white ops

After the darkness comes the dawn, always. Yesterday I wrote about feeling so disconnected from my emotions that I felt like I could slice someone’s head off without regret. This morning, I wrote a note to a friend that gave thanks for kissing my broken places and being the cherished and honored friend that the NF description said I’d get. In every way, this is the friendship I’ve waited for all my life and had to, because I could not have seen the pieces on the chessboard that needed to move for me to be capable of it.

My psychosexual dysfunction says that you don’t really know me if you aren’t having sex with me. Therefore, I could not and did not allow myself to really have friends outside of Dana because I was afraid of creating chaos. I did anyway, and as I watched those relationships burn, I realized that I’d made my choice. If opening up to someone triggered a sexual response in me, then I wouldn’t open up to anyone. I’d just compartmentalize friendship so that I wouldn’t allow myself to feel what was missing.

I came into a friendship in this broken place, and because Dana trusts me to know my own darkness, I didn’t feel bad about telling the friend that I didn’t know if I could be friends with a woman that excited me this much, that I couldn’t betray Dana, etc. etc. etc.

She didn’t even blink. Not once. She told me that she wanted to be everything for me that was good and right and pure about friendship, and I fucking lost it. That’s the tape. That’s it.

As a direct consequence of my abuser’s actions, friendship and sex are inextricably interrelated. How did I not have this epiphany before? My first real “my parents didn’t pick you” friendship was broken in exactly that way, so of course at some points in my life ALL OF my friendships were broken in the same way.

Once I was able to figure out where the tape was, I sliced through it. No more. Friendship stands on its own, and the testament to it is that when I offered up a broken place, she kissed it and made it better.

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