Untitled

My name is Cristina Johnson

I wasn't going to write this...it's very embarrassing and I have not yet decided whether or not I'll publish or post it. This is one of those catch-22's where you are so desperate to make a difference, so determined to inform and educate people, but it's at the sacrifice of your dignity, your privacy, and that of your friends and family. How much to say...how much to share? All of it? Just a little?

Today is the first time I have ever experienced the strongest urge I've ever had, to mutilate my genitalia. I hate it so much today. I want it gone, shredded, disappeared. I don't want it. It's ugly. It's sinful it's disgusting and dear God if I could take a razor to them, I would...right now. Render them useless.

I've read about this and I've even talked with and coached people who've endured this kind of "thing" and I never judged them, but I always thought, "Thank God I have never had that problem."

And now, here I am, standing in the same muddy pond with them, feeling those same excruciating feelings of wishing to God there were no such thing as a vagina, anus or penis.

Today I feel so bad, so rotten and dirty...filthy...

I have an issue with masturbation. I don't do it. My ex liked it when I did and often asked me to. He also often wanted me to use sex toys for his pleasure (sure as hell wasn't for mine). Still, when we split up, I took them with me (the toys).

I won't go into gory details but last night was the first time (that I remember) doing that...you know... on my own (that is, by myself, without trying to spare my partner [which I have often done] or please my partner). I actually didn't even remember doing it until I woke up this morning and found a broken "toy" in the garbage can. This happened to me once before: I woke up, shaken and startled that I had a "toy" in my bed. I had no idea how it got there, nor did I remember using it.

Once things started coming back to me from last night, I was utterly ashamed (the previous time, I didn't recall anything but this time it slowly started to come back to me). Even now, if I think about it, my body jolts and I am astonished. I abused myself....and now I want to abuse myself more, because I abused myself.

How fucked up is that?

Of course, the logical response to this is: "Masturbation is perfectly natural" or "Everyone has needs and everyone does it or has done it."

Yeah, but that's not me....I'm not "everyone" and to me, it's ...selfish....it's cold and disconnected...it's meaningless. Absolutely meaningless and Oh God So DIRTY! What kind of whore masturbates? Right? Must mean she wants it, right?

This is digging into my marrow....this is tearing me up. I feel like there's a sign around my neck that says "Stone me to death, I am a whore and I've done something really bad."

Another aspect is the DID....

Today I convinced myself that I would just throw them away (the toys), but then some voice inside my head just kind of laughed this wicked, frightening laugh. "Go ahead...I'll find another way..."

My DID friends will know what this means and what this feels like.

So I am stuck...stuck in this rut, hoping to get back on even ground.

Please don't be angry, disgusted, grossed out, repulsed or otherwise feel untoward, towards me. I cannot help this. I hate it. I hate it so much and I don't know what to do.

God I wish Bill was here.

Devil Among Angels

My Name Is Cristina D. Johnson

My therapist has said it to me before, but said it again to me today:

"It's easier to be a devil among angels, than an angel among devils."

She's referring to the past couple of blogs wherein I admit to doing, saying, being anything and everything I can to be accepted and not abandoned.

It's easier for me - for a child - to blame themselves for all the "bad" and all the "dirty" within them, and to try and fit in, than it is to be the person who can just be themselves.

So view myself - and always have - as this ugly stain in the fabric of life; this irreparable, broken, "classless cunt" (as he referred to me) who's worth nobody's time, love, compassion or attention so I keep everything in, do what I can and hope nobody sees the truth - sees how "dirty or ugly or bad" I am.

For me it's a lifelong thing but particularly over the past five years when I stepped out of my comfort zone and became engaged with people who were....let's just say of a different class. As I stepped outside of that comfort zone, I stepped into a whole new world.

Lots of white and crystal and things that a dirty little girl like me didn't fit into...but damn I tried.

He told me that people were coming out of the woodwork saying things about me. He was very cryptic about this, leaving me to believe the absolute worst. Oh my God! They know! They know! and my first instinct is to run away - run away as far as I can. I still feel this way, mostly. There's been very little compassion.

I believe it was my therapist who said people just want the dirt, the grit, the gossip - something to talk about. They don't really want to know how you're suffering...how you're struggling...they just want to know the nitty gritty.

And I think this is true....
                                        .........and pathetic.

In a video my cousin shared with me the other day, Dr. Brene' Brown talks about listening to shame. It was a very, very powerful video but one thing she said that stuck out to me the most was this:

"I feel bad," is guilt.
"I am bad," is shame.

I've spent my whole life believing "I am bad." Believing I didn't deserve someone like "him" - when in hindsight, I gave him everything I possibly could....gave him more of myself than I'd ever given anyone, only to have that white and crystal world explode in my face and leave me even more scarred and feeling that I am bad than before.

Being abandoned by people who called themselves my friends, just reinforces that I am bad. I must be.

After all, I spent particularly the past five years as a devil among angels ...perfect people with perfect lives, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect partners, perfect homes and boats, perfect everything and here I was....bad.

At some point, I know I will offload this shame. There are brief moments when I think to myself, "Wow....someone loves you..." but they're fleeting. Still, when they come, they're very powerful and they ache. Mostly, though, I am overcome by this incessant voice in my head that tells me I am bad. I am dirty. I do nothing right. I am not worthy.

The bottom of this mountain is big.

So is my determination. People left me - I knew they would because I haven't shared any "nitty gritty" or gruesome details about my abuse (for the most part) but oh....bet your sweet ass, I will one day. I won't share it for the punishment of my perpetrators nor for the glory or to make myself look good. I will share it with the God-Honest intention, the authentic desire and hopes and prayers that someone in that white crystal world will read it and feel some compassion....someone will learn....

And hopefully, someone else will come out...and someone else will come out...and someone else will come out.... and eventually we - we incest survivors - will stop being devils amongst angels, but the angels we have always been, if misguided.