The Act April 2018 | Page 5

FIGHT OR FLIGHT? Last night, I cried myself to sleep. I watched my husband as he hastily put his clothes back on and stormed out of the room. He was angry with me, again. The tear that had begun to form in the corner of my eye dropped softly to my pillowcase as the door slammed shut. “I’m so tired of this,” I thought, as I buried my head in the pillow, sobbing. I hate sex. I loathe it. I remember as an adolescent girl dreaming of how magical my first time would be — breathtaking, passionate, pure ecstasy. A deep, intimate connection with the love of my life. My heart, my head, and my body would simultaneously explode, and for a brief moment the world would stop spinning. Like movies and books had always told me.I never imagined my first time would leave me curled up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth on a cold bathroom floor, sobbing hysterically, begging for my mind to erase the flashes of memory from the night before. I loathe sex because the first time I had sex I was raped. Now, sex is painful. It’s excruciating. Even after years of therapy, of consciously trying to heal my body and brain from the scars of that night, sex is a relentless trigger for my post traumatic stress disorder. I jump when my husband touches me. Af- ter eight years of being together, my body still goes into fight or flight mode when he touches the back of my legs. My brain can’t remember what hap- pened to my legs but, regardless of how hard I try, my body won’t forget. My body just can’t let go. Last night, I was unprepared. I was caught off guard. I thought we were just going to cuddle but my husband wanted more. My husband need- ed more. My body couldn’t handle his touch. My mind couldn’t find its way to a safe space. The more my husband pushed, the more I pulled away. His cute, innocent flirtations began to feel aggressive. -Christine Suhane