Killing The Monster

This is not one of those nice stories you read that gives you warm and fuzzies, or is it? I think like with anything else it is a matter of perspective.  I am writing this with several intentions. The first being to get it out. The second being to help others. Are you ready to go back with me? It will not be pretty but there is a light at the end of the tunnel I assure you. Let me lay some ground work. I am a bratty submissive. I have a Daddy. I have a trauma history. These all go together.  I use BDSM to cure myself. I have severe PTSD, with all the nice bells and whistles flashback, panic, attacks, and irrational fear. I am going to tell you my story, and if you don't want to read it that's fine, because I don't want it in my head either.  However, to see the light at the end, you must face the darkness at the beginning. If you can't this is where I leave you. <3 

My father was a drug addict, however he is not the monster in my story. The man who replaced him in my mothers life is.  My father had a addiction, I did not know who he was until I was 6. If I am honest up until then I thought my step-father was my father, and my life was good.  So when this stranger shows up telling me different my little mind could not handle it. After a bit, my dad and I left and had our first 2 hour visit. Then he did not return for 2 years. Looking back I continue to ask myself was it better to know this person existed even if they are in and out of my life. Some would say yes, but that day changed things for me. I now knew the truth that I was not my step dads child, and my mother had loved another man. It was a truth my stepfather did not like to be reminded of . When I got home he hog tied me with a dog leash and locked me in a dark closet. It never amazes me what the human mind is capable of. See I can forget what I walked into the next room for, but I can remember every beating my mother took, every time she tried to kill herself, every affair he had and every young girl's face attached, I remember every hiding spot I used to hide my sisters from the psychos that were my parents.  I can remember every detail of the 6 short visits I had with my father before he committed suicide when I was 11.  We watched superman, and he was usually stoned. He would tie a towel around his neck and jump off furniture. It was great. In the mean time at home, I was turned into the house slave. I was not allowed to speak until I was spoken too. I was not allowed to eat with my family. I was responsible for all the child care, cooking, and house work. I was not allowed outside. I was routinely locked outside on pouches, or in garages in the winter wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. No socks or shoes. No coat. I never did anything right and I was beaten daily, like a dog with electrical cords, belts, sticks, and homemade paddles. I was made to eat and drink punishment concoctions. The monster took away my name and identity.  My name was replaced with "Fat Bitch" even though at the time I was 121 lbs. I had to exercise obsessively, and was starved. Most nights I just wanted to die, some nights I tried.     Still with me? Take a deep breath, we are okay.  

My mother never intervened, she actually took a job working from 2-2 we never saw her....I never saw her I didn't have a mother anymore. With her out of the way, the monster became more creative with his torture. He would hang me upside down and hit my feet with boards breaking my toes. I walked to school like that, they healed on their own. He would choke me till I was unconscious.  However, I got relief when I got to be alone with my sisters and read to them, do their hair, and play with them.  The monster demanded that my mother provide him with babysitters to help with the kids. So while he banged the teenage babysitters, I was free. Until she cut him off.  There are moments in life we know damage is being done, where you aren't even human anymore just a shell of a being watching what is happening to you. Here comes moment number one. It was a Saturday  morning, I was up at 6 to care for my sisters. He called me into the bedroom where he was in bed. Be told me his stomach hurt and to sit down on the floor facing away from him and rub it.  I immediately got that ping in my stomach, you know the one that lets you know shit's about to get bad. I did what I was told and as I sat there he kept pushing my hand down towards his dick until I touched it and recoiled like it was a snake going to strike. He grabbed my wrist and twisted it. He told me I was his property and I would do as I was told. He said I should feel privileged that he was going to train me to please him, and my future husband would benefit from this training. This went on for years.  However, once my dad died things got much worse.  So up to this point I have developed abandonment issues, terrible body image issues, and the inability to for the next 20 years to reach my hand down a mans pants and touch a dick like any normal woman, without them leading my hand, which bonus causes flashbacks, or feeling grossed out.  

Then my dad dies, my mother takes a beating so severe for crying at his funeral that she can't work for days.  I was just angry because I had this fantasy that he would come save me...Now there was no saving me. Two weeks later I come home from school and I am told to go to the bathroom where I can to answer my crimes of forgetting to put my sister tooth brush in the cup. He tells me that I am stupid, and no matter how much he beats me I am too stupid to learn. Therefore; it is his duty to find another way to teach me. He makes me get naked. He tells me to look at myself in the mirror and see how fat I am. He tells me that no man will ever want me, and I am making him do this because I'm so stupid and won't learn. He makes me tell him I want him to teach me to be better.  At first I hesitate because I feel that ping in my stomach. I am rewarded for my hesitation with a split lip. After my compliance I am pushed down on all fours, he uses the back of my head to push my face in the side of the tub. He tells me that I need to loose weight because I'm fat and disgusting. He tells me to shut up, he doesn't want to hear a sound, and he rubs himself on the outside long enough to do what he needs to do. Silently. I am happy for the silence. It allows me to slip away. I remember being happy I was still a virgin. Because I never wanted to have to tell someone I lost my virginity to my stepfather.  As time went on he would punish be by jabbing me with his fingers causing damage to my vagina.  He would chain me to his tool bench and rub himself on the outside while jabbing me on the inside with items that weren't meant to be placed inside a girl.  I spend many days cramping, not being able to walk straight.  I wont go into details but I can't stand the site of bar stools, which were used to teach me the hard lesson of what happens when you resist.  One night I was allowed to sleep upstairs (usually I was locked in the basement) because my sisters were sick. I was sleeping on the floor. He came upstairs got on the floor beside me and proceeded to cram is dick in to my throat. It was dark I couldn't see him, however I wish I could have seen the expression on his face when I threw up on him. I would regret it of course but he never did that again.   He told be to go the the basement, he was angry.  I was tied naked to a pole, he beat me with a electrical cord until couldn't stand and blood trickled down my back and legs. Then while he was still behind be he decided this would be my first anal experience. I only remember the pain, and the fact that my one and only friend had heard the screams, looked in the basement window, and was later beaten senseless for trying to save me.  

It took another year before I would get out. In that time the monster was trying to convince me he was in love with me. We should run away. My mother would hate me if she found out about us. Since the pole night, he determined that was his new favorite punishment.  He would beat me, he would make be say "I want it"  he would put me on his lap facing away, or tie me to something get behind me silently do his thing, while I check out and went to a world where there wasn't so much pain. Until the day I snapped, and decided to leave entirely. I can't give you a lot of details, as I don't remember. Only that I was found wondering towards a bridge with razor blades in my hand.  Years of abuse had taken its toll. I could tell story's for days, but these were the moments that broke my spirit, crushed my soul, they defined me.

So moving forward 9 months of intense psychotherapy and sexual therapy. I am one hell of a knock off for a normal teenage girl. Lisa my therapist and I make a list of things I need to work through as we find exposure therapy is what works best for me. (this doesn't work for everyone.)  I have to do the following on my list: Touch a mans penis without physical prompts, give and receive oral,  trust someone enough to touch me,  allow someone to hold me and touch me from behind, use some form of restraints that I feel safe with,  positions: dogie style, reverse cowgirl,  and reverse cow girl anal.  This is a life long list they weren't sending a teenage out for anal.  Known triggers, silence, not being able to see the persons face, asking for sex, giving permission for sex, mirrors, pain play, old spice, choking, chains/bondage, person being behind me, intimate touching, anal, oral and orgasms or feeling good. 

I know; sounds like I'm a lot of fun huh?  I was in therapy for some time. I had to first learn to give myself orgasms and not feel disgusted, guilty, or dirty. It took 6 months. Also I now have carpel tunnel, but I digress.  So I'm 19 and I have my list. Because I am a glutton for punishment, I choose a man that was an asshole.  He did not like fore play so it always hurt, if I said something he would literally throw me off the bed, He smothered me with pillows, he was never kind. Silent, in the dark, painful, unsatisfying, triggering sex......good news I still have my happy place and I know how to get there. This sentence was 17 years. I know that is crazy, but children, failure, and all that jazz.  

As this fell apart I met Daddy in the most unconventional of ways. He too was attempting to crawl out of something sad, and loveless. He too had a dark past full of his own monsters and demons.  We were just friends to begin with and spent every night for the next several weeks talking.  At some point one or both of us acknowledged the need for human contact and Daddy through out the invitation for a hug if I came to him.  It took me a couple hours, and I think I turned the car around twice. I was very nervous but I drug myself to where he was and got a hug. Which turned into a neck kiss....which turned into a kiss on the lips....and I struggled. I knew where this was going to go, but did I want it too? I must have stopped him 50 times, and with the patience of a saint he never got pissy with me.  Okay kids, it's about to get TV-MA up in here.  So I am in my bra and panties, and he decided he's going down......AAAHHHHHH trigger.....but I let him, I don't know why. Its fine, I'm fine.  Side note about Daddy he is not a minute, or 30 minute man. He's a bring a lunch, stay for the day kind of guy. So he comes up and I decide I'm going down. This time I like it, I mean I really, like it. It is a complete turn on to watch him squirm, and at this point I am amazed that someone other than myself has the power to turn me on because I was convinced, not to mention told I was broken. So he's on top for a while cool and orgasm, well 4 to be accurate. Then I'm on top here's a few more orgasms, and them he tries to put me in the never before tried reverse cowgirl position. I can feel two things occur my body immediately send off the "bad things are going to happen alarm" my brain is like I think we can do this, and Daddy is kindly walking me through it.  I did it, I survived more orgasms. When I leave I literally have an emotional break down in my car.  He doesn't know that I spent years with someone and was not comfortable enough to do all the things Daddy and I did in one night.  It was overwhelming, and all of a sudden I felt something. Emotion, I had been an emotionless robot for years, but it was how I survived. Here this man who I've only known for a few weeks has cracked my armor, that's not possible. But it was, for a week or so I felt emotions, and then he pulled the plug because he didn't know if he was ready to move on yet.  Those feelings I cherished crushed me. So I turned them off.   I will tell you sub drop has nothing on the what happens to an emotionless person who felt something and crashed, plus I though we broke my kitty because I had so many orgasms I was a mess.  Don't be mad at Daddy he has his own story, and it lasted all of two days. It wasn't the first time that he wavered the first few months were a struggle for us both, we even lost a baby :(  I remind you this sweet man lays sleeping next to me so no worries.  We made it through. 

Our first weekend get away was a few months later, and I think it is safe to say my emotions were on guard mode. There was a real danger of losing him and I needed to be prepared to deal with the pain. We have a hotel and it has mirrors including at the end of the bed. We make love in front of the mirror and he makes me say "I'm beautiful" it is still such a profound moment. These seem like little things, but what he was giving me were good memories to override the bad. He very often will stand me in front of a mirror and have me say "I'm beautiful" and I never told him about the mirror issue in my past life. That night was a long night, as we sat facing each other, rocking back and forth making love slowly, the walls came down again. For the first time in my life I had a person who did more than just fuck me and walk away.  Some of us are lucky enough to have a man that can fuck you like he owns you, and make love to you like your the most precious thing in the world to him. I am lucky. Even then though I'm telling myself don't get attached, don't get use to it. He will leave. 

I know this is a lot to take in but to see the destination you have to understand the journey. I have so much to work on, and it is difficult to do it alone or with a person who does not understand, or refers to you as broken, or fucked up.  Because I am forever fighting the monster, he lives in my head, creeps into my dreams, steals my thoughts.  Pleasure makes me feel guilty. Sometimes, normal acts make me feel dirty. If I do something related to what he make me do and its not successful he whispers to "because your only purpose is to serve me" then I want to avoid that activity entirely. He shows me pictures. He convinces me I am not good enough. Somewhere hidden inside me is a little girl that believes she is fat, stupid, unlovable. When men look at me I feel uncomfortable. I don't like to be touched. If I feel dirty I will take a shower that is way too hot and scrub my skin raw.  This is what it does to you. I am constantly doubting myself, or the fact that anyone could love me. I expect people to hurt me and try to figure out their angle if they don't. If something makes me happy or feels good I try to destroy it because still those feelings are hard to deal with. Happiness can make me physically uncomfortable. Why? Because they only time I was even treated somewhat decently as a child was before the monster showed up to hurt me.  See I am a mess too, like you, maybe better, maybe worse. I am getting better.  

When he moved in about a year ago we started our real journey as Daddy and little.  I will save some of our firsts for a different blog. However, Daddy pushes me to deal with things it was important for us to work together, and for example he does not let me go to the dark place an live there. I will try to keep things from him because at any second he's gonna think dealing with this chick is horseshit, and leave.  Loving a person with PTSD is not for the faint of heart. Sometimes its a real struggle, and I wonder how he does it.  I struggle with the idea of craving the things that happened. Or at least I did. I know now that there is nothing wrong with the fact that I like to be tied or held down, by a safe person, to be clear by Daddy as no one else has been able to do this. I need it, so when I close my eye I just see Daddy, not the monster. Every trigger we work on kills a little piece of the monster.  It takes away a small amount of the monsters power. I can have a man behind me, and long as he is my man. Everything we chip away at make me stronger and the monster weaker.  So why did we then choose BDSM to help with the trauma? My primary reason, I needed to relinquish power and control to someone I felt safe with. In the past men took power from me I can have that. I need to be in control, and being submissive is the best way. His power is only his as long as I allow it to be.  Because it is safe, there's limits, there's conversations, there's contracts.  Unlike a vanilla relationship if I ask someone to spank me because I need to feel good pain, they wont look at me like I am crazy. Furthermore, I have found that these types of relationships hold a higher level of trust, safety, and emotional attachment.  On a core level it encourages the "therapy" that I need which is to be dominated by someone who can be rough within limits, then provides for my emotional well being after wards with kisses, cuddles, and affection. This helps be to program my brain that sex is not a punishment. When I try to avoid something Daddy pushes me to face it and is with me every step of the way to make sure I am safe and feel loved. I have given him the power to do so which diminishes my desire to fight, or avoid.  These are the basic rules for these relationships. I submit and he cares for me.  It's not perfect every once in a while there is a trigger moment, and we deal with it.  While the list is dwindling down, I still have a few I need to work on I am having less nightmare, and flashbacks.  There are so many things that I can do now, and I know it would not have been possible without this relationship and lifestyle. 

I hope that some one reading this feels they are not as alone in the world. I hope that a person reading this that may be with a person with PTSD understands a little better, we don't want to be crazy trust me! I hope that a person reading this that is struggling to understand is it normal I used to be abused, and now I like to be flogged, knows now, yes that's normal.  Trauma, will change the way you look at things, it will make you ask more questions, but it does not have to control you if you don't let it.  I know this will not work for everyone. I am not saying my way is the only way, but for us it works.  Don't let anyone judge you for how you choose to fix what someone else has broken!

In case you still feel alone 1 out of every 4 girls will be a victim of sexual assault, 1 in 6 boys, and 1 of every 2 people with a disability.  You're not alone, you're not broken, 
you're not fucked up.  You just need to find your path to the light <3

Until Next time <3 Sally