I considered deleting this blog, however I felt that word be cowardly and dishonest. I owe the people who I betrayed and hurt an explanation, and an apology. Neither of these things can ever make up for what I did, nothing can. What I was a part of was abhorrent. That will never change. This will be the last thing that I post before I leave for good.
Iām on mobile, so I apologise that I canāt put this under a readmore. This isnāt meant to garner sympathy, or to be an excuse. There is NO excuse. I just feel that people should understand the events that led to the content I created.
This will get long, heavy, and triggering. Iāll go into the details of some of my own abuse and the things I did. I want to be completely transparent so that people can make their own decision on this.
I was first assaulted when I was 6 by a family friend, who was so close that I called him āuncleā. He was drunk and he molested me in the back of the car on the way home from a family party. My brother was sitting right next to him. My parents were in the front car seats. I sat there and let him do it because I didnt know what was happening. I knew something was wrong but I didnāt know why. I never mentioned it to anyone. I tried to stay away from him and from then on i couldnāt be around drunk men any more when before it hadnāt bothered me, since I had never been unsafe around drunk men. Least of all someone who was considered family. Nobody picked up on it.
After that I started to try and find things to do with what had happened to me. I would sneak into my parents room and try to find their porn, or look things up on the computer when nobody was looking.
When I was 10, my cousin caught me. He was 19. He turned it into a game. Weād look at things together and he did things to me and he made me believe I enjoyed it. I still think that I did. I never tried to stop him. I never told anyone. It was our secret game. I thought it was okay.
I had always drawn things even as a kid. I drew sexual things but kept them hidden. Usually to do with rape. I knew it was called that by then, but I still didnāt see how labelling it as that was wrong. Even playing with my toys involved playing out scenarios of kidnap and rape. My mother found one of my labelled drawings once and she was angry. She took it to my father, who hit me. After that it never came up again. I kept playing the games and drawing these things. Just got better at hiding it.
I made a lot of rape and sexual jokes as a teen. I flirted with everyone. I secretly shared some of the things I drew with close friends, girls who fetishised mlm, fujoshis and shota fans. I was spreading it. It all came out at school and I was labelled a slut. No teacher ever addressed it. I was assaulted five times by different guys because of this. Well I say assaulted. But Iām pretty sure that how I acted led them to thinking it was what I was after. And maybe it was. I donāt know.
I started to do better in college. I stopped drawing these things, writing these things. This was in 2011. During this time, I opened up to a teacher about the high school assault, who had me referred to the therapist. The therapist was temporary though, and left before I finished college. I was put on a waiting list for another therapist.
Then I got to university and made a friend who I began to idolise. I think I had a crush on her. She fetishised gay men, and shared yaoi and shota with me. She openly admitted to āliking young boysā. I wanted her to love me so I never protested against it. I should have. But she said it was okay because it wasnāt real, it was fun and not hurting anyone because it was fictional. Of course at the time, I agreed. I didnāt see how wrong it was.
I was 20 by then, as was she. I knew better. I had been getting better. I had reached out to mental health teams to try and work on things. But at this time, I was being bounced around by multiple psychologists, as the local centres were understaffed, so the waiting list was very long. I didnāt know how to help myself, and I wasnāt able to afford private help, so I went back to my previous terrible ways.
Even after I got away from this friend in late 2015, I had already made another friend my age who was similar in that respect. There was a brief period where I stopped consuming things like this as I had finally begun to see a psychologist, until they were also temporary and dropped contact with me suddenly. When discussing the fact that I was hypersexual with this new friend, we got onto the topic of weird kinks. She said she had a rape kink. So things happened again.
The more we talked, the more she encouraged me to role play and write and draw rape, incest, and pedophilia. I wonāt pretend that I didnāt feed into it too. I wanted her to approve of me so the more I was encouraged, the more enthusiastic I became. I treated it as a ~weird kink~.
It kept happening even as I was with my abusive ex, who was systematically isolating me from people so that he could fuck me and control me. Idk if I can call it rape. I didnāt tell him that I wasnāt interested in him sexually, or that I didnāt want sex. I should have right from the start, and eventually did, but by that point he controlled every aspect of my life so he didnāt care. He said āyou can still have sex when youāre ace though right, and youāre hypersexualā. I was going through abuse right fucking then and I still kept taking part in content involving it.
I openly celebrated it. I was 23. I should. Have known. Better.
Last July I came across an article that went into how people who are sexually abused often become abusers. It slowly made me realise what I had been doing. It was the first time I tried to kill myself, because thatās what I would want to happen to /my/ abusers. It was the only solution, to me. I canāt make up for what I had been a part of.
I eventually broke away from that friend and lied to her about why (and I donāt want people to go to her with this if you know her url, since even if I was encouraged to do it, I still contributed to it worsening, and I have no idea what effect that has had on her life since). But even after that I still sometimes shared the things I had written, I kept them in a folder and shared it with people who asked if I still āwrote smutā. I didnāt write or draw it any more, but I still kept the old stuff around. I was still being passed around different psychs, and had only just begun to come to terms with what had happened to me as a child was sexual abuse. So clinging to this very unhealthy and awful behaviour was all I had, it was all I knew. I didnāt openly post it any more, I didnāt want to encourage people. I was somewhat open about my gore blog that I used as an unhealthy coping mechanism, although I later password locked it to prevent others from using it to hurt themselves or use like I had.
It wasnāt until a new friend I had made (nocturnecro, the only name I am going to drop as Iāve been told that theyāve posted about this) and I talked about smut, and I shared the folder and gore blog I had, and they asked me why I was doing it, and warned me that if I was making and consuming incest and rape, that there was something wrong. This person isnāt my friend any more, because they were understandably very upset with it and more, to do with age gaps between some of my ocs (that I have since changed due to their reaction). My initial reaction was to be upset and angry, but after I had calmed down I realised that they were right. It /was/ wrong. That was what made me start deleting everything. I knew it was bad and didnāt want people to know what I had done, to see it and think that consuming and creating rape and incest content was okay. I wanted to be able to leave it behind me and try to change who I was, and to distance myself from it.
But I canāt act as if Iāve āchangedā when I only actively started trying to work against what I did in the past year, when compared to a lifetime of condoning it. I am inherently a bad person. I became what I hate. I was no better than the people who ruined my life.
I say āwasā, but leaving it behind and trying to speak out against it actively is still a recent thing. I canāt just undo so many years of this in just one. And I canāt undo the fact that I didnāt apologise for it, or even mention it when calling out others for doing the same. I severely betrayed a lot of people, friends, associates, people who looked up to or respected me, by keeping quiet about it. Especially any minors I have interacted with. I can only hope that finding out about what I was a part of hasnāt led to anyone else hurting themself.
I did attempt to kill myself after clearing my blogs aside from my main. By my own rules, death was what someone who had supported rape and incestuous content had to do. I believed it was the only way to āatoneā, as there is no way that I can fix all of the harm that Iāve done. I was talked out of it by Rose and another friend. I would be dead if they hadnāt told me to get in contact with my brother, who got here in time to help me.
Iām not saying this to guilt people. I donāt deserve sympathy. I appreciate the fact that there are some people who think I can change, although going by my past actions Iām unsure if thatās right. And I donāt want people to be attacked or stick their necks out for me. This is my responsibility, and /mine/ only. My history of trauma does not absolve me from contributing to these things, as I have said time and time again to others. It would be hypocritical of me to say otherwise.
I donāt expect forgiveness, or even understanding. I considered deleting, but I felt that would be cowardly and dishonest of me, so I switched urls to have this to hold these posts. I donāt want to hide what I did again. People need to see it. I wonāt be using the new url, it will be abandoned. Some people called for my url to be taken by the woody collective, so I think the new url is appropriate.
I am sorry for what I did. My actions were disgusting, and even manipulative. I cannot ever give enough apologies for this. Leaving is the best course of action, so that I donāt make the same mistake again. I am so, so sorry for all of this, to the people Iāve hurt.
