It was real and good, I tell myself. Sweet boy was cautious with me. Sweet boy asked before he touched me. Sweet boy stopped when I said stop. Sweet boy sometimes stopped even before then, sensed a tension in my body and moved back and just held me until my heart slowed down again. Sweet boy reminded me, over and over again, that I had complete control. Sweet boy did nothing to intentionally hurt me and apologized over and over when something went wrong anyways.
This in itself, I figure, is a normal enough thought process. The problem is it’s about a series of events that happened three months ago, and I still have to run through my reminders at least once a day.
I wasn’t taught to say no.
Again, that’s probably another post I need to do. (I ought to start keeping a list.) But it’s relevant here.
I wasn’t taught to say no to anyone for any reason, and that makes the memory of my first physical encounter so much more complicated than it needs to be.
I know I wanted that boy. I know he would’ve understood if I had been in a different mood that night, and I know his respect for me wouldn’t have changed. I know he would’ve been content enough to just stand there and hold hands while staring up at the stars and talking about weird moments from our respective childhoods. I knew at the time, and still do, that no one else in this world has ever made me feel so safe.
I just wish trauma-brain would shut up and let me have that safe-place memory.
Instead, I sit here and run through the details and reassurances one more time, and it’s still not enough.