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My wounds.

**This story contains traumatic content and sexual harassment which could be sensitive to some. Kindly avoid this article as it might trigger mental wounds or unpleasant feelings.**

This article is dedicated to #MeToo and all the fighters out there. You are not alone.

I’ve been hesitating for a long time whether I should tell the truth or not, whether it is worth it to take this risk, whether I’d be seen as a liar… Many times I decided to keep this to myself, but the truth kept burning inside of me, as if it was a time bomb counting down in my heart. I truly longed for an end to this feeling, but I still couldn’t find a way to move on with my life without suffering. Even though there were times I was feeling better, eventually I ended up encountering triggers that took me back to my state of agony every time.

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From time to time I ask myself what is the point of existing. Many times I think of escaping this reality through death, but I couldn’t. Until today… the day I decided that I couldn’t stand keeping this to myself anymore, and that I must share this story. The story that happened many years ago (that I mislead it as ‘sexual harassment’ when it was clearly more than just that.)

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It happened when I was 18. I had known this person since I was around 14-15. He was always giving me small tasks to do, and was my guidance in certain times (especially regarding family issues that I couldn’t tell anyone). I respected and trusted him more than anyone else. To me, he was a benefactor, as he had helped me out through thick and thin, from office equipment to lunch money in times I had nothing at all. I used to think that without him, there wouldn’t have been me. Unfortunately, nothing in this world comes for free, and this is how I had learned it the hard way. I had learned of the darkest side of humans. I have learned of the escape of my own reality. And I have learned of the capability one can protect their own mentality, including mine.

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When I was 18 turning 19 years old, he and I decided to go out together. I thought of myself as the luckiest woman on earth. Rather than choosing one of the pretty, rich or clever girls around him, he instead chose me who had nothing. I wasn’t attractive nor wealthy, not to mention my intelligence. At least we had one thing in common, which is the desire to help out fellow humans. He was nice-hearted, a good leader, smart and was a guidance to many of those in need. I was happy, elated that I would be able to walk that path together with him.

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Until one day, out of nowhere he told me that he would come to visit me in the upcountry, and he straightforwardly asked to have sex with me, in which I rejected directly. I considered myself a little conservative and I was only 18-19 during the time, which I felt it was too fast, and if it was really about time, I’d rather it happen according to the norms (after marriage, for instance). I can’t remember if he was kept on asking or not, but it ended by him agreeing that he ‘promised’ not to do anything, and appointed me to meet at a hotel.

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I totally understand if people are going to judge me, that ‘there aren’t any good women who would meet a man at a hotel’. I must say it right here that meeting another man privately, or being alone with him in a room doesn’t mean that I am ‘asking for it’ or ‘okay’ with everything. Every time he asked for sex, my answer was still always ‘no’. And with my trust for him, I still believed he would keep his promise. Until I realized I was wrong. I was wrong that I trusted him.

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You can say I’m stupid, but it wasn’t as easy as you think it is.

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‘If it happens, you just resist.’ The world doesn’t just offer you simple solutions like that.

It could have been that way, hadn’t he been a total stranger, I would have fought my best.

But in this case, it wasn’t. Let me remind you again, he was the person I trusted the most.

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In that situation, my head went blank, I couldn’t gather any train of thought. And the moment I realized, it was too late. All was left was a hole in my heart, grown to become a black hole, gradually expanding and consuming my existence, leaving an empty shell with no sense of my own identity. I felt like I was someone else completely. Although I have no knowledge of psychology, judging from living through this memory for years, I assume that it happened due to my attempt to run away from reality; I refused to believe that the person I loved and trusted to most would do anything as horrendous to me. And with the fact that he is like my only anchor, ‘I was so afraid I’d lose him’, although I wasn’t okay with what happened. It was as if I created a new identity, or as if I just pretended I was okay with it, just so I wouldn’t lose anything, while in fact I felt lost at the same time.

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I went home with a sense of emptiness, vacant, obscure and perplexed. Situations like this happened more and more severe. During the year and a half we were together, he started purchasing clothes he’d like to see me wear, including lingerie, or even asked for my own underwear for him to keep. He tended to place cameras in certain corners of the room, something that also started to become another reality I refuse to believe it happened (and it got worse when he would place 2 cameras, one in the corner and another in his hand). He started to ask/force me to take suggestive photos of myself, in our room or even in the car. Perhaps the worst of all was in public, in a park in Bangkok.

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Many times I refused, but he didn’t seem to submit, and every time (that I recall) it ended up with me ‘agreeing’ just to be over with it.

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Who would have known that someone you walk past normally might be a victim under a force such as me (because at the end I learned that this darkness doesn’t hide in the corners, but in the open air of the society.)

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And here is the problem, the point where I clearly realized his distortion, his darkest side.

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The problem persisted from the very first day it happened, my body didn’t respond to the stimulations. This resulted in him having to use lubricant every time we did it. I always lied every time he asked if I felt anything, I never did. Each time it happened, I only wished it would be done as quickly as possible, but it seemed that he isn’t satisfied since the body can’t lie. He began to have me watch porn, in which was useless. He also scolded at me, saying that it wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t enjoy it as well. And he started reinforcing restrictions on me, forcing me to lose weight, sending me pictures of young actresses, wanting me to be like them ‘petite and lean legs’, (which wasn’t my body type at all). Even forced me to cut my hair the way he wanted, threatening with reasons I can’t recall.

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I lived in fear, increasing every day, fear that if I couldn’t satisfy him, I might lose him (looking back I also don’t understand why I have to be so afraid considering what he had done to me). My humanity was destroyed into pieces, including my confidence… that he’d shame me, my body, that it would never be as how he wanted, and it became deeply rooted into my head.

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A year and half of hell happened.

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It sounds like consent, right? It isn’t… From the bottom of my heart, everything that happened was all influenced by my fear, and fear does not equate to consent. Fear isn’t saying ‘yes’. Fear is emptiness. Fear is hesitance. Fear is juggling between one and another. Therefore it is not, nor will ever be consent. Fear occurred because at the time, he was in control of me. Having said all that, the real ‘hell’ happened after the end of that relationship.

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Apart from loss, I also had to face disgust, strong disgust of my own body. My confidence went on negative to the point that I tended to lock myself up in my own room. Even if I have to leave the room, I’d wear long sleeves no matter how hot the weather was. Many times I felt like scraping my skin off my body due to how filthy I thought it was. It was so disgusting that I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t wash the filth away. Eventually I was disgusted with myself, that I was flawed, imperfect, bizarre and ugly. I didn’t even want to see myself in the mirror.

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And it worsened when the symptoms of PTSD intensified. I went through months of nightmares. I feel anxious around others. I feel unsafe, uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel the impulse to harm others, especially men, just any man. I wanted them to feel at least a speck of the suffer I had to go through. And with that thought, I felt anxious around my own existence, drowning into guilt, dehumanized.

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Once or twice, I was so cautious that I couldn’t leave my own room

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Many times I think of escaping, by committing suicide.

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But a part of me wants to live on, to forget everything. It was just that the symptoms wouldn’t let me.

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During the beginning of my anxiety and continuous nightmares, all of my awful memories were brought back in rewind, as it just happened recently. It was nauseous, plain white. I even recalled the details of the room where it all happened; how was the room, where were certain pieces of furniture were located, even the pain. It felt like I was in hell, unable to reach out my hand to anyone.

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Sometimes I chose to let it all out, sometimes within those times others would tell me that I was dark, that it was my choice to run into those thorns.

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I didn’t blame them at all. I’m even happy that they would never understand.

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I couldn’t choose that today I am going to be happy, bad dreams were always ready to pull me back into them.

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I couldn’t choose…

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Sometimes when I feel lonely, when I look at other families, I wanted to have my own family, too. I wanted to have children, but I thought it would be impossible. Who would accept this body? Who would accept someone with this kind of past? There is no one who wouldn’t give importance to sex. Even though I have been treated, the symptoms aren’t completely gone. Sleeping pills couldn’t entirely help with the nightmares since they occasionally come back. But as long as they aren’t related to what happened, I am more relieved.

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And this was what happened to me… What I had to endure throughout all of the years. Many times I was accused of making this story up, to the point that I was too afraid to publish my story anywhere (which only made it worse). I only hope that my story would be a disclaimer for others, that even the ones they trust the most, you’d never know what would they choose, between respecting your decision, or satisfying their desires.

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Not only with women, even men can experience this as well.

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I’d like to thank everyone who has been a motivation throughout and has made me feel I’m not alone, including other guidances and articles which demonstrate the issue of consent by Thaiconsent. Including toxic relationships and toxic partners, I’d like to recommend Free From Fear.

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Lastly, I’d like to thank my own courage, that made my finally brave enough to publish my story, including my favorite series and quote from my favorite character Derek Morgan from Criminal Minds, Season 8, Episode 18.

[ It can cause a lot of isolation And there can be anger and rage.

It can cause pain and suffering But you can get through it.

It can make you stronger.

It does not have to destroy your life.

It can make you fight back.

And it can make you want to spend the rest of your life protecting others. ]

Story by Anonymous Illustration by Nanaaa First published in Thaiconsent Facebook Page