My Brother

My brother is a dedicated soul and knows nothing (as does mostly everyone in my life) about the abuse I experienced. He is a highly technical guy and enjoys the time we spend together. I enjoy his time too. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't communicate with him. I am the oldest, he is the middle child, and my sister is the youngest.

Again, he is another rock of support for me. But, yet, I don't tell him anything about my mind and thoughts. How horrible is that. Yuck.

My Sister

My sibling is a special case. When I was young, before the age of twelve, I started to abuse her. For the longest while, I believed I was a monster. But, I have come to know that I was not. I was was twelve for goodness gracious when the abuse stopped.

But, now, she is a very happy twenty-something and we love each other dearly. She is creative, talented, and dedicated to her work. She smiles and laughs and dances way better than I do.

There is much more I have to say regarding my sister, but I think that this should do for now.

My Father

My goodness, what can't I say about this man. He too has been an inspiration. He may not be overly educated, but he is definately the smartest man I know. He has always been there for me. I think back to my growing up and he always seemed to get me motivated with a fun sort of sprite-like quality. He isn't a big man, but he is solid. Strong. He can still kick my ass any day of the week.

My father was always there for me and will until the day he passes on (which I hope is not soon at all). He is always there for myself and my siblings. And, of course, he still tells me to do better as well.

My Mother

What can I say about my mother? One of the things in my life, my parents have been a rock solid support group for me. Even though they have no idea that this went on in the confines of their basement and other homes, they have always been positive. They do not try and put their past failures upon myself and my sibling - they just tell us to "do better".

My mother.

She is definately a focus for some anger I have in me. I am not entirely sure why. My fuse with my mother tends to be short. Nothing violent, just I tend to raise my voice more often than I should. She is able to touch "my buttons" somehow.

She is a caring women who would do anything for me. Am I leaving anything out? I don't think so. Sure, I could go into detail about her, but there really isn't much else to say except that she has been a solid place for me to run to. She is my mother and she has loved me since forever.

The Abuse

I figure those of you out there that read this will want to know what exactly happened. Here is a quick run down on the abuse I have ecountered during my life.

At the age of five, my cousin and her friend kissed me for an extended period and I became aroused. This is one of my first memories.
At the age of seven, one of my best friends (an older boy) decided I was to be his "hooker". He raped me on numerous occasions and was physically abusive.
At the age of ten, another friend decided to touch me sexually during several sleepovers while I was asleep. He did this several times, inserting his penis into my anus while I was asleep. And, yes, each time, I woke up.

So, there you have it. The nitty gritty details. I have put them down here in a very simple way as to not confuse the matter. I have been asked already: "Did it really happen?" Yes, it did and I am sorry it did. I don't ever wish this kind of pain on anyone. I am tired of this stuff. I want it to be over.

I want it to be gone.

I don't know what else to say about this subject. If you have ever been intimate with someone, take that image, turn it ugly - and there you have it. A sexual experience that wasn't really something special. I wish sex was something special to me, but it is really more of a physical act. This I am trying to correct, but it is a long road - or, at least, it has been for me.

I think over the years, the pain of the act itself has gone away. Or, it has been dealt with. What I am most concerned about is whether or not I am prepared to be "normal". I don't really know what normal is.

Thus, I shall continue tomorrow.

The Players

Over the next week or so, I am going to list out the players in my life. These are my immediate family and how they all relate to me and how I feel about them. Much can be said about each, but as I get this information committed to the web, I will be covering them again and again.

I will keep them short and sweet.

Who Am I?

It has taken me a long time to get to this point. There has been much I have wanted to say but I fear it may have been too long. I may already have passed a point of no return where the concept of my life and of the future is slightly more than bleak. I am sure my parents would disagree with my assessment of my life, but they don't know anything about me.

“Momma loves her baby
And daddy loves you too.”

I say this because I don't know how else to say it. I don't feel that way a lot of the time, but when I return to my inner thoughts, when there is nothing to distract me, it is like walking into a noisy room where thousands upon thousands of “me” are arguing at the top of their voices desperately trying to understand my own existence. Perhaps on some days it is not a conversation about my existence but at something I did, or thought, or said.

That is the crux of my life. I don't understand myself most days. I know there are some who don't understand me at all. I suppose, I break through the ice once in a while, but, like the song The Thin Ice of Pink Floyd's The Wall – it warns that things may turn horribly bad after making one's way through mental defenses.

“And the sea may look warm to you babe
And the sky may look blue
But ooooh Baby
Ooooh baby blue
Oooooh babe.”

I was so young. I was too young. I don't want to be dramatic about it all, but if you have lived my life, you would want answers too. You would want your life back. You would want to live it all over again, just to see what you may have turned out like. At times, I believe there might be something out there in the world that will provide me with the answers I seek – but, I know, the answers are not out there. But, one can't help but want to seek them out regardless.

I have been angry all of my life. I don't know if anyone really knows why they are angry, but I never knew until I started going to therapy. A therapy that started about twenty-four years too late. I think of it in the number of bad things I have done. The number of things where I wondered for years afterwards why I did them.

Why was I not able to stop myself? A lot of people I have chatted with and played the “hypothetical question” with have always said there is a point where everyone may stop. I nod. I agree. But, then I go home and disagree. There is no explanation. It is a drive I have only recently come to control. It is a drive that consumes me.

“If you should go skating
On the thin ice of modern life
Dragging behind you the silent reproach
Of a million tear-stained eyes...”

I guess I could have had a better life. I could have not done anything in my life that I have. But, that is like saying, I could have bought a better car. Both of them are out of reach – unless I find a million dollars on a street corner.

Or, at least, they were at one time. Now, I am beginning to realize there is more to me than meets the eye.

“Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice
Appears under your feet.”

What I find most interesting about my life, is that I don't know where it all went. I am in my early thirties and I have accomplished many things but I don't know why I continue most days. No, I am not suicidal, but I have been. I know what that feels like. I know how to avoid it. What happened to me at such a young age has made me an angry and confused individual. Everything about me is – usually – in some kind of weird fugue.

“You slip out of your depth and out of your mind
With your fear flowing out behind you
As you claw the thin ice.”

So, with this little blog I have created, I will now release it to the wild. I will see what kinds of feed back I get. Because, I don't want to claw my mental thin ice any longer.

Granted, I am much farther along than I was a couple of years ago, but I will now lead you through my life in small chunks every week. I don't know how long this will take but I need to do this. I need to finish it.

I need to find answers to some really important questions. Will I succeed? Probably not, but I will understand who I am – I hope, finally, I hope.

How I Got Here

How did I get to this point? That is a very good question.

How did I get the courage to post deeply personal information on the Internet? I think the easy way to answer this question is to say that I was pushed along by an actor.

In 2004, Tim Robbins won the best supporting actor Oscar for the movie Mystic River. Here is what he said:

In this movie I play the victim of abuse and violence. If you are a person out there and have had this tragedy, there is no shame in seeking counselling. It takes courage. Sometimes it is the only thing you can do to stop the cycle of violence.

When I heard that speech, something inside me went off. Something pulled at both my heart strings and my "panic button" that told me it was time. It still took me another few months to come up with the courage, but I did it.

I made a call.

Now, well over a year later, I have run into another problem. I want to talk about this experience with family and friends, but I simply can't. None of them know and I have a horrible fear of telling them. But, I still needed an outlet. I needed more. But, fear and shame, keep me from talking.

So, here I am.

I have a lot of ground to cover before this blog is done, so, I will keep this one short. Oh, and a quick thank you to Tim Robbins. I am certain you will never stumble across this site, but should you ever - I do send you a warm thanks.

Why I Am Doing This?

I am doing this blog for educational purposes as well as for myself. Because of where I am in "my head", I am not prepared to talk about this information outside of a safe environment - but I still crave feedback from people.

For the last year, I have been in therapy and I seem to have reached a point where I feel, deep within myself, a voice trying to get out. I don't seem able to release this voice except through the act of writing. So, naturally, I decided to blog. I still feel very scared when speaking about this information, but I feel I can remain safely anonymous here while still sharing my experiences.

It is important to me I share my story with others and possibly help someone to find an unseen courage to seek help and find themselves a place where they may feel safe to talk about their experiences.

Who Am I?

I am a male in his mid-thirties and about ten years ago, I began to have nightmares. It turned out these nightmares were memories of horrible events. I came to realize I had been attacked and sexually tortured by some older boys in my neighborhood and was not able to defend myself.

I was seven.

I want to make people aware of male sexual abuse. I don't want it to be a taboo subject any longer. I want to end the secret conversations. I want people to talk openly about abuse and how it can destroy people's lives - even small bits at a time.