Events leading to my breaking secrecy
Its after midnight now and I cant sleep (been thinking about it too much today), so will write some, which lately I have found to be very therapeutic. Been doing some thinking as to what brought me to break the secrecy of the sexual abuse I endured when I was 12.
I think there are 3 major events that converged within the last couple of months that finally caused me to break the silence of my sexual abuse as a child:
1. The Dog(s)
2. The Boat
3. The Tumor
The Dog(s) I had a dog as a child (a Chihuahua) named Gidget that I loved very much. I came home from school one day and my mother told me that they had given the dog away. That was about 1968 when I was about 7. Fast forward to 1989 now. My mothers father died in 1989 and she was quite grieved. So, she got a dog, a little white poodle named Tiny. I hated that dog, even though I was long gone from their house. I think I disliked it so much because they had gotten rid of Gidget when they saw no usefulness for her, yet got Tiny when it served their purpose. Now, to understand where Im going with this, you need to know that my father beat me with a belt a lot as a child. The kind of beatings where when I couldnt stand any more, I remember him still hitting me with the belt as I lay crumpled on the floor. But, back to Tiny my father quickly took up with the dog as though the two of them were Timmy and Lassie. Well, Tiny died a couple of months ago (April 2004) he was like 105 in people years. My father was unusually upset by this. He had a little doggie casket built by a cabinetmaker and buried Tiny in it beside the driveway of their house (quite conspicuous location). When my wife and I went by there soon after the event, he took us out there to the grave and was very emotional about it. I was mad as all hell. This man, who never showed an ounce of emotion towards me as a child, was now distraught over this damn dog. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. I asked my mother about my fathers unusual despondency over Tiny. She said she thought it odd too. My fathers own mother had died in 1998, and my mother said that he didnt display nearly any emotion then, certainly not like he was doing over this dog. So, my father literally treated a dog better than his own mother, as well as myself.
The Boat Memorial Day weekend (May 2004), we (my wife and 2 daughters) went to the lake with my parents to spend the weekend at their lake house. My father and I went out in the boat to set out some trotlines for catfish. Now, to those of you who are uninitiated as to what trotlines are, a brief description basically, its a long twine line with many hooks dangling down from it. You tied the ends between two trees and then add weights to the line to sink it down with bait. On the way out in the boat, the water was choppy and the hooks bounced around and got terribly tangled up. When we got out there, we started to try sorting them out. After about 20 minutes of my father working a section and I as well working a section (apparently too close to his section), he snapped at me Just put it down! while he continued on with it. My first thought was Fuck you, old man. I aint 10 years old. It was a bad flashback to his all-controlling nature when I was a child. If there had been any way I could have swam to shore and walked back at that point I would have. Instead I worked from the other end, finished that section, and then finished his as well.
The Tumor For a couple of years, I have been battling fatigue, wild emotional swings, sexual dysfunction, etc. Although my testosterone level was 275 (normal is 270 to 1,100), my doctor told me I was depressed, and we tried a myriad of anti-depressants, all of which had bad side effects (I never really thought I was depressed anyway). Finally, my doctor told me I needed to see a psychiatrist (basically, he was out of options). I switched doctors in October 2003 to my wifes doctor. He had bloodwork done which showed my testosterone level now down to 220. He scheduled an MRI that showed a microadenoma (tumor) on my pituitary gland. This tumor was causing the pituitary to suppress Leutenizing Hormone (LH), which is what tells a mans body to produce testosterone (hence, my low levels). Ive been on testosterone hormone replacement therapy since December 2003, and my levels are now normal (370), and the symptoms have abated. Testosterone causes a mans interest in naked women to rise (literally). In late May 2004, I was wondering if perhaps I was oversexed, because it seems like I was thinking about sex a LOT. I even asked my family doctor about it. He said it was normal. Undaunted, I even bought a book on Addiction to see if I was addicted (Im not, per the book we guys just like sex).
Anyway, after coming home from the lake (and being pissed off at my old man), my wife and I were laying in bed that night and I was talking to her about what I perceived as an overactive interest in sex. I asked her if she thought I might be addicted. She said, No, she thinks all men are like me. I guess the emotions from all this converging at once just got to me because I then asked her Do you think being sexually abused as a child would cause an overactive interest in sex? After I told her this, I thought to myself My God, what have I just said? Ive told someone. She was the first person I had ever told about it.
I think there are 3 major events that converged within the last couple of months that finally caused me to break the silence of my sexual abuse as a child:
1. The Dog(s)
2. The Boat
3. The Tumor
The Dog(s) I had a dog as a child (a Chihuahua) named Gidget that I loved very much. I came home from school one day and my mother told me that they had given the dog away. That was about 1968 when I was about 7. Fast forward to 1989 now. My mothers father died in 1989 and she was quite grieved. So, she got a dog, a little white poodle named Tiny. I hated that dog, even though I was long gone from their house. I think I disliked it so much because they had gotten rid of Gidget when they saw no usefulness for her, yet got Tiny when it served their purpose. Now, to understand where Im going with this, you need to know that my father beat me with a belt a lot as a child. The kind of beatings where when I couldnt stand any more, I remember him still hitting me with the belt as I lay crumpled on the floor. But, back to Tiny my father quickly took up with the dog as though the two of them were Timmy and Lassie. Well, Tiny died a couple of months ago (April 2004) he was like 105 in people years. My father was unusually upset by this. He had a little doggie casket built by a cabinetmaker and buried Tiny in it beside the driveway of their house (quite conspicuous location). When my wife and I went by there soon after the event, he took us out there to the grave and was very emotional about it. I was mad as all hell. This man, who never showed an ounce of emotion towards me as a child, was now distraught over this damn dog. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. I asked my mother about my fathers unusual despondency over Tiny. She said she thought it odd too. My fathers own mother had died in 1998, and my mother said that he didnt display nearly any emotion then, certainly not like he was doing over this dog. So, my father literally treated a dog better than his own mother, as well as myself.
The Boat Memorial Day weekend (May 2004), we (my wife and 2 daughters) went to the lake with my parents to spend the weekend at their lake house. My father and I went out in the boat to set out some trotlines for catfish. Now, to those of you who are uninitiated as to what trotlines are, a brief description basically, its a long twine line with many hooks dangling down from it. You tied the ends between two trees and then add weights to the line to sink it down with bait. On the way out in the boat, the water was choppy and the hooks bounced around and got terribly tangled up. When we got out there, we started to try sorting them out. After about 20 minutes of my father working a section and I as well working a section (apparently too close to his section), he snapped at me Just put it down! while he continued on with it. My first thought was Fuck you, old man. I aint 10 years old. It was a bad flashback to his all-controlling nature when I was a child. If there had been any way I could have swam to shore and walked back at that point I would have. Instead I worked from the other end, finished that section, and then finished his as well.
The Tumor For a couple of years, I have been battling fatigue, wild emotional swings, sexual dysfunction, etc. Although my testosterone level was 275 (normal is 270 to 1,100), my doctor told me I was depressed, and we tried a myriad of anti-depressants, all of which had bad side effects (I never really thought I was depressed anyway). Finally, my doctor told me I needed to see a psychiatrist (basically, he was out of options). I switched doctors in October 2003 to my wifes doctor. He had bloodwork done which showed my testosterone level now down to 220. He scheduled an MRI that showed a microadenoma (tumor) on my pituitary gland. This tumor was causing the pituitary to suppress Leutenizing Hormone (LH), which is what tells a mans body to produce testosterone (hence, my low levels). Ive been on testosterone hormone replacement therapy since December 2003, and my levels are now normal (370), and the symptoms have abated. Testosterone causes a mans interest in naked women to rise (literally). In late May 2004, I was wondering if perhaps I was oversexed, because it seems like I was thinking about sex a LOT. I even asked my family doctor about it. He said it was normal. Undaunted, I even bought a book on Addiction to see if I was addicted (Im not, per the book we guys just like sex).
Anyway, after coming home from the lake (and being pissed off at my old man), my wife and I were laying in bed that night and I was talking to her about what I perceived as an overactive interest in sex. I asked her if she thought I might be addicted. She said, No, she thinks all men are like me. I guess the emotions from all this converging at once just got to me because I then asked her Do you think being sexually abused as a child would cause an overactive interest in sex? After I told her this, I thought to myself My God, what have I just said? Ive told someone. She was the first person I had ever told about it.