Three Fairy Tales about sex/Case Studies about Trauma

What I mean when I say "returning to the scene of the crime"

Introduction

In the Serial Killer article, as well as many others, I have used the term “returning to the scene of the crime”, as a metaphor for a kind of physical and psychological behaviour. Here I would like to clarify exactly what I mean by this, and doing so in the most efficient and precise way possible: By telling three stories that function on a sort of vague ethereal Jungian common-unconscious meta-level. That just so happens to also be literally true factual case studies, satisfying the demands of material science.

It relates in great part to sexual fantasy. There is a vast difference between talking about sex, and sexual fantasies - sexual fantasies barely have anything to do with sex, but everything to do with trauma. Sexual fantasies are simplifications of the world, deliberate simplifications of things that are complicated, and in their complication, frustrating to the mind. Usually more than frustrating, frightening. I spent the entirety of Big Mexican Nips trying to explain race-fetishism like this:

Fetishization is formalisation of the distance at which approaching the object of desire is safe. if, for example [brown people] appear to hold the object of desire, appear to have access to or contain some kind of Value, but they are foreign and unknown territory to you, and there is an anxiety in that, then the solution becomes, approaching [brown people] inside sexual fantasy.

Generally, whatever gets you off, whatever you hyper-focus on in sexual fantasies, is in some way the thing you are most scared about. This is not because it helps you get off - rather the other way around. It as a psychological attempt at bio-hacking, at hacking your own biology; tricking yourself by jerking off so you wont feel so scared.

It’s not:

its:

You are SO AFRAID of spiders that in a panic, you start jerking off whenever you see one, to try to drown out your fears and thoughts in the pleasure-stimuli, and over time doing this has made you associate spiders with jerking off, and created a self destructive feedback loop as a coping mechanism for your initial fear response to spiders. You don’t want to “fuck” spiders, you specifically want to jerk off while being afraid of spiders.

This is also the answer to “Monkey in nature does not jerk off, only monkey in captivity, what this mean”. It’s also why you feel ashamed after finishing. It’s also why people get “addicted” to internet porn. It’s a lot of things.

Great internet poster and zoomer “Brian”, recently spoke of, “Polygamy, promiscuity, strange sexual habits in general, are acts of cowardice and attempts to hide oneself from love“, this is true. Strange sexual habits in general are a way to affirm distance to what is desired, and in terms of sexuality, this is, closeness to the other, connectedness, love.

One

Once upon a time there was a little boy that got raped by his paedophile uncle. His name was C, for Child Abuse.

After being abused sometime before his teenage years, he became a very moody and aggressive teenager. He changed schools and moved away from home early, and he kept the fact of his victimization secret from everyone he met, except people who proved themselves in some way as trustworthy. After years, when he was legally an adult, he would tell certain people, who he considered his closest friends, as a way of expressing his trust in them.

C claimed that he did not have any conscious memory of the incident, but only the aftermath. He claimed he did not remember it happening at all, but only being told about it, and living in the aftermath of it all. He would even crack jokes about it.

C didn’t know the specifics - of “how bad was it”, he didn’t know if he had been anally raped, orally, if he had been indecently touched, how much, how little. All he knew was that he had been “abused”, somehow. And of course, his parents didn’t like to talk about it, so he had never asked for clarification. In fact he had never asked for clarification about anything and didn’t know anything about what had happened to his uncle in the aftermath of being found out. C didn’t know how he had been found out. Had he told his parents? Had his rapist been caught red handed? C simply didn’t know, and he didn’t care to find out. “best not to think about it”, he figured. “I don’t want to be like one of those victims who make it their entire life story you know”. Then a huge ominous thunderstroke split the air exactly when he said that.

The Uncle was not in prison. Had he been at some point? Had it gone to the police? C didn’t know. If it had - then how come he was now out and about in the world, and not in prison? If it hadn’t - then how could his parents love him? If it was all true, how could his uncle be alive and seemingly unpunished? And seeing as he couldn’t remember any of it happening, was he just taking his parents word for it? Did it really happen? And if it did, why was the only feelings and memories he had of his uncle good and pleasant? That would mean he was a sick disgusting gay freak who enjoyed his own victimization, right? Right?

C had a lot on his mind, and couldn’t make heads and tails of it. So eventually he simply gave up trying to, and locked it all deep deep down never to be talked about or thought about seriously ever again.

When C reached sexual maturity, a social pattern in his behaviour started to emerge. By the time he was a legal adult, it had more or less fully solidified as his core personality.

C would take it upon himself to act as a tutor to people he found “worthy”, being intelligent, cunning, or funny. He would act as a kind of social teacher to other misaligned youths, and help them find a way to enter into a community. He was drawn to people with some kind of Great Pain in them, and would offer solidarity and friendship to them. He would be a big, safe “teddy bear” man, who was big and strong, but unthreatening, and soft, and sexless. C never had any long term romantic relationships, a perpetual bachelor. Like a big, safe, trustworthy, uncle, who just couldn’t find a nice girl to settle down with, and instead settled into being this pseudo-familial figure to all the little lost souls of the world, all the little boys and girls both.

Then, whenever one of the girls was heartbroken and weak and easy prey and had let her guard down around him after years of grooming, he would suddenly “fall in love with her” - this time it’s different, we’re actually in love! And then he would seduce and abuse them in their time of vulnerability - be it after a breakup, a death in the family, anything that made them emotionally vulnerable - and he would get tired of them in a month or two, then cut all ties and burn all bridges with them and anyone related to them, and sociopathically pretend they were never that close in the first place, and good riddance anyways.

C returned to the “scene of the crime” in his mind, that he remembered better than he would admit, and spent his life roleplaying as the man who had victimized him.

C did this on a subconscious level, because it was a way for him, through the safety of fantasy, of being-within-fantasy, being able to reinterpret and interact with his own emotional residue of being abused. Within this fantasy re-enactment he was “safe” to engage with his emotions of shame and humiliation and guilt - and love for his rapist.

C was a amoral monster that caused incredible amounts of suffering in the world around him, and he never apologised for it, because, of course, in the end, he was the victim.

Roleplaying as the perpetrator, as the aggressor and the cause of his trauma, allowed C to explore the memory from a position of “control”, and explore his emotions from a position of relative safety. Every re-enactment of his own rape was a kind of virtual reality space to explore, to go back in time and try to discover the answer to the ultimate question:

How could he do this to me?

Two

A boy of 14 years wakes up in a hospital bed. He has no memories, except weeks of nightmares, of demons torturing him for literally, the entirety of everything he can remember. He does not remember anything about his childhood, a complete blank slate. He does not remember anyone except his closest family, vaguely. His name was N, for No Memories.

His muscles had atrophied from being unconscious for so long, that he could not even move his arms above his chest. He could not stand up. He could not speak, brain damage turning his vague sense of thought into meaningless blubber on his tongue. He was perfectly incapable and turned into an object of no agency, acted only upon, unable to act.

Weeks later, he stands up for the first time, and washes his own hands. The water rinsing his hands feels sweet, like nectar, and he hallucinates the the entire room fills with butterflies, and he cries.

Later in life N returns to perfect normality. No one can tell there’s anything wrong with him but he feels a terrible vulnerability from having been made so completely broken and defenceless, at a time in life when a man first begins to assert himself upon the world.

When N has his first stimulant - a cup of coffee - after being sent home to the real world, he has a weird sensation: he thinks, “This feels like how I used to think”. The small stimulant makes him feel whole, makes him remember what it felt like, not to miss a part of his brain.

Later, N discovers that drinking alcohol makes him brave and stupid and able to kiss girls. Later, N discovers drinking alone. Later, N discovers drinking alone while doing as many drugs as possible, and hyperstimulation himself in every possible way, of which the 21th century offers plenty. Drugs, food, porn, “music”, and mathematically complex videogames about juggling as many co-related values towards some arbitrary aim, as possible - then, taking it all in all at once; multiple narratives, constant visual stimulation, combined with gradual numbing and retardation through medication, creates this perfect sensation of being “gone”, of being completely “focused” - no longer in “the body”.

Hyperstimulation and hyper focus, unto, just passing out.

N Returns to the “scene of the crime”, by trying to mentally recreate the sensation of being a pure object, eroding his sense of will, and returning to the hospital bed, unable to move. He does this through a ritualised use of drugs and stimulants, that in combination serve to recreate some kind of sensation of being “so tired you can’t physically lift your arms” - so tired you can’t think, and you’re just a big bag of empty meat.

He does this because the memory of it is traumatic; it is unresolved. At some level, it is an attempt to “resolve” it - to time-travel back to that moment of helplessness and understand it. It becomes a behavioural loop because, once he “gets there” so to speak, he is once again, completely retarded, from having had 20 beers.

N has a traumatic memory and re-enacts it and re-creates it over and over an over again, for years. Because despite it going nowhere, every time he drinks until he passes out, he sees the butterflies. Or well, he doesn’t, but he feels like: next time, for sure.

N has created a destructive behavioural coping mechanism for his traumatic incident, by focusing on the experience of helplessness. If instead, N had focused on his experience of overcoming helplessness, of the experience of washing his hands, and ritually recreated that moment, by, say, for example, the experience of lifting weights to-and-through failure, he would have created a constructive coping mechanism.

Three

Once upon a time there was a little girl, who lost her Dad to cancer. She became very sad, and felt very abandoned. She was maybe 10 years old. Her name was E, for Emotionally Stuck in Adolescence. She was raised by her Mother who never told her No ever again.

Then E grew a little older and reached sexual maturity, and she experienced the sense of betrayal that all girls do once they awaken to sexual reality, which is the discovery that every interaction they thought was “innocent” with boys, was in fact deliberate, and from a desire to posses them, to act upon them. And the relationship to the concept of boys is changed forever, in a complicated structure of fear, future-proofing survival mechanisms, and ones own new desire to be acted-upon.

But for E, there was no Father to seek solace with from this universal trauma that all women experience, as the sole Male to whom one’s relationship remains innocent. Because he was Dead.

After this experience of universal trauma, the relationship to men/boys is disturbed and made unsafe - and through the nonsexual-father figure, “the one man who doesnt want to fuck her”, it is gradually over time reintegrated. This is also a social mechanic that C in the first story exploited.

In E’s case however, something strange happened. She discovered that this phenomenological sensation of betrayal reminds her of her Dad. Assuming that she was just one of the boys and everyone liked her for being good at football and being a little cool tomboy, but then discovering that all the boys secretly had crushes on her - it made her stomach turn - but it also made her feel close to her dead dad, somehow. Being betrayed reminded her of her DAD, and she thought: “This is the closest I’ve ever felt to God”.

Then, E grew up to be a legal adult and created all sorts of stupid fucking bitch coping mechanisms for navigating the world as the emotional cripple that she is, without a father figure in her life, and having not been raised at all, or ever heard the word “no” from anyone. Having absolutely zero men in her life who didn’t want to fuck her, she failed to integrate the animus, and had the emotional maturity of a 12 year old, who has just had the traumatic experience of seeing lust in the eyes of a boy for the first time, and is still waiting for Daddy to Come Home and Make Everything Okay.

Not knowing any better and without guidance, E acts on her impulses and subconsciously begins to set herself up to fail socially. She returns to the scene of the crime, emotionally - she tries to return to the emotional state of extreme crisis and suffering, of the exact moment she lost her Dad - because despite feeling miserable and betrayed and abandoned, within this cocktail of emotions, in this state of emotional turmoil, it’s the closest she can feel to her dad. It’s “where she left him”. She is trying to time-travel back in time to the moment she lost him, where she saw him last. Not to save him and not to resolve her own feelings of loss and abandonment, but just to stay there with him. To be close to him.

This behaviour manifests as strings of short romantic relationships that are all perfectly interchangeable - the boys in question are only there to act out a role, and facilitate the ultimate goal; E feeling “betrayed”, “abandoned” by them.

E begins to explore the "scene of the crime” from multiple angles - sometimes, she roleplays as herself and seeks out ruthless men who she intuits will treat her poorly, married men, literal homeless men, gigolos she meets on the sex vacations she goes on to “find herself”. Men with the same lust in their eyes as the one that scared her that fateful day at school, men who are more animal than man, and ruthless, exploitative - and in turn also easy for her to exploit, (remember: A bottom ALWAYS tops from the bottom). Men whom she intuited would facilitate this sensation of being betrayed - abandoned - let down - left behind - “all alone in the whole world”.

Other times, she roleplays as her father - a nice boy she met at work, at school, who just “likes her too much”, which makes her “uncomfortable” and she then leaves to feel abandoned by her. She recreates the scene of the crime and explores it from both angles. As being left behind all alone in the world, and as the one doing the leaving.

E travelled the entire world in search of her Dad, like Pippi Longstocking, and in every town she would find some boy who would let her down, and facilitate the ritual re-enactment of her emotional trauma.

astrid lindgren ruined a generation of women/a disaster for the woman race

E then finally travelled to the south American jungle and lived with a man in a house made of shit for a year, after he had proposed marriage to her. She had declined and insisted they were just Good Friends. Then she moved into his little shit hut and had a sexual relationship with him anyways, until finally, after a year of mutual weird psychological-economical exploitation, she could have a “breakup” with him - so she could feel perfectly disappointed, betrayed, left all alone, in the middle of nowhere. And in the profound loneliness of being in the literal jungle, in literal no man’s land, having been once again betrayed and disappointed by MEN (tm), she thought to herself:

“Fucking shit, I’m never going to be able to top this. There is nowhere to go from here. I can’t up-dose. I can’t feel more betrayed and alone, there’s literally nowhere to go, I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere. I can’t escalate this. Fuck. I need more. I need bigger drugs. I need more to get off. What the fuck. This is unfair.”

Then she returned home to civilisation and prepared to live out the rest of her life unable to ever feel that close to God again. Because rather than attempting to resolve and overcome the traumatic incident, E formalized it and ritualized it, and made it the end, rather than the means to an end.

Like N was “addicted” to hyperstimulation in an attempt to simulate being perfectly helpless, roleplay as dead, and C was “addicted” to grooming women and sexually exploiting them to roleplay as his own rapist, E was “addicted” to feelings of guilt and shame and loneliness, because those feelings were the last thing she remembers of her dad.

Conclusion

Recreating the “scene” of your trauma and re-enacting it, regardless of which role, if any, you choose to act out for yourself, primarily works as a way to be “in control” of a situation in which you felt "powerless”. And in so doing, you can create terrible terrible misery in the world for everyone who crosses your path, and gets caught up in your little pathetic playacting.

Grow up. We have a fucking society to run here. You’re 27 years old, come on, Jesus Christ get your shit together asshole. Everyone’s counting on you.