*Triggers Possible* anniversaries of what happened
There are so many I don't remember. The physical and mental abuse at home started when I was so little it was kind of always there as everything else happened.
The sexual abuse starting sometime in Oct when I was in 4th grade beginning the many firsts...
The first time I saw a naked man. The first sexual acts and orgasm, dry of course. Feeling "loved", "safe", comforted by a male figure in opposition to the physical and mental abuse happening at home.
Passed on by the first man to the terror with the first penetrative rape which was gang rape. The first time blacking out from pain. The first mutilations. The first time I was drowned and suffocated. The first time I was revived. All the horrible, evil, torturous, disgusting and excruciatingly painful things those men did to me over the course of 3 years. I'll never know how many men, only memories of different looking penises, no faces only masks that haunt me every night.
Then the priest.
The first time I felt I could be healed, rescued, turning to becoming the first time I was raped while having to recite prayers as he entered me repeatedly to "help" me become a real boy.
Then there's one date I do remember. The anniversary of is next week... the worst thing I ever experienced as an adult... Beyond homelessness and hunger. Beyond more spiritual abuse and the many things I've been through, I was raped again violently at the age of 20. And who was I? A wrestler, a Marine, a grown man? No, I was a little boy all over again. The used, damaged, worthless, weak little boy that couldn't defend himself.
I work. I help others. I function well enough but I always have my demons to deal with daily. I feel like that terrified little boy every night... so many men, one me.
This anniversary I cant forget no matter how much I want to. An event that sealed the message that I can always be hurt. It's just never knowing when it will happen again.
The sexual abuse starting sometime in Oct when I was in 4th grade beginning the many firsts...
The first time I saw a naked man. The first sexual acts and orgasm, dry of course. Feeling "loved", "safe", comforted by a male figure in opposition to the physical and mental abuse happening at home.
Passed on by the first man to the terror with the first penetrative rape which was gang rape. The first time blacking out from pain. The first mutilations. The first time I was drowned and suffocated. The first time I was revived. All the horrible, evil, torturous, disgusting and excruciatingly painful things those men did to me over the course of 3 years. I'll never know how many men, only memories of different looking penises, no faces only masks that haunt me every night.
Then the priest.
The first time I felt I could be healed, rescued, turning to becoming the first time I was raped while having to recite prayers as he entered me repeatedly to "help" me become a real boy.
Then there's one date I do remember. The anniversary of is next week... the worst thing I ever experienced as an adult... Beyond homelessness and hunger. Beyond more spiritual abuse and the many things I've been through, I was raped again violently at the age of 20. And who was I? A wrestler, a Marine, a grown man? No, I was a little boy all over again. The used, damaged, worthless, weak little boy that couldn't defend himself.
I work. I help others. I function well enough but I always have my demons to deal with daily. I feel like that terrified little boy every night... so many men, one me.
This anniversary I cant forget no matter how much I want to. An event that sealed the message that I can always be hurt. It's just never knowing when it will happen again.
