desensitised

cw mentions SA

‘It happened again.’

Words whispered into my friend’s shoulder as she held me close the morning after an eventful night out. ‘It happened again,’ I heard a voice say as I felt my body slowly start to drift away. I felt as though I was floating above the pair, watching this sad scene play out with a calm sense of detachment. I didn’t give any further explanation - it wasn’t necessary. My body had been violated enough times by then for my friend to understand those three words completely.

Hadn’t I already suffered enough? I thought I had learned my lesson, that I understood how to protect myself but I was still the same helpless, weak girl I’ve always been. I excused myself from the embrace to call my sister; it was the same conversation as the previous three times but it made me feel better. Even if nothing else, I will always have my sister.

To give some small credit to my abusers, each assault was entirely different to the next so perhaps they were all necessary and valuable teachings. My experiences have made me stronger but have they made me better? I do wonder what kind of person I would be if my body had never been defiled. Would I be happier, healthier, more trusting? I doubt I would flinch every time someone dares to make an abrupt movement near me. I don’t wish to complain too much though, other people have it a lot worse than me after all. I feel grateful for that, knowing that even though those men hurt me - they could have done a lot more damage.

Recently I’ve been pondering all the ‘mini-assaults’ I’ve experienced - times where my consent was definitely violated but not significantly enough for me to cry about it or consider reporting it. I feel entirely numb and I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve continued to date people even after they’ve crossed a consensual line; I excuse their behaviour and dismiss their half-hearted apologies. I’ve never yelled but rather politely pointed out a partner’s error, the people pleaser in me is sadly never dormant. I’ve been so desensitised by my more traumatic experiences that I can’t even bring myself to be upset when someone adds to this trauma. On paper, it’s assault. In my mind it is an unfortunate occurrence. My primary assaults have hardened me, they prepared me for the fact that there are hundreds of souls in this world who are willing to hurt someone like me. 

I no longer fear assault, nor do I welcome it. My stance is the same as it was before: floating above the crime, watching with a detached calmness.