I have been told I’m beautiful by strangers. “I love your hair”, “I love your outfit”, “your makeup is so well done”. But they don’t see the cracks in identity and the splintered soul that hides behind these hazel eyes. I feel dirty. If I don’t take a shower every day it feels like the muck and scum of others will soon consume my entire body, and all I will be left with is the residue of past violations. Compartmentalizing is a muscle I’ve been strengthening since puberty. When my mother gave me “the talk” I sobbed. I understood at 10 that my childish innocence would soon be swiped from underneath my feet, and I would have to learn to keep moving forward on skinned knees.

“... my routine of getting dressed in the morning changed from a perspective of utility, to a foresight of protection”

Soon after I received my first training bra, my routine of getting dressed in the morning changed from a perspective of utility, to a foresight of protection. My first thought when putting on shorts changed from “it’s going to be hot out! I want to be comfortable” to “am I going to be looked at by older men? Maybe I should change. I want to be comfortable”. My legs were distracting. My arms were distracting. My shoulders were distracting. I got dress coded once because my cardigan flew backwards and exposed the lack of straps my dress had. I was running late to class and instead of learning math, I learned to cover up out of my own safety and to not provoke 12 year old boys.

“But it doesn’t really matter what I wear, does it? I was a danger to myself because I went through puberty”

But it doesn’t really matter what I wear, does it? I was a danger to myself because I went through puberty. Messages from adults and peers poured into my brain. I was dizzy trying to keep up with the rules that came along with my developing body. Cross your legs, smile more, your intelligence doesn’t matter if you’re pretty. If a boy states something it must be true. Girls like boys and boys like girls - any normal person is straight. Go along with what he wants, you don’t want him breaking up with you. Coercion? You mean consent, right? He likes you, he loves you. He would never do that. If you push his hand off too many times he’ll tell everyone that you’re a prude. Slowly and yet all at once, my body was no longer mine. The effort of saying no wasn’t worth it when the other party was deaf. You repeat phrases enough times and they lose their meaning, dragging you along with them.

“Funny how the people who have violated you also told you that they loved you”

It feels like a never ending game of whack-a-mole. You hit one and tell yourself you’ve beat it, but another pops up and another and another and it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve hit them - it doesn’t stop until the game master decides it’s over. I was 14 when I learned to detach from my body and recede into my mind. I was screaming from universes away while the other party was too busy groaning to notice. I thought that crying every time after sex was a normal bodily response, like coughing or hiccuping. I wish I could say that this pattern stopped once I slept with women and got older. It didn’t. Apparently your partner is being abusive when they threaten that you don’t love them if you’re  too tired or sick to have sex. And surely it was my fault those times I drank too much and didn’t remember having sex with her (even though she was sober). Waking up naked without remembering why is much less scary when it’s next to  your girlfriend. And if you told her to stop when you were having sex she would start crying and say that you’re hurting her feelings, so faking it was easier than a fight - even if you’ve detached from your body again. Funny how the people who have violated you also told you that they loved you.

“Parts of me feel tainted, but self is something that can never be touched”

I was 24 when I realized that it wasn’t my fault. That just because you don’t say no, it doesn’t mean you’re saying yes. It’s called a fawn response and it can begin once your system is thrown into a familiar situation of danger. You’ve learned time and time again that fight and flight aren’t options - your only way out is to cooperate in order to make it out safely and alive. Countless experiences where my sense of self has been further splintered, shattered, and cracked. I’ve felt broken, pieces of myself thrown farther and farther away with each violation. I’ve watched with horror as muddied fingers fondle what was once clean porcelain. It took 24 years to learn that what was once mine, will remain mine. Parts of me feel tainted, but self is something that can never be touched. I thought that I was forever ruined, but the blood can wash off my hands and I will soon be clean. The stains I thought were once mine will be rinsed away, I can’t say the same for those who had filthy fingers to begin with.