I know my last blog was pretty depressing and not a great start to my messy life. But I've had a lot of years to think it through, to come to terms with what happened to me and what I was left with. Telling someone about what was happening to me by the grandfather was the worst part. The abuse paled by comparison. I was called a liar, I wasn't believed and it basically broke my family apart. But, even that was okay because I was allowed to care for myself and didn't return back to the house of horrors for many years. Even though I held animosity toward everyone, I was so happy to be free.
That freedom gave me my first good thoughts and good days. But the feelings about food were torn. I was intrigued by why I found food sensual yet fell into a pattern of not wanting to eat, anorexia by trauma, the powers that be called it. I did feel that my thoughts about food being sexual were wrong and I was crazy for having them. Crazy or not, I still had them. As I grew up I put those thoughts away the best I could but the standing laugh from my friends was always there. I didn't hide it, but I didn't tell the whole truth to anyone. Were those thoughts some proof that something was wrong with me, I wondered often, and found that I felt guilt for having them.
As the years went on I was able to separate the actions of a pedophile to what had occurred in my mind. I was a very young impressionable child and I came to understand that I took what I thought was good with me and left the abuser behind. Never again did I give him much thought, I realized he was ill and I was served up to him on a silver platter. It was not me being ill, it was him. I just coped the best this child could. That meant my thoughts about food were a product of what I found best in a very bad situation. So when the thoughts would come, I allowed them to grow through fantasy only. I didn't know anyone else like me so I never learned to act on it with or without someone.
One day when showering, I got the thought to take the can of shaving cream and covering myself in the entire can. I rubbed my hands in it all over my body. It felt so soft and soothing. Covered like a big hug, it felt good. I did become sexually aroused. Then I started to wonder what it would be like with other substances, always tending toward the sweet side not savory. But I never did it again until I finally met someone who was into it too, just in a much different way than I thought I was.
Going through this with little information, as he was not telling me truths or showing me that there was a whole community of people who felt some of the ways that I did, I took from those experiences with him what worked for me. He could have totally ruined it for me for life, but again, I can realize when someone is ill and abusing someone.
After a lifetime of all these negative experiences, I am proud to say that, damn it, I'm proud of me! All the head games, abuse and downright cruelty aside, I am able to enjoy what I like to do. I can get messy with the items I enjoy, as messy as I want and I feel loved by it. Its maybe a way I can feel invisible, buried deep in its overwhelmingly sensual embrace. The smells, the texture, feelings of being complete flood my brain and everything else is gone. All that matters is being lost in time for that while, feeling held, loved, or just invisible. It's an incredible feeling!
Lots of people call it humiliation, but I don't see it as such.... I don't believe I want humiliated or punished. Those don't add up somehow. I never have negative feelings while messy. It's always a blissful experience and I won't stop now that I know what I like and maybe, after everything that's happened, it's my present for surviving! Every session is a gift and I don't intend to waste it. I intend to enjoy every single minute! And I do! It's the clean part of life I suck at....

Happy weekend to everyone!