On lack of self, grooming and amatonormativity

Although the technicalities behind the terminology and contexts can be blurry and rarely well‑defined, it can be taken as true that I’ve been single since somewhere last year, at a point in time that is comprised between mid‑January and July, depending on the exact cut‑off you would use. Getting out of this relationship has highlighted a few things I had never thought of before, as well as finally given me the time and space to process the past years, which is still an ongoing process, in fact; it's been quite a mess. The major key finding here is that I had not, even for a day, been without a relationship that can be assimilated to having a “significant other” in some way, ever since I was 15. Before that, there had been times of being single, but even then, nothing very long starting from the age of 12. That’s over 7 whole years for you, and that fucked me up really bad in terms of identity construction, and even in terms of reaching adulthood.

The 15‑to‑last‑year timeframe is especially important to what I'm talking about here, because the few relationships happening before, although rarely great, mostly fall within teenage experiences of going through life and getting to know new shit. From 15 onwards, it’s unambiguous CSA to more ambiguously weird age gaps in late teen years, it’s disabled‑caretaker abuse with a big touch of infantilisation, it’s obfuscation of more abuse and denying responsibility in the face of consequences. Although it is clear I have grown and ultimately had to grow, I also had no real space or place to do so during most of my teenagehood, which also happens to be marked by other events that would come to be big identity shifts and crises, notably with the case of grief. I do not mean I have been entirely helpless all this time, however it’s also clear how the lack in agency has been murdering any sense of self I used to have at that time. I am terrified for myself when I realise that it feels like I cannot recognise clearly the paths I’ve physically walked or travelled by bus and train because I was following someone who knew better and had no internal activity.

"Who am I?" and other variations about what I like, dislike, and whatnot, have been present for a little while, and they started particularly existing as questions as I got out of those situations. Dragged along and ignored like I do not have opinions or anything for myself, that is both misogyny and childism. I've dedicated my life to being no one, and it didn't even matter that I was aromantic; everything was always raised as a proof that I might have an exception to my actually strict aromanticism for someone; when I explicitly made it clear I would never be in that kind of relationship, I was slowly eased and erased into it. Like I've been eased and erased into many identities to satisfy someone, and the more I was pushed, the more I was on edge and becoming emotionally volatile, unstable; the more that served as a justification that we're both bad in some ways, and maybe I'm worse.

I don't entirely go down without some form of struggle – unfortunately, this means I'm not very nice, and that's the perfect weapon to shut me up, ain't it? It especially works well because I was never quite stable to begin with and, outside of being pushed, I was often an unregulated disagreeable friend too. It was plausible, because in other circumstances, it was true. Grooming is often associated to CSA, and regretably, sometimes used perfectly interchangeably. However, it can be a somewhat distinct concept, and I do not believe I've only been groomed within age dynamics contexts. In my life, the pressure of amatonormativity has been the stage for grooming, and so I've sometimes called it, groomed by romance. I do not believe, I suppose, that romance is inherently abuse. I do know, that in my life, in hindsight, it's been weaponised to make abuse easier, and amatonormativity as an agent of heterosexual regime has time and time again tried to pressure my agency into nothingness.

"I've changed" is a thought that crosses my mind a lot lately, perhaps because this had been such a long period of only half‑living and living for another half that my internal points of references have nothing to do with me any more. I'm busy both finding what I've been eroding and losing in my sense of self and at the same time, discovering that some things aren't meant to come back now that I've got my senses again. I am giving up on every single writing project I had started and not finished so far, not for a lack of skill or planning, not for a lack of ability to finish what I start, but purely because now that I feel able to recreate a "me" within this shell of a partner I've been, I am not the artist and author that could write all of those any more. That is, to me, liberating.

Everything I give up on is a proof of respect for the rebirth of a self that has been floating in oblivion, only gravitating toward figures of references I could only be a support for while not being supported; every new piece of writing I put out there nowadays is a proof of love for the true me. Couple life, a poor one at that, can sometimes create a "we" by killing both "I"; abusive couple life has created a "we" by killing only "I" and leaving them intact. For so long, I have found comfort and gender within a doll aesthetic. No more, I beg. There's something quite ironical in that, however, in the sense that it is the proof of both some kind of awareness and yet the cry for help as I identified with servile puppetness – in fact, as I write that, I felt quite the shiver because I just now remembered how that paedo would use the adjective "docile" to refer to me.

Aware, yet playing into it. I don't blame myself for that, but it's quite the situation to be in, the paradox of the pressure itself. From the very beginning, every concern that ended up becoming real and something I process as of today was something I had in mind. Rarely, when it comes to grooming, when it comes to romance, and ultimately when it comes to sexuality, although to a lesser extent, had I found myself surprised in retrospect and "realising" things. That awareness doesn't inherently save you. The paradox of it all kills you in fact. Until I've been able to stand, all awareness ever did to me was show me how much more easier it could all be if I killed my self. Suicidality, when it comes to me, in the end, was a choice between killing myself through death and remaining my self or killing my self through living and eradicating any sense of self. Myself and my self, truth and nothingness.

As an exchange for all those years, as an exchange that is bringing me back from the dead, there are many other things I need to kill instead. Romance, or the "significant other" type of relationship, has been first on the list. If you're my friend, and must I ever go down the path of a relationship again, then as my friend, do not remain silent. There is no future for me in such a thing.


February 16th
12:03 PM – 10:02 PM