You know what pisses me off? *use of the R word*

What pisses me off is that I will never know if I was actually raped or not and by actually I mean vaginally. This comes up because of the possible but still doubted memory of my underwear being off while being abused and the words having to do with kissing it to make it better.

I’ve written this before but before I got married, I was a virgin, whatever the hell that means now, but I had never been to a gynecologist before. I went to get birth control pills before the wedding. when he went to do the pelvic ( he was really nice) I couldn’t open my legs, I mean it was literally impossible. He tried to help me to relax and I was kind of detached, I don’t remember feeling scared, I’m sure I was nervous, who wouldn’t be, but I don’t remember being scared. No matter what we did I couldn’t get my legs apart. The doctor finally became exhausted, literally, and gave up on the pelvic. He gave me my prescription for birth control and let me go. I always wondered if he broke any rules by letting me have the prescription without an exam. 😀

Anyway the point is that, if I had been able to have a pelvic, he would have seen if I still had an intact hymen. That’s all. I have echoes of memories of vaginal pain but I had severe and I mean severe vaginismus during my marriage. Intercourse eventually became literally impossible but things got better with practice and they gave me tools to use, vaginal dilators, to help me relax when something was in there. It eventually got better and after my hysterectomy I haven’t had too much trouble.

So, I’m pissed off that I couldn’t get my damn legs apart so a doctor could have looked in there. My only solace is that is something had really happened, that kind of damage wouldn’t have been missed by my grandmother, you can’t cover that up. And I had evidence of virginity during my honeymoon. Sorry for the TMI, I’m just working things out and trying to reconcile with the images and feelings. I hate being pissed!

About CimmarianInk

Abuse Survivor Diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder PTSD and Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) also known as Multiple Personalities
This entry was posted in abuse, Child Abuse, Child Molestation, depersonalization, depression, derealization, DID, dissociation, dissociative fugue, dissociative identity disorder, Family Relationships, Incest, Intimacy, Mental Health, Multiple Personalities, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychiatric medication, Psychiatry, PTSD, Rape, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Therapy, Trauma and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to You know what pisses me off? *use of the R word*

  1. Pandora says:

    I just wanted to say, tai, that you’re not alone in this. I’m pretty sure that I was vaginally raped a lot – but still, I have so much doubt about it. About it all in fact; even though I gag when I brush my teeth, I’m still not even certain about oral rape :-/ When I had my first (concensual) sexual penetration, it hurt like nothing I can describe. My therapist, Paul, believes that was simply psychosomatic; he is apparently certain that my ‘story’ is true.

    But even with that, I don’t know if the doubts ever go. Rationally, I think I was horribly sexually abused as a child (as I think you were, by your accounts), but when you’ve dissociated things so well, it is really, really hard to accept.

    For what it’s worth, based on my reading of your archives here, it sounds like it is true. But I know from horrible experience that it’s all very well to have that said to you, and another thing entirely to believe and accept it all.

    Just…you’re not alone, hun. Thinking of you xxxxx

    • tai0316 says:

      Hey Pan 🙂 Unless that nickname sucks?
      I guess my question to you has to do with “proof”. Now, let me clearly state that I believe everything you say about what happened to you, without question. What I’m saying has more to do with issues of physical proof for me. If there was blood when I first had sex with my husband, even if it was a tiny amount, then doesn’t that prove that I was never vaginally penetrated? Sorry if that’s too disturbing. 😦 It’s stuff like that. You say you have “so much doubt” and I totally get where that comes from, which is my problem I guess. Man, this reply is getting confusing for me, I can’t get my thoughts together for some reason. Argh! I guess my thoughts are, if I don’t have physical proof, how would I ever know if this happened if I forgot about it. Faith Allen on Blooming Lotus did an entry on this and I couldn’t make up my mind because there’s too many different examples with people and their concensual intimate relationships.

  2. Did you read the bit from Faith about how the hymen can regenerate? After I read this, I searched online for more info and found that there is just such a wide range of experience in regards to sex and bleeding. Some never bleed at all, even the first time. Others bleeds heaps or have ongoing bleeding over several occasions, not just the first time. And then, if the hymen regenerates, then you really can’t use any of it as ‘proof’. I was looking it up because I don’t remember ever having any bleeding as an adult. I thought that the lack of blood would prove that my hymen was well and truly gone and therefore I really was raped. But then, some women just don’t bleed. It is confusing, and frustrating. I understand so well this need for ‘proof’, but for so many of us, it’s just not going to happen. For me, the proof is how I feel, how my parts feel, and the sexual dysfunction, in various ways, I’ve experienced over the years. I’m so afraid of sex that my husband can barely touch me – we are doing well to hold hands these days or have an A-frame hug. The way things are going for you, I think these memories are coming out and in time you will just know, without any physical proof. Hang on. Try to be patient. Try not to judge yourself. I like what Castorgirl has written recently – that it’s not really about remembering everything, it’s about dealing with the issues you face today. And I also understand the frustation of not knowing your own life story. Sorry to have rambled so. My head is not in the best place. I sure hope I said something useful.


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