By Victoria Amena Koffi Koberg
Dear reader,
After going through prolonged psychological abuse as a 19- and 20-year-old, I have had a complicated relationship with sex, intimacy, my body, and my appearance in general.
My abuser was the first person I had a long-term sexual relationship with. I was sexually inexperienced when I gave myself to him, especially in relation to him. The experiences were new, and therefore nerve-wracking, but at the same time euphoric. With him I experienced, for the first time, being respected and embraced in a sexual context - until suddenly I wasn't anymore.
After a few months in the relationship, I was completely drained physically and mentally from the psychological violence I had experienced. I had been manipulated, talked down to, gaslighted and rejected over such a long period of time that I barely recognized myself at the end. I was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster ride, and had become a fragile, desperate and deeply unhappy version of myself.
I had developed the beginnings of what later developed into generalized anxiety disorder, which I was finally diagnosed with almost two years later, in 2022. The relationship with my abuser ended with me being dumped when he was done taking advantage of me - ghosted - and thrown out of his life like a piece of trash.
After the assault, I was unable to even accept compliments about my appearance. In particular, the word “leaky”, which I was called often and exclusively by my abuser during sex, was a trigger that made me angry and extremely upset. I almost dissociated when people made judgments about my appearance and felt they were talking about someone completely different from me.
I was filled to the brim with self-loathing, convinced that I was stupid, ugly, disgusting and unlovable. This self-hate was expressed, among other things, through thoughts of disaster, which I tried to suppress with self-harm for a period in 2021. I was convinced that people who lusted after me did not respect me. People who cared about me were predators in my eyes who wanted to do me harm.
I distanced myself not only from sex, but also flirting, and all situations where I could potentially be sexualized. I lived in a state of constant alertness. It is a trauma to have desired your abuser; to have made yourself vulnerable to a person who eventually turns out to have been completely different than you thought. Even though I was subjected to psychological, and not physical or sexualized violence, consent still becomes somewhat blurred in the healing process. How much control did I really have over what was going on when I was being so grossly exploited at the same time?
Psychological violence leaves deep traces. Today, almost three years after the abuse, I have yet to start dating or having sex. I can take compliments and I can flirt. I celebrate the small victories. When I think about being with another person sexually, I am usually curious, and full of hope and desire. Other times, rarely now, there is a voice in my head screaming that I should stay away and protect myself.
I am afraid of feeling dehumanized and objectified again. I am afraid to open up and discover that I am unable to set boundaries, despite my many months in therapy. At the same time, I am equally afraid of not being open to new experiences. I'm afraid to rule out the good, fine and rewarding sexual intimacy can also be - which I still don't feel I've experienced to the full.
I try to make room for both voices, and both versions of myself; the curious, and the overprotective, without shame. One voice tries to take care of me, the other seeks pleasure and tries to challenge me. Both votes are necessary and valid. Both voices are mine, and I want them well. At the same time, I give myself the freedom to both grieve and be nostalgic when I think back on the sexual experiences with my abuser.
I acknowledge both my anger and my vulnerability, and everything in between. I am in balance. I now have the resources to not beat myself up over the head anymore. I met the best and coolest therapist, am on medication, and have realized that nothing is more important than taking care of myself.
The voice that used to constantly scream that I was stupid, ugly and disgusting is now just a quiet whisper that I can quickly embrace and then destroy. I have forgiven myself. I surrender to patience and self-love, which is an eternal and difficult process - but totally worth it. I am relieved.
To 19-year-old and 20-year-old Victoria, and you who need to hear it: your traumas and needs are valid. Always. It's okay not to have sex with other people, for whatever reason. Sex with yourself is also, of course, sex! Care and respect are never something you have to earn. You deserve endless, unconditional love, both from other people, and most importantly, from yourself.
I love you more than you know
Kh.,
Your Vic
Dear reader,
After going through prolonged psychological abuse as a 19- and 20-year-old, I have had a complicated relationship with sex, intimacy, my body, and my appearance in general.
My abuser was the first person I had a long-term sexual relationship with. I was sexually inexperienced when I gave myself to him, especially in relation to him. The experiences were new, and therefore nerve-wracking, but at the same time euphoric. With him I experienced, for the first time, being respected and embraced in a sexual context - until suddenly I wasn't anymore.
After a few months in the relationship, I was completely drained physically and mentally from the psychological violence I had experienced. I had been manipulated, talked down to, gaslighted and rejected over such a long period of time that I barely recognized myself at the end. I was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster ride, and had become a fragile, desperate and deeply unhappy version of myself.
I had developed the beginnings of what later developed into generalized anxiety disorder, which I was finally diagnosed with almost two years later, in 2022. The relationship with my abuser ended with me being dumped when he was done taking advantage of me - ghosted - and thrown out of his life like a piece of trash.
After the assault, I was unable to even accept compliments about my appearance. In particular, the word “leaky”, which I was called often and exclusively by my abuser during sex, was a trigger that made me angry and extremely upset. I almost dissociated when people made judgments about my appearance and felt they were talking about someone completely different from me.
I was filled to the brim with self-loathing, convinced that I was stupid, ugly, disgusting and unlovable. This self-hate was expressed, among other things, through thoughts of disaster, which I tried to suppress with self-harm for a period in 2021. I was convinced that people who lusted after me did not respect me. People who cared about me were predators in my eyes who wanted to do me harm.
I distanced myself not only from sex, but also flirting, and all situations where I could potentially be sexualized. I lived in a state of constant alertness. It is a trauma to have desired your abuser; to have made yourself vulnerable to a person who eventually turns out to have been completely different than you thought. Even though I was subjected to psychological, and not physical or sexualized violence, consent still becomes somewhat blurred in the healing process. How much control did I really have over what was going on when I was being so grossly exploited at the same time?
Psychological violence leaves deep traces. Today, almost three years after the abuse, I have yet to start dating or having sex. I can take compliments and I can flirt. I celebrate the small victories. When I think about being with another person sexually, I am usually curious, and full of hope and desire. Other times, rarely now, there is a voice in my head screaming that I should stay away and protect myself.
I am afraid of feeling dehumanized and objectified again. I am afraid to open up and discover that I am unable to set boundaries, despite my many months in therapy. At the same time, I am equally afraid of not being open to new experiences. I'm afraid to rule out the good, fine and rewarding sexual intimacy can also be - which I still don't feel I've experienced to the full.
I try to make room for both voices, and both versions of myself; the curious, and the overprotective, without shame. One voice tries to take care of me, the other seeks pleasure and tries to challenge me. Both votes are necessary and valid. Both voices are mine, and I want them well. At the same time, I give myself the freedom to both grieve and be nostalgic when I think back on the sexual experiences with my abuser.
I acknowledge both my anger and my vulnerability, and everything in between. I am in balance. I now have the resources to not beat myself up over the head anymore. I met the best and coolest therapist, am on medication, and have realized that nothing is more important than taking care of myself.
The voice that used to constantly scream that I was stupid, ugly and disgusting is now just a quiet whisper that I can quickly embrace and then destroy. I have forgiven myself. I surrender to patience and self-love, which is an eternal and difficult process - but totally worth it. I am relieved.
To 19-year-old and 20-year-old Victoria, and you who need to hear it: your traumas and needs are valid. Always. It's okay not to have sex with other people, for whatever reason. Sex with yourself is also, of course, sex! Care and respect are never something you have to earn. You deserve endless, unconditional love, both from other people, and most importantly, from yourself.
I love you more than you know
Kh.,
Your Vic
