He didn't want to be a rapist, but he was. He would completely disassociate when we had sex or were physically "intimate". Body parts would be thrust into other body parts without permission. Sex was had without my consent, and when it had with my blessing, it would become rough. If I couldn't submit to it, or if I cried, he would tell me that I wasn't as sexually experienced as him, or I couldn't handle his manhood and power.
This sense of exploitation went beyond the bedroom. He was the Knight in Shining Armour, but I owed him for being rescued. In hindsight I see that our relationship was an IOU exchange that only went one way. In return for his attentions, he took my creative visions, my energy, my body, my wisdom, my confidence, my relationship with my family, my sexuality and my sanity. The most troubling part is that I let him.
!["Our relationship was an IOU exchange that only went one way."](/web/20161210025537im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/t/2/d/j/7/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gt210j.png/1481069631152.jpg)
The first time I shared that I felt completely alone in the relationship – because I was the only one of us who shared thoughts and feelings – he was grateful and horrified. No girlfriend had ever expressed a desire to hear his thoughts and feelings. Instead, the women in his life were often commending him for being so "emotionally aware" and "supportive." In his eyes, this held great currency.
He believed he was God's gift to women, physically, mentally and emotionally. It didn't matter that a previous girlfriend had accused him of rape. For reasons I still wonder about, he told me early in our relationship that she was "crazy" for this. Was that a threat? A warning? A cry for help?
Regardless, the accusation went against his sense of himself. The man's most successful role was as a consoler and supporter of women. Rather than learning how to support himself and be supported by others, he was bound by women's wants and needs and the only way out was to dominate them through sex.
He watched a lot of porn and I started watching a lot of porn because he did. I wanted to understand what he needed and what I wasn't providing sexually. Through viewing it I came to understand that, as a woman, I am either a) an object designed to dominate a man in order to give him pleasure or b) an object designed to submit to him in order to give him pleasure. This dualistic framework stems beyond pornography, too. Our culture has spent decades bombarding women – and men – with profoundly mixed messages. It's no surprise both sexes struggle to interact with the other in a healthy way.
In previous relationships I was "too available" for physical intimacy, which resulted in men feeling "overwhelmed". Now, I wasn't available enough and BF was frustrated. Being required to connect with me during sex, as distinct from violating my physical form, was a mandate that wore him out. We went through phases where he didn't feel like being sexual. He didn't really understand this and we didn't really talk about it.
In the months after I broke up with him (which, apparently, came as a surprise, because he'd assumed he would be the one to "end it" eventually), he contacted me wanting to better understand what went wrong between us and what he may have done or not done to contribute to our problems. I was too scared to speak up at the time.
A study recently conducted by Australia's National Research Organisation for Women's Safety confirmed that since the age of 15, at least one in four women have experienced violence at the hands of an intimate partner. Statistics released this week showed that an increasing number of women are speaking out about sexual harassment, rape and assault.
Manager of the South Eastern Centre Against Sexual Assault, Carolyn Worth, said growing awareness and publicity is leading to more reports from victims.
"The silence has been broken," she said. "People are more likely to come forward. There is less stigma around being a victim of sexual assault."
Navigating stigma is one thing, but the process of identifying as a victim of sexual assault is another.
It's taken years to come to terms with what happened in that relationship. It's confronting to acknowledge that someone I knew and chose to love abused me. Recognising this is one of the most painful parts of the process because it not only reveals his betrayal, but my own capacity for denial.
*Name has been changed