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She knew, at night, sitting alone in her apartment, she knew something was wrong. She would do anything to distract herself, read, watch TV, chat rooms, even meticulously clean. Anything to keep her wall up, the facade that got her through everyday life. She always felt different, her desires a betrayal of the strict feminist teachings that she embraced and idolized at college. This feeling drove her crazy, sickened by the cravings of total submission, objectification, rough and painful sex, all against everything she believed. Her life was going exactly as planned, on track in every way. She had what most dreamed of, perfect career, a home, friends, although she was alone she felt content with her successful life. She had a life her feminist role models would applaud her for. Inside she was ashamed, she admitted her thoughts to no one, these things were the reason she was always alone. She kept her walls up, determination to have her “perfect” life drove her through each day. Very little could console her when the walls did come down, or some detour distracted her from her path. Those were the nights she lost all control.