Well, there would have been no marriage at all under those conditions. Maybe I didn’t explain this before but the only reason I got married at 19 was to get my parents to stop harassing me. I grew up in an environment of relentless psychological abuse. I had not a shred of privacy. I was constantly invaded in every possible way. Last spring when I was preparing for surgery, the nurse said I had to remove my underwear. I threw a hysterical fit because I had learned since childhood to bundle up my genital area for sleep. Even to give birth it was a struggle and a half to remove my underwear. You only know if you know, and I pray that you don’t.
When I was growing up, there was no door to close when I went to sleep. No lock on the bathroom door. Not the tiniest space or occasion to not be observed and vilified for everything I was. I had to read my books in secret. I’m sure you’ve noticed what reading means to me. But I could only do it in complete secrecy. I couldn’t have friends, receive phone calls, be anywhere except at home and in school. I couldn’t have an unapproved facial expression or any emotion except gratitude and joy. I was called the most atrocious things for undergoing the normal puberty because it didn’t happen at the same age and in the same way as my mother’s had. I couldn’t have a bra because it drove my mother to fits of extreme rage. When I finally did acquire a bra, I had a whole elaborate procedure to conceal that I wore it. For several days each month we weren’t allowed to sneeze, chew, flush the toilet, or breathe loudly. And this is only the beginning. We were in a religious cult with no God. That’s what it was like.
What do you think all of these years of psychoanalysis are in aid of? Entertaining me?
If I had to fake-marry to get out at least physically, that was a small price to pay. But if I’d known that there would be no escape from that form of escape, I would have found a different way.
Clarissa's Blog 
Leave a comment