And that was a bit cringe. It made me interesting. The truth was so boring.
So it's possible I was conditioned into being a sex slave by someone over a decade ago. Then just kind of thought that wasn't a big deal. It doesn't even feel real now. Like maybe it wasn't a big deal.
He was really into the fantasy of raping someone and owning them. It made me feel feminine and edgy to reciprocate that fantasy. There was no safe word. Nonconsent would become consent. I had to Cask of Amontillado the part of me that felt desire.
We were both young. He eventually broke up with me for being too embarrassing around his friends. And so, I pine'd after him for months. I had a lot going on back then. Lots of edgy BS that only resulted in one of us going to prison. In all that I lost track of what I was doing. That I was still suppressing my desires. I was a good fictional character. I made a maze and put part of me in the center and declared I am the maze.
The maze never stopped changing. I changed to conform to whoever those around me needed me to be. I was looking to be someone else's property and I'd write a fictional character that would help them grow. I started saying the phrase I'm yours. Luckily no one who owned me after that one guy really wanted that. So I disguised there possession of me.
I didn't lie often. I wrote autobiographical fiction and believed in it. My personality became stable over the following decade. Artifacts of the real me dissolved and trial and error traits replaced them. There was much I couldn't do:
And so I made these things I couldn't do a part of that fictional character.