bathrooms

[Broken]

i always hated bathrooms. we have been taught so many things about ourselves, and all our secrets come out. It is where our bodies expel waste, showing us that we are from the earth, and one day will return to it. It is where we are naked, and we have been taught to be ashamed of our bodies. Most are covered and hidden from the sun, lit by artificial light.

For me, the bathroom was where i first saw my mother shoot herion. The bathroom was where i was raped by my brother in the shower. It is where i lost my faith in god. All this before i was 7 years old.

It is where i spent every morning, curled in a ball, trying to go back to sleep before the hot water ran out and i was forced to go to school. I wonder now, what happened the night before, sleeping in the same bed with my mother? Wetting my bed? Is it just me looking for an answer, trying to put a name on my fears? Or did something happen? I dont know anymore. Im so damn tired, i want to sleep but i am so damn scared. Im so sick of this. I hope my therapist is serious, because i cant handle this anymore.

 

[Redsongbird]

Dear Broken,

I am so sorry that you are feeling so bad. I can remember many bad things happening in the bathroom too when I was growing up. Sometimes the bathroom is where I would go and take my hot as hell shower so I could wash all the abd things away. I just wanted you to know your not alone. hope you feel better soon.

Terry (redsongbird)

 

[bosishere]

guys, look at my post in the Gay Posts re my trying to "p" now and what thoughts come back to me each and every time. No abuse ever happened to me in a bathroom, but now to pull down ones pants brings back all of the past as an abused little boy. At least we are admitting our problem(s) but I feel a bathroom to an abused person is something very difficult to deal with. Bosishere

 

[Cement]

I was outside, in the soft fresh snow, when my next-door neighbor's father announced that, if I wanted to, I could have my Dad ride me around on their new snowmobile. I was ecstatic. As I ran to get my Dad, I felt like I could fly, I was going to ride on a snowmobile!

I got in the house, called excitedly for my Dad, no answer. I stopped, called again, more tentatively, and listened. I could hear sobbing, or yelling or crying. Joy melted off my neck like the snow.

I turned the hallway towards the sound and my sister ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

I can see the deep dark brown of the bathroom door, I can feel the grain of the wood against my fists, What is going on, where is Dad?! Nothing. no answer.

Dad was gone, I would find out. Ultimately divorced, but gone without a word of explanation to me by anyone. Joy converted to trauma by the bathroom door.

The bathroom door. Entrance to where my sister molested me, used me, then cast me aside like a toy she was bored with.

All her other, vaguely sexual games, where she would sit on me and tickle me until I couldn't take it anymore, then it was my turn; except she was five years older and about twice my size. When I sat on her, she would launch me right off. Horrible horrible, unable to get away when she is on me, frustrated to not be able to inflict the same 'tickle torture' on her. Makes me want to punch her in the face. Ironic - I am 6'3"200+ and she is maybe 5'5" 120...in my mind I am still 8 and she controls me physically as well as mentally.

I hate the fucking bathroom.