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Author Topic: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery  (Read 116587 times)

Offline paintedshoes

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #15 on: November 14, 2006, 08:38:24 PM »
Repost from The Affected Me thread 11/14/2006

I have spent this morning reading more tales of pain visited upon my dearest brothers and sisters, and my heart breaks for all of you.  For my brothers Brad and Jack and Chuck and Jari and Glenn and Vincent and Jean, my sisters Nellie and Martina and Catia and Conny, so many of us hurt in so many ways, yet the pain is the same:  the denial of self becomes the price of survival.

I was 9 when it started for me.  While at Mass one Sunday morning, I had to go to the bathroom and found myself in the Church basement, alone, when I was approached by the church and school janitor.  He backed me into a corner, kissed me, violently and repeatedly, and touched me in places I should not have been touched, repeatedly.  Then, the words:  don't tell anyone, or I will tell your father how evil you are for "letting" me do this.  I tried to avoid him after that, but he would find me, in church or at school.  Some times, if I was with someone (as I tried always to be), he would send them away on an errand.  I didn't know how to say anything, certainly couldn't stop him.  It went on for several years, not often, a few times a year, maybe...I started staying home "sick" from school, it didn't help, of course, since I never knew when he would decide to corner me.  Eventually, the attacks just stopped.  I learned years later that I was not his only victim...and felt guilty, since if I had said something, maybe it wouldn't have happened to the others. 

I don't know if the fact that it happened in church had anything to do with the doubts that I developed about religion, though, of course, it probably did.  Why could this happen to me in church, where I should have been protected?  How could the priests employ this man, for years?

I hated myself, certainly, for what I "allowed" to be done to me.  I ate, a lot, probably thinking that if I was fat, he would leave me alone...that everyone would leave me alone.  And eventually, I was alone.  No man wanted me...I never dated in high school.  I lost weight to join the Air Force, dated some then, nothing serious til I met the man I was to marry.  He was, and is, a good man.  We married, raised a family, found that our lives needed to go in different directions, and finally parted.

I'm learning more, each day that I come to this place, that what was done to me as a child does NOT have to affect my life now.  It is not easy.  I don't know if I will ever be able to forgive the man who hurt me, but, I have learned to put the pain aside and concentrate on now.  The nightmares are almost gone, now. I am learning to be indifferent to the past, as I will NOT any longer let it rule my present or my future.  A lot of that strength is garnered from all of you here.  Your wisdom in the face of suffering, your caring and compassion for all those who hurt, brings me such joy for "the assured approaching possession of a good."  The good that comes of healing, of moving toward a present and a future full of happiness, not desolation.  Of no longer denying myself.  Of being truly who I am, perhaps for the first time in my life.  Bless you all, always.
"Miracles do happen, dear friend(s).  Miracles are real."- Boris 
"There are only two things we know: the cosmos exists and we are imbedded within the cosmos.  Everything else is speculation and discovery."- Caithness's dad
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Offline paintedshoes

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #16 on: November 14, 2006, 08:42:51 PM »

Have I forgiven my brother? That I am not sure of. I have as little to do with him as possible. I still am obligated to be around him at family functions. He is an alcoholic and when gets very drunk gets too familiar, and I either stay as far away as possible or leave. My family has always wondered why I have no use for him and I tell them  that I have no use for drunks. At this point it would be useless to have this conversation with any of my family members anyway. My parents are elderly and in poor health.

Thanks for listening and as I am sure with all of you, it is extremely, extremely hard for me to hit the post button, but if you are reading this, I did. I take my strength from all of you.

Linda
Linda, dear sister, I honor your decision to share this with us.  Forgiveness may never come, and may never NEED to come.  I hope only that you can put this ordeal that you suffered into a place in your heart where it cannot hurt you any longer.  We are here for you, always.  You need not deal with this alone any longer.
"Miracles do happen, dear friend(s).  Miracles are real."- Boris 
"There are only two things we know: the cosmos exists and we are imbedded within the cosmos.  Everything else is speculation and discovery."- Caithness's dad
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Offline conny

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #17 on: November 14, 2006, 09:22:12 PM »
i diont think i`ve ever posted the initial story,so here it goes(short version)

I was raped at 15,it was carnaval,that always comes together with lots of booze,and so did i,i was drunk,maybe he was too,don`t know that anymore.We went outside for some kissing,but i ended up there in that alley being name called and raped,lost my virginity right there and then,outside in the cold on the concrete.
Afterwards came to my sences,told one of my friends inside who beated the crap out of him,but for me that didn`t matter anymore. i went home alone,had to take care of my drunk younger brother before my parents came home,and had to wash my clothes,and then went to bed.don`t know how i felt anymore.do know i saw him again later that week and he totally ignored me.
Later on he started harassing me by phone,my parents found it,and we even had the police involved,but that was cause of the harrasment and the calling,and it luckily stopped after a while. i didn`t give him it,cause he said i wanted it!! and it was his words again mine,and by then there was nothing to show anymore.The rest was bottled up inside of me.
i don1t know anymore how my emotional state was later on,i do know i totally  got into the wrong way after that.drank a lot,let people abuse me,my self asteme was so low,i didn`t care what happened to myself anymore,they could have sex with me,i didn`t give a shit,felt nothing anymore. and that went on for a couple of years,until i came a bit to my sences,met my first husband who was very young,and didn`t want any sex yet.boy that was a relief,and we didn`t have non,for about a year.
When it finally did happen,it was ok,but i couldn`t feel anything,couldn`t have an orgasm,i just was dead inside.
That only changed years later when a girlfriend fell in love with me and opened me up,but thats another story.
"we are one,but we are not the same"   U2

Offline conny

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #18 on: November 14, 2006, 09:22:35 PM »
i now don`t have time to repost my posts from the affected thread,will do that later today,but thanks for this thread.
And linda,thanks sweety for sharing your deepest emotions with us,so proud of you,love ya  :-*
"we are one,but we are not the same"   U2

Offline paintedshoes

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #19 on: November 14, 2006, 09:29:16 PM »
Conny, darling, how many times is it the "fault" of the abused because we "asked for it?"  I'm so sorry that you had to go through those years of pain, and lack of self-esteem, but you are a strong woman and you are here with us now, and you are loved, my sister.
"Miracles do happen, dear friend(s).  Miracles are real."- Boris 
"There are only two things we know: the cosmos exists and we are imbedded within the cosmos.  Everything else is speculation and discovery."- Caithness's dad
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Offline conny

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #20 on: November 14, 2006, 09:35:13 PM »
Conny, darling, how many times is it the "fault" of the abused because we "asked for it?"  I'm so sorry that you had to go through those years of pain, and lack of self-esteem, but you are a strong woman and you are here with us now, and you are loved, my sister.

yes and i am so thankfull for all of you.
i went trough all of this and the rest that came after this experience in my hypnotherapy last year,relived it all again,and that hurted a lot,but also healed me. i think reliving it is the best way to get it out of your system for real!
"we are one,but we are not the same"   U2

Offline Brokeback_1

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #21 on: November 14, 2006, 10:44:18 PM »
Do you know what is astonishing? Damned near every person who has been affected here on DC is someone who is more then usually involved with the forum, every single person is considered a CATCH by a lot of people on and off of the Forum and every single one has a good heart.

This is just the truth.

Maybe we have all learned something. Christianity says suffering ennobles the sufferer if he/she can learn to forgive and build upon ruins. Some of this abuse was from simple morons, some was from bad people with worse intentions. I don't see any bitter and bad people here.

Every one who posted has triumphed in many many ways.
There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe but nothing could be done about it, & if you can't fix it, you've got to stand it

Offline Brokeback_1

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #22 on: November 14, 2006, 10:46:26 PM »
Conny, the whole story makes me sick. So many boys are complete morons, they simply don't have a clue what their actions lead to, what it puts the girl through.


" i think reliving it is the best way to get it out of your system for real!"

OR

the best way around it is THROUGH it.
There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe but nothing could be done about it, & if you can't fix it, you've got to stand it

Offline Brokeback_1

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #23 on: November 14, 2006, 10:51:00 PM »
Originally posted in the Over 50 thread

Quote from: brokeback_1 on September 15, 2006, 12:17:15 AM
I didn't used to like old farts very much when I was a kid until I got helped by some of them. But that's a long story, doubt anybody would want to hear it in here.
Qoute from WLAGuy on September15, 2006,
You're joking, right?  Start spilling the beans, buddy, or else!
There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe but nothing could be done about it, & if you can't fix it, you've got to stand it

Offline Caithness

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #24 on: November 14, 2006, 10:51:53 PM »
NB:  Moved this post from 'Affected' thread  15.11.06

After watching BBM x number of times, noticing the profound effects the film has had upon all of you and upon me, and whilst reading the very personal revelations these past few days, I find that my protective instincts have kicked in.  I wanted/want to jump into my auto and to drive, or to jump onto an aeroplane and to fly to each individual, so to listen, to soothe, to hold, to protect.  At times like these "I swear" I wish teleportation was a real possibility.

My veneer is that of an Anglican priest, but protective instincts manifested themselves long before ever I entered Theological College, long before I was ordained a priest.  What follows, for now, is a brief prologue, and another of my little sagas, to illustrate what I mean.  Make of the parallels to BBM what you may.

Prologue:

My Dad was badly wounded on D-Day +1—yet another story to tell some other time.  Dad hated violence of any kind, though funnily enough he was keen on Western films and television programmes.  When watching Western film fighting, Dad would open his mouth, point his index finger at it, and make gagging noises, always followed by an  “Oh, puh-leeeze.”

Dad told me repeatedly, however, that if ever I had to fight:  get in there, get on with it, get it over with.  Go for the gonads, he said, bring him down and wale on him, finish him off.  Dad said never to worry about being accused of fighting ‘dirty’, seeing that all fighting is dirty, even if occasionally necessary. 

Saga:

As I have written before, I went to a boarding school for boys in Scotland from age 8 until I finished school at age 16.  British boarding school bullying is legendary; it was no different at my school.

On a day shortly before the Christmas break, December 1965, my beloved James came flying into my room, a bully hard behind.  The bully was my 13-year-old cousin, David [insert hyphenated surname here].

I was then 9, James, 10, but still he was much smaller than I.  At 9, I was already 5’3-5” (I stopped at 6’2”) and quite as tall as David, though 4 years younger.

I shouted for James to get onto my bed.  I pushed David into the corridor, put my knee into his groin, hard.  He crumpled to the floor, I leapt on top of him, and waled away.  I continued to wale on him until he moaned for me to stop.  He was finished.

To my knowledge, no one ever touched James again.  James would have told me, I think.  Besides, most of the boys in the house came rushing into the corridor to witness the ‘waling’, and the word spread round school that I was not someone with whom “to trifle”.  [I meant the business of 'trifling' as something of a joke.  However, to make a 'statement' that one will not be bullied, nor allow others to be bullied, is a practical necessity in a boarding school, amongst other places.]

The next day, I was punished for the fight by the headmaster, with “six of the best”, that is, six strokes of the cane across my bare bottom.  It hurt like billy-o, but I did not give a toss.

Back to James.  After David was finished in the corridor, I went into my room, closed and locked the door.  James was on my bed, sobbing, nose bloodied, left eye already swelling.  I washed his face and removed his tears with a warm facecloth and gave him a cool facecloth to hold to his eye.

I put my arm around his shoulders and spoke softly to him.  He was still trembling, so I then held him closely.  Even now these 41 years later, his scent is in my nostrils.  I held him until the trembling ceased, until his quick breath slowed.

We held each other, until there was a sharp rap on the door…the house master.  I knew I was in deep shite, but I did not care.

I cannot vouch for the look on my face, but in the look in the eyes of James, swollen though one was, I saw everything.  We were the closest of friends for 29 years and, finally, as I have written previously, for the 3 brief months before his sudden death, at last partners and lovers.

Ah, protective instincts…what I feel now towards each one of you who has been hurt, and are still hurting.  Obviously, I cannot and would not track down those who have hurt you so to wale on them (as I did to my cousin, David), but my deepest wish, instinct, if you will, is to protect, to comfort, to soothe, to love.  Just know that, even from this distance, in my thoughts and meditations, I embrace each of you.

Epilogue:

My cousin, David, turned out a good fellow.  In later years, James and David became good friends.  After James’ death, I learnt that James depended much on David and John for friendship and solace during the years I was in Zambia, Angola and Zaďre (as DR Congo was then named).

Malcolm
« Last Edit: November 14, 2006, 11:35:12 PM by Caithness »
Tell you what...the truth is...sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it.

Offline Brokeback_1

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #25 on: November 14, 2006, 10:52:48 PM »
originally posted in the Over 50 thread, September 17, 2006




When I told a few friends I needed something special for post 1000, didn't have a clue it would be what's below.
 A few days ago WLAGuy and I had a series of PM's  and I answered his question. Well part anyway..the trust business I once had with 'older' men. I sent him this and he told me I HAD to post it. After thinking about it I worked on it a little more and decided to do just that.

If it doesn't belong in the over 50's thread the mods can put it wherever they think it should go. I for one am not sure it DOES belong here, but it deals with how a young guy learned to trust this very 50+ aged group so I'm taking a chance. Like I said our mods are free to move it, of course.

It's really a long post, for which I apologise in advance.
Jack
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I’ve already said  that I had a lot of trust issues where older non familial men were concerned. Now, older meant something very different  when I was a kid from what it means to me now, so bear with me, I’m trying to reach back a couple of decades lol.

I don’t see any need to go into the actual events, they’re not suitable for our forum. All it would prove is that sometimes, even in a nice, safe neighborhood, even when you have loving  family…’shit happens’. Besides, it’s a long dead horse inside me and there’s no need to whip a dead horse. Suffice it to say that there was a lot of  M/M sex forced on me; not a single man involved was actually gay as gay men--and society for that matter--define ‘gay’…. They were sneaky sociopaths who were on a power trip. At the time I couldn’t differentiate, but generically blamed gay men.

Now, my teenaged years? The less said the better, My family didn’t find out what had happened  for several years--I told NOBODY.  But I did begin to abuse alcohol, started immediately after the incidents ceased; got so sick I ‘learned my lesson’, and didn’t drink again until I was 16. But when I started, it was heavy. By the time I was 17, I was a drunk. Ok, move ahead a few more years…by 23 the alcohol and drugs had begun to ruin me, everything I touched was seemingly wrecked. Trust for men was non-existent, especially ‘my own’...and that’s what this post is really about: the ability to TRUST.  So I am skipping a great deal here .

 As a teenager/young adult I was a real train wreck, ok re the externals but a world-class lunatic inside. There were  horrible sexual conflicts made worse ‘cause I didn't fit into the usual labels.  I wasn't str8--but wanted to be; wasn't gay--but had gay sex; was afraid I'd  be forced to spend  life singing Broadway show tunes.…and couldn’t sing <g>. I was so confused about the queer side that the alcohol intake was killing me

With hindsight, BEING gay didn't bother me; the problem was never FEELING  gay in the accepted sense of the term. The social stigma of being “queer” did bother me; when it came to guys my own age the ones I was attracted to were  str8 and unattainable so I stayed away--didn’t want any trouble. Nor was I willing to gain an even worse  rep. The guys who liked ME  seemed total douchebags; losers who didn't even want to know my name. They'd ask if I’d like a B.J. Just like that. Offer to bend over. Just like that. Offer to bend ME over. They fixated on my penis, wanting clinical details while gushing about my eyes. None gave a damned about me as a man, all behaved so badly I couldn’t help but think of them as shitheads. Even now I can’t believe the brain dead shallowness of the teens through 23 crew I ran into in NYC!

 Let’s get real here, I was and am just OK  looking--even now, you can easily tell this from my pics in the members thread-- yet they acted like I was grand prize in a contest I’d never entered. They made me feel like a zoo specimen. I still don’t know why handsome Italian boys and jocks with muscles on top of muscles acted like that.

Now when it came to guys who were a bit older, 25  to mid thirties--they messed with my  head and  told me what they thought  I'd want to hear but  never the truth. So I neither liked nor respected most yet they DID  sexually  turn me on. I had no trouble allowing them to get me off and if they were hunky enough I reciprocated.

It was emotionally far easier for me to be with a girl. Odd though it might seem, they were less full of shit then the guys were. If I developed an M/F emotional attachment  I neither cheated nor wanted to cheat, with either sex. This was by both design and inclination.[ Naturally monogamous bisexual male here] The question never came up with men because I never  had any relationships, it was all casual sex. If I wasn't with anybody I’d look for both. There was no problem within my head and heart  having emotional romantic attachments with either sex, but the men didn’t reciprocate. To be blunt, the guys I was attracted to just wanted to suck me off or be dominated [ it was very strange, masochists were drawn to me like flies to a picnic]. So when I was 'single' I'd get the sex, which--unlike with women-- I didn't  have to ask or work for.

 As for men 35 +, I can't even begin to tell you how many times I was offered money to  allow them to have sex. [ The answer was politely No if they were polite  and obscenely declined  if they were nasty.] The true El-Primo-Bottom-of-the-Barrel-post-pubescent-low was achieved by  the father of a friend of mine, when I was in HS. This loser had always made me wary. My post-molestation instincts-- rather highly developed after being repeatedly raped when I was 12--always set off alarm bells around this creep. One day I was eating dinner at their house when he and his mother had to unexpectedly leave. My bud asked me to wait until he came back, watch tv, etc.   As soon as they left Dad began to put serious moves on me.  With a hundred dollar bill thrown in for a sweetener!!  He stuck it down my shirt, the smarmy bastard started to feel me up. I was the same height at 17 that I am now yet big though I was, it flipped and wierded me out to a point where  I  started shaking, began crying and ran out of that house. To this day I’m not quite sure what happened when they got back but my friend waited until he saw me at school and demanded to know what I had done to his father. I said I’d done nothing and he belted me in the jaw, hard. I got up , just looked at him for a minute and then pulled that hundred dollar bill out of my pocket. I told him to give it to his father. Can’t say I really gave a damned by that point.

 A few days later he apologized, said he knew I was telling the truth. I think he confronted his father on it. It was very hard for him, and when he apologized he gave me a look you can’t mistake….. I think his father may have done something to HIM at some point. We patched it up but it really ended the friendship. I avoided damned near everybody after that, which was weird because I was a social animal yet a real loner. The result was pure loneliness.

I was  lucky in my 20's to be given the opportunity to meet older gay men as people. Yeah, can you believe it?? Not as daddy, not as social parasites, not as --what the hell is that term again? yeah turkey hawks I think...might be wrong about. Anyway I got to meet the older homos as PEOPLE. And don’t get offended by the description…lol, they certainly weren’t!

As you have probably guessed, unless you were related to me,  there was no trust for older-type men in my make-up, I’d been abused too much by men over 35 for that. The episode just described, with my friends father, well THAT formally buried any vestigial trust for years. If you weren’t in my family, beat it old man!  It seemed as if that particular age group had been lining up to fuck me over at every turn from the day I’d turned 12.

Ok, so fast forward a few more years until I’m 22-23, feeling dead, an alcoholic since I was about 17, a pothead, drained of motivation, wary and paranoid, sought after by morons who --as they charmingly put it--wanted to service me, and so screwed up that I was even beginning to avoid women because they would KNOW.  { Told ya--I was a train wreck lol}  The effects of alcohol were messing everything up so I decide to stop drinking and go to this12 step program. Surprisingly, the guys there actually wanted to know what I thought, who I was. ...INSIDE. This was a shock.  A few months after I stopped drinking the walls started tumbling  down. It was impossible to maintain them with people who actually cared who I was.

 At that point an old gay man who had always been cool--wrong word--HUMAN describes it far better--asked me out for coffee and said the following: " What the fuck is wrong with you, every time I try to talk with you you act as if I'm going to shove a broom up your ass."  I was so floored that I actually sat there for 3 hours and told him WHY I always  acted as if he was about to shove a broom up my ass lol lol lol. I kept expecting him to behave according to the traditional script. He didn't. Instead he listened.  That alone  blew me away. When I saw him a few days later he was with two old farts I didn’t recognize. I saw him whisper something to them and they said hello to me. Instead of neutrally grunting in response, I did something remarkable and returned their greeting, pleasantly asking[ I’m serious roflmao] if he now expected me to greet every old, gray, gay or untrustworthy fart alive. The 3 of them damned near fell out of their chairs. We spoke. Later he asked me if  I'd care  to meet some friends of his, and I instantly said sure. It amazed me as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

When I showed up at his apartment on the designated day, I found 9 other men there. I had never met most--and every goddamned person there looked old enough to Remember The Maine.

This was of course ridiculous and even then I understood: some were younger then I am right now! The point is that they were all in the “adult gay male” group which I  intentionally avoided.

 I was introduced, they were introduced, we all spoke to each other about our experiences learning how to live life without drinking. Eventually my friend brought the conversation around to me.  A German from West Berlin asked me a few questions, which I honestly answered. Any tactfull social  inhibitions which might have existed evaporated after the stunned silence which ensued before laughter filled the room, when I asked him if he had sucked on dick to pass time during the more boring  days  of Alaric’s 3rd Siege of Rome.  I mean hell, I was IMPOSSIBLE. Yet for hour after hour I talked, they questioned, they talked, I listened, I asked questions, and they answered them to the best of their ability.  With HONESTY.

I knew very well that some of those fellows wanted to get into my jeans yet not a single one of them ever tried, then or later. No crap, no moves, no phony friendship, lies. Just gut level honesty. I  had the balls to ask if “ any of you saintly bastards want to take my pants off “… It was half a joke but I meant it, wanted to see what was. Without really understanding, I was testing these men. A few said No. One said No, you’re too crazy. And a few said Yes. When I heard the word YES it blew me away because I’d  expected blanket denials followed by groping minds…or hands.  It floored me because it was honest and when I say I wasn’t used to it, I  MEAN I wasn’t used to it.

 In a few short hours these guys managed to completely disarm me,  fortifications, city walls, moats dug over and for years began to collapse of their own weight---and collapse FAST, so fast that even I didn’t believe it. My carefully tended walls became an archaeological site, ruins all over the landscape. This is something which has been pointed out to me by other people on several occasions in life, namely that when  something basic changes, the changes happen so fast it’s almost unbelievable.

I think that when this happens a spark has ignited a bit of dynamite inside my head. I don’t use these terms loosely either--each time this has happened, a sort of critical mass had been achieved and I was just…waiting for the catalyst to light the fuse. This is going on right now, as a matter of fact. Since Feb 8--the day I saw BBM--my life has done a complete 180 degree turn. Jack from the boards, he asked me to call him up and I did, he was concerned because the changes are so FAST. He’s not the only one who is startled, either. Some of my friends are still open-mouthed. The thing is, to me they’re not fast, to me each action has engendered  the next, one building upon the other. And none has been huge, they were all small steps. Taken together those steps formed a walk across Europe from  Paris to Constantinople. Taken separately, they were a walk from one room to another. They…built up.

But I digress. From that moment on, a very novel thought came up: namely that I was trusting males older then me again.  . Every one of my new friends was  'older and gay', the oldest being about what, 75 I think at the time and the youngest maybe 45. It was nothing less then an intervention of sorts. I became their project, or, as one put it: " What I did on my summer vacation." LMAOOOOO

I drove them crazy for years, once they took up a collection to send me money in Turkey when I met a German girl there and wanted to follow her to Berlin. To this day it awes me that we all got so close and not a single man ever made a big deal of it, told the genral public about ‘ What they did on their summer vacation.’ There are people who knew me and some of these men for 20 years and haven’t a clue that we even liked each other. To me that’s priceless.

Most of those guys are dead today from AIDS and old age. Not once did they ever betray trust or do something which could have done damage to me. When I fell down they helped pick me up. When I did well they cheered me on. They yelled at me and called me names.  They demanded that I stop calling MYSELF names. They helped me grow up, deal with life, you name it. If I have NO trust issue today it's due to them alone. They taught me how to live…more precisely, they taught me that my parents were right, most people were decent, you can’t allow the rotten apples to destroy the entire crop. .
There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe but nothing could be done about it, & if you can't fix it, you've got to stand it

Offline Rob in Puyallup

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #26 on: November 14, 2006, 10:54:42 PM »
Dear forum family members...

It's very painful reading your stories, I have found that I can't always read them from beginning to end knowing that many of you posting are amongst the dearest people in my life. Members of my chosen family. I love you all so much...

I, too, have a very troubled past. Much of it I have already posted within our forum, some still buried deep inside myself still awaiting discovery. Most of it I'd prefer not to recall, I'm sure...

What I do recall is a childhood of neglect and abuse. The affects of which is who you know here... a rather shy, mostly timid personality seeking acceptance after a childhood of deep loneliness.

Amongst my oldest memories are those spent in hospital beds being given IV fluids... I remember needles being poked in my body by many nurses trying to find a vein, all collapsed due to dehydration. Kidney disease discovered at 18 months of age, ongoing treatments of IV fluids, cortisone and drugs for several years.

I recall the earthquake of 1965 (?) here in Western Washington and somehow finding myself under my bed with my sister, then running downstairs to find Mom and Dad together. My only memory of the two of them together prior to their divorce.

I recall a "friend" of our family, in that same house sexually abusing my sister and me, I recall only one episode, sis says they happened countless times.

I recall Mom and Dad's separation when I was about 5 years old. Suddenly Mom, sis and me living elsewhere, with that "friend's" ex-wife. Dad not with us, then Mom not being with us either for who knows how long. I remember Mom returning then our moving into an apartment there in the "projects" of Tacoma.

I remember Mom's house so filthy, food rotting in pots and pans, not a single clean utensil in the house. Easier to go to the store to buy another pot then to find the sink to wash one of the many in the kitchen.

I remember dog and cat "dirt" on the floors of that apartment, rarely cleaned up unless it was in the path that lead from the front door, to the TV, the couch, to the kitchen, bedrooms and bathroom.

I recall grandma coming to visit and the mad dash to clean that apartment before she arrived, she never satisfied after all the hard work my sister and I did, as 8 and 9 year olds. She blaming us for the condition our living arrangements.

I recall Mom hiding out in her bedroom forgetting that she had children. I recall Dad and stepmom telling sis and me that they had thought about calling the authorities on Mom to get sis and me taken from her to be placed in a foster home. But they never did. Never offered sis and me a home until I was 12, and sis 11. By then it was too late, the damage done.

I recall bullies, threatening to beat the crap out of me for no reason except for the fact that I "stank"... and that I was "fat". I learned to run to get away from them, too "weak" to protect myself. I recall being the "perfect" child. Too shy to speak for myself. My sister completely opposite me, being over dramatic, very loud and always running away from home.

--------------------
Several years back as I cared for my mother who was dying of cancer many of these memories resurfaced. They had been buried for a long time. She sat in my apartment, sick and dying and the memories slapped me frequently. Her illness brought on completely unexpected grieving, much of that caused from these memories buried so long, renewed.

I ALWAYS knew, to as far back as my memory goes, that I was "gay". I knew it. Until March of this year I kept that to myself except for a couple people.

I recall a movie that came out almost a year ago that started me getting over a whole shit load of crap that had stalled all personal growth. To it, to Ennis and Jack, to my Nick, to Sherry, and to all of you here I am thankful that my life is brighter than it ever has been, brighter than I ever thought it could be...

I love you all!
Rob
Old Brokeback got me good...

Offline Jules

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #27 on: November 15, 2006, 01:53:21 AM »
I'm so proud of you all, my friends...All my love to you.

Repost from the Affected Me thread, November 10, 2006

It’s been a long time since my last post here. I felt the need to keep off from this thread, as it was getting too hard to read these posts and feel the pain renewed and somehow strengthened every time, a pain I can’t really relate to something specific, but which is still here and doesn’t seem to go away.

But I accidentally read here about forgiveness, and something happened, as if a light had been switched on: maybe it’s time to talk about this with someone, and I can’t think of anyone more special than you all. Please bear with me, I don’t think it really fits here, but here it is and moderators please forgive me also because I’m afraid it’s going to be a long one.

Two men raped me when I was seventeen years old. I was walking alone in the street, they caught me from behind and threatening me with a knife they raped me for hours, one at a time, again and again. They didn’t seem to ever get enough, they probably were under the influence of some drug. They beat me, called me unrepeatable names, I thought that my life was over, that they would have killed me, afterwards. But I got "lucky" and they left me there, bleeding, in the street. Fortunately my parents were on vacation and not coming back for another week and my brother was abroad, so I had the time to recover myself and find a way to hide the bruises. I didn’t go to the hospital, and I never sued anybody. I never told my parents about the rape, but after a month I found out that I was pregnant. I didn’t know what to do, I was so scared because those two men told me that they would have killed my family if I talked to someone about what happened. I was underage, and had to had an abortion.

When it was almost getting too late for it, I was 3 months pregnant, I plucked up the courage and told my mother that I had sex with a boy, that I was pregnant, and that I didn’t want to keep the baby. This almost killed her and speaking of forgiveness, I know it took her a lot of time to forgive me for that, if ever she did...we never talked about it since then, anyway, and I gave her a lot more reasons during my life to be ashamed of me. This was only the first one. We agreed my father must not come to know it (and he died not knowing it, 4 years later) and so my brother. I had to get a specific written permission from the Juvenile Court as well as my mother’s, and eventually I had the abortion.

I never wanted children in all my life; I don’t have any maternal instinct, probably because I never felt like a woman, but that’s another story. Truth is, I had to get rid of that baby, because I saw it as a monster, something put inside of me by the evil one itself. When I woke up after the anesthesia I thought that it was over, that I was “clean” again, and that I could put what happened behind me. Obviously, it wasn’t so easy, and those scars got re-opened hundred times during the following years.

I never regretted that decision, I know that I did what was best for myself, but some years later I began to think about that child, about how old he (don’t know why I’m sure he was a boy) would have been then, and all of a sudden I saw him for the first time for what he was: an innocent creature I killed. I’m pro abortion, this is not the point; point is that I felt guilty for what I thought about him, being the son of the evil, being a monster, being something horrible I had to get rid of. But he was just an innocent baby, and those two men were the evil, not him. I will never forgive them, no way, but I don’t have nightmares about that night any longer. What I needed to do when I realized that, was to forgive myself for the hate I felt for that child, and since I don’t believe in a god, there was really no one who could forgive me but myself. Not an easy task.

Sometimes we think and do horrible things, to others and to ourselves, but I eventually understood that human beings can make mistakes, can be weak, mad, coward because of their ignorance, their youth, their fear.

To me Brokeback Mountain has been the key to the so many doors I closed inside my heart, carefully hiding behind them all my pain and fears, and carrying on with my life pretending that everything was fine. But then I saw the film and my heart broke to pieces. Brokeback Mountain opened all of them, very slowly, one at a time, as if to make sure that I was carefully looking at what I had done, and when I saw all that was hidden there, it almost killed me. This was 8 months ago.

I can’t say that I have moved on, or made significant changes in my life, I'm an Ennis and always will be, but at least now I know that I have forgiven myself for what I’ve done 23 years ago. That child would be 23 years old, today, and I hope he has forgiven me as well, wherever he is.

Boy, this was hard to write.

 
 
"Truth is, sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it."

Offline killersmom

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #28 on: November 15, 2006, 01:54:17 AM »
Dear Marc,
Thank you so much!  I know that you will make the decision when it is time for you. I know how difficult that this is for you, but when it is right, you will know.

It is tough being around my brother, but luckily it is not very often. I am thankful for this. I have been indifferent to him for many many years now, so it will continue.

You have a very valid point about forgiving. I too wonder about the process, and pass on the process for now. I will try to deal with him as I can.

I had known about your story concerning your time with the Franciscans, and I know what your time with them has meant for you as it had for me. And as you say as a result of this your found us.

Thanks so much for being here and supporting all here as you do so well. I am so glad you moved over and know that this place has already become that haven and safe place. We are all here for one another, and will continue to be so. We are your safe place

Linda



Dear Linda,

First of all, I'd like to applaud your courage to come out. I will do so within 10 days, I promised myself (and some of my PM friends). I'm already dreading hitting that button...
It must be really tough for you that you still have to be around your brother now and then, the rest of the family not knowing. The only thing I can say now, try to be as indifferent to him as possible. Forgiving... I don't know about that, I really don't. Some things are simply unforgivable. They've been telling me for years to forgive, for I would free myself by doing so, but no one was ever able to answer my question HOW to do it. The theory of it seems good, but to put into the practice...
 
For now, I'd like you to know that I've been very seriously considering to enter a religious order, in my case, the Franciscans. In the end, it didn't work out because of my poor health, a direct consequence from the abuse and torture in my childhood. How cynical is that?
On the other hand, my not becoming a Franciscan has probably allowed me, in some strange way, to find this place, so... mysterious ways, indeed.
And I did learn a lot from them, the 4 years I spent with them.

I must say that I was a bit angry at first that my safe haven, the Affected thread, was taken away from me (in my perception) and that I was kind of forced to move here.
But in the end, I think you're right to have a separate thread. Especially for "us people", it is so vitally important to feel safe, to feel understood, to feel comfortable - a place where we can be ourselves, where we are accepted, however bruised and battered we may be.

May this thread become that safe place.

Marc
Nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot.
Call Me By Your Name

Offline desertrat

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Re: Surviving Abuse - The Effects & Recovery
« Reply #29 on: November 15, 2006, 02:13:52 AM »
rob, from the very first moment i met you here and you started telling your story, i just wished to be a magician, turn time back and take care of you when you were a little boy. sure, it might be that those dreadful times also shaped you and made you the wonderful person you are now (another proof of the fact that jewels come out of the darkest places), but it would heva been so wonderful if we would have been able to spare you all the pain you had to go through. the first half of your life didn't give you lots of good things - i hope that the second half will only give you happiness.  :)
Minds are like parachutes... they both work better when opened.