zetasyanthis: (Default)
Lets get something out of the way right away: Consent is something I consider to be an almost absolute requirement in everything I do. I know that both you and I /can/ provide examples of when consent sometimes has to be violated to protect someone, but those are not what I'm trying to talk about here.
 
My parents were really, really bad about consent, in ways they still don't really admit to. It's one thing to reprimand a child and teach them to respect others, but they went way beyond that, enforcing codes of behavior and straight up forcing me to do things they had no right to.
 
I'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about all the little ways that controlling parents force you to be themselves. I'm talking about the fact that my father used to be a swim team coach, and I was effectively forced to join a team. I'm talking about the fact that my mother chose to bring me up Catholic, without giving me a chance to make that decision as an adult. And most of all, I'm talking about the utter hatred and shame towards any kind of human sexuality that pervaded our household, and caused me to tear myself apart in fear.
 
I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask to be driven almost *insane* with fear about the starting whistle at the meets, about the expectations that I'd be the same or compete or really wanted to be there no matter how many times I tried to say I only wanted to hide. I didn't want to shatter my front right tooth on the side of a pool wall while being taught how to swim competitively, or to cripple my knee by dislocating it during a weights workout for the swim team my freshman year of high school. I didn't ask for the fear I feel whenever I think I've broken my tooth again, or for the terror that grips my heart every time I almost slip and end up in the hospital, in such horrific pain that I don't even remember falling to the ground.
 
I didn't want any of this.
 
The worst of these hurts were obviously the ones that left permanent scars, that crippled my ability to dance, or to ever feel truly safe in my own body. The small cruelties added up, though, and though they seem far sillier in retrospect, each one feels like a knife blade still lodged into my back.
 
The worst ones, the ones that had no reason, were the ones where I was forced to do things when no reason existed at all, when I couldn't even hide behind my rationalizations about why they'd broken my heart. >.< My dad, in particular, used to force me to do things rather than trying to convince me that there might be a better way to do things, or that something new might be worth trying.
 
This next one is phenomenally stupid, even in the moment... but the pain is still real. I will never forget the time my dad took me took me Subway for the first time. I don't remember what age I was, but like a lot of kids, I was picky with organizing my food into groups and was kind of horrified by the idea. Did he ask me if I was okay with his choice? Did he ask if I'd give it a try just for him? Did he do anything even approaching asking me what I thought or why or why I was afraid of him, of being around him, even at Subway of all places?
 
No.
 
He was angry. Livid, even, to the point of staring daggers at my heart. He forced me to order something, to eat it in front of him, and to come along home like nothing really happened. The stupidest thing was that I liked the sandwich, but felt exactly like I'd been whipped.
 
If you take your child to Subway... and scare them out of their mind, you're a bastard, and I hate you. And I hate my broken heart. >.<
 
And I'm sorry, but I never really figured out how to make that feel the way I wanted to, or to show you how deep that heartbreak goes. >.< I just don't know how else to ask... >.<
 
Don't assume my consent. >.< Please. >.< It never used to matter. >.<

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Zeta Syanthis

June 2024

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