When you try to forget, but your body won’t let you.
By: Salted Hurricane
Tags: Lucid Dreaming, Identity, Trauma, Sexual Assault, College

Photo by Deon Black on Unsplash

Like almost every other girl in the 90’s, I was obsessed with Britney Spears. I saw how fans, tabloids, the entire world wanted to know more about her. People wanted her. That became my goal in life.

I had been primed from a young age that you can feel wanted through your sexuality. Fast forward to my time in University, I put this to the test. I was as promiscuous as you can imagine. Wear clothing that puts my tits on display? Check. Have threesomes? Check — first week of school actually. Have sex in the school library? Check. Give someone a blow job in the DJ booth of a club? Check. Have sex in a room with other people having sex? Check. I racked up a long list of sex conquests, half of which I could only list by describing the few details I remembered about them.

If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us.” — Hermann Hesse

I had the audacity to judge those girls — labeling them as insecure, daddy issues, no self worth — but that wasn’t me. That couldn’t have possibly been me. This was what I wanted. I’m orchestrating this show. I enjoyed it.

A German novelist once said — “If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us.” Whenever you’re judgmental of others, you’re, in fact, judging yourself. Well, 10 years later I finally understand and believe that to be true. Not only do I admit that this is true, but these experiences are back to haunt me. These unprocessed traumas, traumas I orchestrated for myself, are now coming out in my dreams.

My dreams are lucid, intricate, and full of clues — but its up to me solve each piece of the puzzle. I recently had a dream where I went for a car ride with 3 people I had just met: a woman and two men. At one point the group tried to have sex with each other and ended up having “sex” in the trees. Each person in their own crevice or branch in the tree, so no one faces each other, she was nothing but a device. This woman kept insisting she wanted this, but it’s obvious by the look on her face that she didn’t. It is obvious they don’t respect her even though they always hang out with her.

I woke up and immediately thought, what the fuck. After meeting with my therapist that week, we realized I’m the woman in the tree.

My first weekend at University, I was raped at a club. I was 18 years old. I can’t really tell you what happened other than what sometime comes through as flashes. I do remember going to the bathroom and seeing blood on my underwear. I remember being afraid of leaving my dorm room after it got dark out. I remember thinking every single group of happy and laughing men were laughing at me. I remember being so ashamed that I had done something wrong, I was unable to tell my boyfriend at the time. I started drinking all the time. Smoking all the time. Experimenting with drugs. Saying yes to anyone who paid any attention to me. I was so desperate to regain control that I did just the opposite of that. In a twisted way, I thought if I started the interaction, that meant I was in control. To further this illusion I created for myself, I would sometimes sleep with multiple people in the same day — just so I could tell myself that if someone wanted to leave me, there were plenty more lined up. A few months prior to graduation, I was raped again. This time, I remember it all.

What kind of college experience did I end up with? The kind without any lasting relationships. The kind where I was being sexually harassed by a professor and my classmates blamed me for it. The kind that I can’t share with my parents or future children. The kind that I try to forget. If only my body would let me.