I was seeing boys every day and socially, I couldn’t cope. I was not popular, fading into the background in my first year. I was developing crushes and obsessions easily, feeling heartbroken if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. I began thinking about sex but never acting on it. I’d only kissed one boy until the age of seventeen. I was behind in a lot of ways. My friends at the time were surprised how unsuccessful I was with boys as my confidence sent other messages to them. I got on well with boys as I had a good, sarcastic sense of humour. I could poke fun at myself and was easy-going. But I did not know how to turn on the sex appeal. I never felt sexy.

By the time I reached Drama School the majority of my friends had all lost their virginity. As it had never been discussed at home I had no idea how to broach the subject. I was frightened of it and although I was having natural urges, I pushed them to one side. I did not feel attractive in any way especially around boys of my age. I hated competing with other girls and naturally moved away from those scenarios. I was drawn to older men often getting more attention from them on nights out. My friends loved that twenty five year old men were attracted to me, they thought it was thrilling and I was encouraged to take it further. I enjoyed the flirt as I was good at that. I was great at banter. However, any further would just scare me off.

I learnt about sex from film and T.V mostly as a teen. As a young adult, it was from listening to my classmates stories and sexual experiences. I asked questions shamelessly. I wanted to know every detail. They didn’t mind, they enjoyed talking about themselves. I realised that it was something I needed to do, I wanted to experience it. It was unlikely that I would see it in a relationship as I was unsure of how to even begin one. I couldn’t “love” remember. The girls at Drama school were shocked that I was an eighteen year old virgin. It was practically unheard of. Even though they regularly encouraged me to do it I wanted to do it on my own terms. I wasn’t waiting for love. I just wanted it to feel right.

The hunt to find it began.

Part 2 to follow.

Can’t sleep.

I should really be asleep right now but having lay in bed for the past two hours with no sign of dropping off, I have officially given up.

Something is on my mind……..

I had a response to the last “spiteful girls” blog, an unpleasant one. It was clearly someone who knows N and was not happy about my post. They mirrored N by telling me to assess myself and look at my “own faults”.

I have never said I’m faultless. Quite the opposite. I find fault in almost everything I do.

They also made the point that I needed “help”.

I needed help from N ten years ago. Writing is my help. It allows me to speak out and share my experiences. Experiences that are mine. Nobody can deny that. They happened to me. Anger won’t get you anywhere, I’ve learnt that. It isn’t about revenge. Silence is not the answer. How many more women have to keep their mouths shut to save the reputation of others? I can understand that other people may not and might never have seen N in the same light as me. It doesn’t mean what happened to me didn’t exist. She was and is a clever girl.

So right now, I am awake. With this now on my mind.

Conclusion of “spiteful girls” tomorrow.

Or should I say today?

Second night nightmares.

For the past two nights I have barely slept mostly due to being on holiday and out of my usual sleep pattern. Hourly sleeps have resulted in vibrant, hourly nightmares.

Night 1-

On Saturday night, I dreamt that my father had murdered three men. I had witnessed it but he didn’t know. All I remember was blood and lots of it. He used a knife. A knife appeared in both dreams.

Then, he escaped, he went on the run. I tried to tell someone in the vicinity but my voice could not be heard and my body could not be seen, I was invisible.

I chased him.

I ran and ran and ran.

But he was out of my reach. He got away with it and when I returned I was no longer invisible. People began to question me, doubt me.

Night 2-

Last night I had a very broken sleep. In the hour before I awoke I had an extremely vivid dream. This time my mother was also involved. Every time that I have dreamt about my mother, she too has been a malicious figure. My dreams do not portray her in a kind way or a truthful way. She becomes the most evil of characters. My father was there too, of course. Nightmares aren’t complete without him.

I dreamt that my mother and father abducted me, if that’s possible as an adult. It felt like kidnap. My mother kept me locked up in an underground warehouse. I was to keep it looking perfect and treat them both with the utmost respect. David joined me at one point but I think I made him leave first. The whole time I spent plotting my escape. My father and mother were in it together. They had the communication in my dream that they lacked in reality.

The dream then cut to a moment in my father’s bedroom. All I can remember is threatening to leave him, to get out. He admitted he wanted control over me, an admission I never received in real life. The next thing I knew, I was being brandished with two large butcher knives. He was waving them furiously in front of my face and I had no way of protecting myself. Immediately, I covered my face, shielding it with my arms. The knife slashed violently across them. The same sight of blood appeared and the deep, red lines on my arms were magnified.

I did escape them.

These dreams are clearly a representation of my life, the fear, hurt and terror that both my parents subjected me to at some point. I’m surprised my mother is always portrayed so badly in my dreams but at least I have the relief to know that she is not like that at all in reality; certainly not any more. My father however, was no different. His intentions were the same- to make my life a living hell.

I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.
Frida Kahlo

I love this quote, I interpret it in another way. I’m no artist but my dreams and nightmare are just that. They are make believe, they are echoes of life in the most surreal of ways. Reality is the most important thing and now is the time to make it right.