The Happy Place
I found a way to cope with the pain (both mental and physical) of the rapes.
Before God saved me, I would fantasize that Bubba was someone else. I had a laundry list of celebrities I used to fantasize about. I have a very active imagination and if I close my eyes, I can see things very clearly in my head. I was able to invent whole scenarios involving my fantasy men. As Bubba was doing his thing, I was having dinner and being seduced by whichever celebrity I chose that evening.
After God saved me, my sister Nancy told me how even thinking that another man was good looking was adultery. I did my best to avoid even looking at men because I was so worried that thinking, “He is a very nice looking man,” would condemn me to hell. Well, if I couldn’t even look at another man without it being a massive sin, how was I supposed to keep fantasizing about random men? This is when I started going to The Happy Place.
I could close my eyes and see a massive meadow, full of beautiful spring flowers in a vast variety of hues. I would always walk barefoot through it, wearing a long, flowy, dress that billowed around me in the soft breeze. It was neither too hot nor too cold. I could feel the rays of sunshine bathing my skin and the breeze kept it from being hot. I was alone and I would just walk around. I never thought of it before but there were no bugs or other wildlife. It was just me and the flowers. I felt utterly at peace when I was there.
I went to The Happy Place almost every time Bubba and I had sex. I knew my body was doing what it was supposed to be doing. Having an orgasm wasn’t optional. It was a requirement. We relied on a vibrator to achieve that goal. I swear I used to be like Pavlov’s dog. As soon as Bubba would turn it on and I’d hear it, my body was ready to go. I knew the sooner I had an orgasm, the sooner it would be over. He proved his prowess by making me come. It had absolutely nothing to do with me enjoying myself. It only had everything to do with him proving to himself that he was awesome in bed.
I hated the nights my body didn’t cooperate. There were nights that I just didn’t want to be doing that. I couldn’t get into The Happy Place and my body wouldn’t respond to the vibrator. It was those nights that Bubba would ask, “What’s wrong with you? Why isn’t this working” or he would issue contradictory commands, “Stop thinking!!!” quickly followed by “Would you just concentrate!” I would say to him, “Can we please just move on? For whatever reason, I just can’t get there tonight.” He would only try longer.
I knew my body well enough to know when it wasn’t going to happen but he would continue. I would finally convince him to move on to the intercourse portion of the evening and that is when the pain was the worst. By then, there was no going to The Happy Place. It was just me and the pain. He ceased to exist for me because my world centered on the pain. And when I didn’t come, he lasted longer so the pain lasted longer.
I learned to not cry. I kept my face hidden by a pillow so when the tears started, they fell silently into the pillowcase. I knew better than to give any indication that I was crying. I would lay there and tell myself, “It’s almost over. It’s almost over. Just a few more minutes. It’s almost over.” And I’d try desperately to get into The Happy Place.
It was those nights that The Happy Place remained inaccessible to me.
- Posted in: At the Beginning - My Story ♦ FOO (Family of Origin) ♦ Male Privilege ♦ Married to an Abuser ♦ Sexual Abuse ♦ Spiritual Abuse
- Tagged: abuse, abuser, abusive dynamic, abusive marriage, afraid, anger, blame, blaming, broken, control, family, feelings, fundamentalism, legalism, marital rape, marriage, pain, power, punishment, rape, sex, sexual abuse, The Happy Place, violation