Being Intimate with a Sexually Traumatized Person

Being an STP myself, I appreciated this piece a lot!

Butch and Brat

This link was recommended to me, and now I pass it along to you.

Being intimate with a person who survived sexual abuse can be a steep learning curve. The piece behind the link has been enormously helpful.

Primer for Partners of Sexual Abuse Survivors

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An Idea

I have been thinking of creating a group for LGBT+ people in Egypt; you know to meet, talk and interact in a safe environment. Yet, I am not sure if I should do that. Would it be really a safe environment? How am I to ensure that my identity is safe? That the identity of everyone is safe. Is it worth it?! or will we be simply harassed by others, not to mention police agents and such?

A Confession

I have a confession to make..

Almost 10 years ago I thought that I have discovered all there is to discover about myself. Well, at least sexuality-wise. Though, a couple of years ago, I decided to face my fears and rethink who I really am, whom I really like. I decided to face a question; a painful memory buried so deep within the heart of my childhood-self.

The question was: what do I really feel towards men?

The memory: sexual abuse form a caregiver (my martial arts instructor) and attempted rape (both men), neither incidents was handled, faced or even reached the ears of my family. Both incidents happened before I even was 9 years old.

These thoughts led to the following questions:

Did these two events shape my character? Yes, they did. In more ways than one.

Have I overcome this? No, and I don’t know if I will ever will.

Am I attracted to women as a way to escape men? Hell, NO! I like women, very much so.

Am I afraid of men? Socially: no, not since I was a child at least. Sexually and romantically: yes, definitely. I always feel tense and angry whenever a man expresses romantic interest in me.

So, I realized then that no matter what I theorise, until I allow myself to be with a man sexually, I will never really know.

That led me to actually sleep with a man. The surprise was that, despite my fear, despite having to have a couple of Vodka shots before attempting to have sex with him; I enjoyed it!

At that moment I realised that I was not really lesbian at all, but actually bisexual. That my sexuality was more fluid than I thought it was. That is my first confession.

I cannot say that this discovery changed anything in my life for the past two years. Everything is still the same, I still keep my distance from both sexes; maintaining an icy wall around my heart, which brings me to my next confession.

I am a highly sexual person, to me sex has its own pleasure; it has nothing to do with love, it has nothing to do with the heart. I always felt bad about myself because I never felt romantic love or attachment towards any of the people I dated or had any crushes. I felt that there is something wrong with me. Sexual attraction was there, affection was there, but that is all. I felt I was damaged, corrupt somehow. I demonised myself.

Lately, though, it came to my attention that there is a difference between a sexual orientation and a romantic orientation. And, boy, did everything fall in place! Yes, I am bisexual, but I am also aromantic! That is my second confession and the thing that really changed my perspective and expectations of my life!

I no longer feel that I must fall in love to feel like I am a normal person with a heart and not an android with no capacity to feel.

Now, I am at peace.

I do not know if this will change one day or not, but until then, everything finally makes sense and I am glad for that.

Fragment III

Like Sibyl, I hold time in my hands,
‘As many as sand grains in your hand, you shall live’
An immortal fire within a shroud of flesh
Shrivelling, failing.

I see the reflection of all that I shall lose
On every green leaf, on every red rose.
I smell the scent of renewal; hope
Never meant to be,
I feel the changes, I taste the acid of time;
A map written in the eyes of a child
A key buried in the belly of the sea.

© Mira Abdullah

Fragment II

In olden times
There was a singer of holy songs,
A nightingale’s voice resounding through the portals of heaven; of hell.
Words written on sand; recited by a golden dove,
Pain carved in stone; never ending, never ceasing,
A golden lyre strummed by a god.
I hear them now,
In a heartfelt song,
In a mother’s lullaby to her child,
In the silence of the universe.
I hear them
In the roaring winds outside of my window,
In the whispering streams of blood and pain.
I hear them when my soul screams your name.

© Mira Abdullah