Do you know what a Sin-Eater is? I first heard, well, read the term in Amanda Palmer’s book the Art of Asking and started seeing my therapists as Sin-Eaters. They take my sorrows and my sins and they release them out, if I let them. Many sessions I still carry those woes on my shoulders as I leave their offices with fake smiles and joyful thanks. But I end up just feeling crappy all over. They ask “are you depressed.” “Yes.” “Are you suicidal.” “…no.” A lie. Of course. As much as I crave the attention I get when I’m sent to the hospital, I also don’t want the unwanted “ugh again” attention. But anyways… what is a Sin-Eater?
A sin–eater is a person who consumes a ritual meal in order to magically take on the sins of a person or household. Traditionally, the food was believed to absorb the sins of a recently deceased person, thus absolving that person’s soul.
But did I sin? I guess I did. Premarital sex, homosexuality, attempting suicide, self-harm…
Things that I don’t see as sins.
Therapists are Sorrow-Eaters. They don’t do a ritualistic meal but they take on people’s sorrows so those who have them can feel lighter.
Why don’t I ever feel any lighter?
Why do I lie every time to my therapist asks if I’m okay?
I am not okay.
I am suicidal.
I am not safe.
God this is hard to write, but I don’t think anyone gets the severity of what happened to me. I want people to know to understand. But no one ever lets me go into detail and when they do all I can say is “it fucked me up”
I need to write it out.
I need to speak.
But I can’t.
I’m staring at this screen trying to find the words. I’ve switched from laptop to phone while writting this in need to hide away. I want to die. Will anyone take me seriously. Does anyone hear me? Or do I have to make a dramatic gesture?
I was raped. More than once. By three different people. One of them raped me many times. Countless.
Damien raped me on April 22nd 2006
I forgave it because I owed him, didn’t I? He took me to see my favorite band. The next day he took my “virginity” I guess. I was sexually active with women at 14 but he was proud of being my first guy.
Turned out he and his best friend made a bet who would give it up first, me or my friend who was dating his best friend.
Guess I lost. This all sounds like I’m just regretting losing it and I’m calling it rape but when you have sex it shouldn’t hurt. You shouldn’t feel terror. You shouldn’t have been saying no and be ignored as he continues to undress you and touch you as you hold back tears.
He told everyone so I faked smiled and told people too. I’d cut myself even harder where people couldn’t see unless I stood nude before them.
It was only a week before Damien stripped me again, saw the cuts. Punished me. I would cut again once I got home. Week later he would see again and the cycle continued.
Why didn’t I leave him?
We started dating February 12 2006, he had more than two months to whisper sweet things to me like “no one will love you like I do” and repeat what my voices said every day. I’m not good enough unless I’m with him. I’m not smart but I don’t need to be because I’m with him. I’m not pretty, I should be lucky to be with him. I had some form of Stockholm Syndrome before he even fucked me.
He liked to hit me. Not in front of our friends, except for that one time when I was about to walk into the middle of traffic, but he wasn’t doing it to snap me out of it. He was doing it to punish me.
He always punished me. With words. With his hands. With blades. Yelling at me until I begged him for forgiveness. He was all I wanted because I didn’t know any better. I never wanted to have sex with him. Never once. I would play that I would to make him happy. But never once… On the every other Saturday for two and a half years that I spent in his bedroom did I ever say yes to sex. No. I was raped at least 100 times by him. Scared into it. Threatened into it. Feeling like I owed him because he was the only one able to love me.
Now I know he’s wrong. I am happily married to a woman I love. Who truly loves me.
But the damage is there. It’s done.
I’m fucking suffering.