My beard falls out a little every time I have a period, which is rare but definitely strange.
Anyway, I think I’ve decided I want low dose testosterone. I want a little more of a beard. I don’t think I’ll ever feel happy with how I look — the me I picture is just so... different. But I think I’d be a lot happier if I looked a little closer to it.
I saw an animation that triggered the f*ck out of me yesterday. A little girl was confused about why a house was calling to her, and snuck away from her nice family to go have a look. Accidentally discovered that it was her abusive family, and she was maladaptive-daydreaming that the burger ad across the street showing a happy family was HER family. She went back to them in her head while her scary family tried to break down the door to get at her
It was way too similar to what I went through to be honest and seeing it f*cked up my entire day. Which sucks because, like I said, I have work that is now quite late :/
I just need to talk about this. This is a post I would call “side thoughts to OCD” if it had a title.
I think the most intimate moment I ever had with Brandi, besides the first time we had sex (which, looking back, was a messed up experience in a lot of ways, but I am demi as hell so as soon as I found her attractive it was a different world), was when I started crying in her bed during a late night talk.
I’m generally uncomfortable talking about sex, but this is better than talking about rape, so maybe this will help. (Look at that, though, I can say the word “rape” pretty easily right now :) ).
In high school, after the first time we slept together, Brandi and I started having sleep overs on weekends. I didn’t have much of a drive for it at first but then my brain seemed to synchronize with hers, I guess, and that sucked because to be honest I didn’t know how to masturbate, have an orgasm (the one time it happened I was, you know, being raped, so I didn’t exactly learn anything from that), or say no. I was also on a different antidepressant each month, pretty much, so. Yeah. But that was fine, because Brandi never returned the favor. She’d ask repeatedly, sometimes multiple times a day, for me to “help her,” which is a trigger phrase for me.
Trigger phrase being a phrase programmed into me by an adult when I was eleven years old. One that is still causing me problems well into... my twenties (I was going to say “adulthood” but I’m not even thirty and don’t function in society because I’m too disabled right now, I guess.)
I’m fairly sure Brandi used the phrase because she didn’t believe we were having sex. She tried to tell me she was a virgin all the time. She was probably, to be honest, unaware of why the phrase was upsetting. She didn’t quit using it until I was in college.
Anyway this post is getting uncomfortable so I’m going to cut to the chase. The most intimate moment I had with her was when I started crying in her bed. We had this habit of after-sex talks where we’d bond over our childhoods or whatever else, though usually it was her talking. I listened. But this time I was talking about my guilt. I had previously, before my dad was out of the house, been bullying my little brother. It was encouraged by my father since I was a little kid, and I’m so ashamed of it that I can’t blame my dad. I loved my little brother but I made his life harder, to the point that he was giving me death threats when he and I were in kindergarten.
I even told a school counselor about it (which obviously resulted in nothing because “poor people are just like that”).
So when he started to bully me in high school (I had stopped by middle school, I’m very sure), I defended myself a little but mostly let him talk to me the way our dad talked to him. I felt like I deserved it.
I felt so bad about this situation in high school. It didn’t occur to me to get an adult involved. Or, rather, I knew I’d get in trouble if I tried. I just felt I deserved it. I became increasingly scared of him while living in an increasingly hoarded up house and I just tried to stay at Brandi’s house as often as I could.
I currently feel ashamed that I was scared of him. He’s a teddy bear with a temper. The temper was depression. But my mom would make big scenes out of it, and it triggered flashbacks to hear the sudden throwing and fist-slamming, to the point that I made posts here about my fears as recently as four or five years ago.
I told Brandi only about my guilt about having hurt him, emotionally. I felt disgusting and I wanted to apologize to him but I didn’t know how.
Brandi and I were in the dark. She slept with a TV on but it was off that night. I was talking quieter and quieter and trying to hide that I was crying.
She was facing me, her head on my chest, her legs wrapped around my waist. She unwrapped a little and touched my face, under my eyes, wiping off the tears. It felt like she was telling me she knew I was crying. And of course I couldn’t hide it after that, and she kept her cheek on my cheek and dozed off while she pressed my wrist with her thumb.
And of course all my brain could think of this whole thing was “you’re faking those tears. You’re trying to trick her into believing you won’t do the same thing to her.” I think this was OCD. But the guilt and fear I felt around my brother was suddenly being met with a fear that I would hurt Brandi, somehow, unwillingly even, only in a sexual way instead of an emotionally abusive way.
The fear hasn’t gone away since. I never sexually hurt Brandi, though occasionally I fear that I did. In fact my brain is trying to show me evidence now, and I won’t get into it but it’s all stuff like “oops, forgot to clip nails before sticking them up there, now she’s bleeding” or “I asked her to try something she was embarrassed about and because she’s the one who has sex, not me, I should feel ashamed.”
But currently I keep fearing I’m going to hurt my **platonic** friends. Especially the one I see in person regularly, who I’m not attracted to and view like a sibling.
Normally I’d just go hang out with different friends and avoid addressing the issue. Pandemic, though.
I’ll explain in the next message so my phone stops glitching around “too much text.”
The other day I woke up and immediately wondered what my close friend was doing.
My immediate second thought series was, “Oh no. That’s inappropriate for my first thought of the day to be about my close friend. This means I’m becoming co-dependent. I might even be faking being gay to get close to him so I can sexually assault him.”
I didn’t immediately realize this was OCD because I was WOKEN UP with these stupid thoughts.
My OCD has been unusually bad this week. I’m shocked I DIDN'T realize. I mean, I even bleached myself this week... biggest relapse since 2015. I’ve been obviously unwell. So it’s interesting that I didn’t immediately realize this was the OCD talking.
My reaction was to die SOME reason text him pretty much immediately, “just woke up thinking about you >:(” and I’m glad he’s autistic because a neurotypical person might have assumed I was trying to start a fight (if not make a weird joke, I guess). Thankfully this friend just ignored the message because it made no sense.
i did end up telling him what happened half way. I told him I immediately woke up and feared I was becoming codependent and secretly in love with him and faking being gay. My ocd often centers around these things. It’s difficult to address.
As for the fear that I’ll sexually assault him — I won’t. I’m not physically capable of that, because I’m small, not strong (would like to work out tho), too worried about hurting my friends, etc. If I tried, it’d probably scar my friend for life, sure, but he’d also beat my ass and probably file against me. And I have never sexually assaulted anyone (willingly (I was a child)) in my entire life.
And sure, my brain is convinced that I’ll do it unwillingly. Specifically that the pedo will break in, re-steal me (trafficked people are supposedly most likely to trafficked later, thanks to a lack of arrests??? And that pedo is definitely free...), and force someone else to watch me get raped, or else force me to hurt them. But that scenario is unlikely. (“Probably,” says my brain, unconvinced, because if Nazis are cool again, why not pedos, who are already proven to be in the government too?)
And when I was forced to sexually hurt someone, it was against my will. I wasn’t being threatened at gunpoint, but I was a child with a pedo who sometimes had mood swings and probably would’ve killed me had I not learned to be so obedient and kind to him. But I was uncomfortable the whole time and just trying to figure out if my physical reaction meant I was into... that, like the pedo said.
Okay, absolutely will not talk further on that. Too upsetting. Smelling his cigarettes again.
Anyway, to end on a somewhat humorous note:
If you read that how Brandi would sleep with her head on my chest — isn’t it weird that she insisted we weren’t dating or having sex? Like damn girl you’re delusional