First post - the past.

First post - the past.
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delta.tetra

Registrant
Hello!

I am a male survivor of csa, age 43. Currently I am safe thanks, no-one is abusing me now. I am a psychiactric patient and use medicine. I haven't talked to anyone for a few years.

Getting this thing started is much harder than I had imagined. The flow of my fierce volcanic anger is endless.

I just don't know when to start. Yes I do: I'll start when I'm three years old.

When I was three my daddy left the family home and divorced from my mother. Mum took me and my sister on a tour of short-stay homes, until we eventually got into a town where no-one had ever heard of us and it was unlikely we'd be found.

I was four when my father came back. But I wasn't told he was back. There was a day when my Mum put my sister and me into our best clothes and we went to a hotel room in the city centre. A strange smelly woman was in the room.

My Mum said, "This is your Aunty and she is coming to live with us from now on and you must always love her and obey her and you must never ever ask any questions about who she is or where she came from or why she is living with us and you must never ever talk to anyone outside the family about her, do you understand?"

At that time I really didn't know that Aunty was my father. I still thought my father would come home soon. I really wanted my Daddy back.
 
delta.tetra, hi, it is maybe hard to make a first post, I am sorry about the hurt of the past, and I hold out the hand of friendship.

From what you are saying, is that your dad, maybe had a sex change, but I am not sure, I am sorry you are on meds, but hey, this is a good place to be,

welcome,

ste
 
Until I got to my sixth birthday I still didn't know the truth. But that day the illusion was shattered. Mum told me there was going to be a really big surprise birthday treat. I was SURE Daddy was coming home, but I'd already learned not to trust my feelings. Mum had prepared a birthday party with five or six other little children. That was her 'big surprise' while I was expecting Dad. So eventually in floods of tears (after a disastrous party) I asked Mum, "When is Dad coming home?"
She told me, "Never, I thought you understood that already!"

Enough. In school year's I developed a speech defect, a stammer, I could not ask any questions, it was physically impossible. My jaw would shake my mouth open and shut. I gave up talking, and read books instead.

I got beaten a lot, Dad had been a clergyman of the Baptist ministry and knew all about the gnashing of teeth. Mum slapped, Aunty used a long leather belt to punish my wrongdoing. Once I was dragged out of bed at 00.30 after midnight, thoroughly beaten, then my Mum said
"We are going to our room to pray for you, and we will not stop praying until you come and tell us, you have given your heart to Jesus!"

I fell asleep, woke again at 06.30 and thought of my poor Mum on her knees when she's got bad knees anyway, so I went and told them I'd done it. After that I didn't ever feel much like god exists.
 
Cutting a long story short is difficult work.

When I was 18 I left home, that was year 0. Everything started from leaving home, and I forgot everything that had gone before.

I ran away to sea! Drinking was the only thing I wanted to do, and I did get drunk every day for many years. I came to notice very fast that I enjoyed being away from home. Within weeks I had lost the speech defect mostly, and after a half year or so it was gone and I could talk again.

Five years after leaving home I went back to have a conversation with my parents. Mum and Aunty. So they fed me some lies. Lies about the blessing of god being on everything they did. I left no better off emotionally.

I was sure that my father having a sex change had had a profound effect on me as I grew from babyhood to manhood. I was totally convinced that my poor Aunties gender identity history was the most important lead as to what I was and how he had damaged me.

As an adult I was suffering depression, suicidal thoughts, deep sadness and anger and fear of everything. Sometimes things would be OK for a while, but the average job lasted 3 months, relationships a bit longer perhaps, and I kept on moving from town to town. Seemed my life was ruined but I didn't know why.
 
There is a lot of hurt in there, and hey it is no surprise, when you are a kid, n, hey, they try to shift the blame maybe onto the kid, n, think he is not so normal.

Yeah, happened to me, they thought I was not normal, they thought, he is a little wretch, n, maybe everything is blamed on me, so they say, if things dont change, then you are going to a home, jus, like they might do with a dog U dont want, yeh, I got beat for things I dont do.

The speech impediment is prob a cause of not bein, understood, and dealing with it anyway you can find, yeah, this makes sense,

ste
 
Like I said it was my father's "sex-change" at the centre of the family anf of my own life. Every time I met someone new I'd make sure they got to hear that I had a transexual father. See, I thought that if people just understood my origins, they could understand my problems and know me. Well, that never worked so I tried the opposite.

When I got married a second time I resolved to NEVER divulge to my wife anything about my father. I suceeded, because she came one day and said she heard all about my father from other friends, but not from me directly. Of course she was a bit hurt that I hadn't shared. My wife got my father to tell me on the telephone "I asked for god's guidance but I made the decision myself to have a sex-change."

That was an amazing moment.
 
My mum died a few years after my 2nd marriage was over, and she wanted to see before on her deathbed.

She told me about my Dad.

He'd never ever had a sexual feeling all his life, when he was in the RAF the other fellows had a healthy sex-life around him. He assumed he would get his firt bit of arrousal ever, after he was married in a good christan way.

Unlucky for my Mum he was wrong. They never managed to consumate their marriage, technically my Mum died a virgin. After about five years of unhappy marriage the wider family hinted that there must be an offspring soon or the marriage would be shown barren dry and sad.

SO one time they really tried to get somewhere, and mum managed to get some small ammount of sticky fluid out of him and into her. My sister was born from that union. The family was all relieved that things seemed 'normal'.

Three years later Mum tried it again, but she was not at all confident she'd managed to get anything, but - here I am.

Then she told me that she beleived that when she died that was it, finished end of story. No spirit, no heaven or hell, no Jesus?. She said it had all been a lie, she had never believed, and she said, "Sorry about that."

Then she told me that she had known what was happening to her children and she was desperately sorry she hadn't taken us away from there. That sounded rather melodramatic, but I assumed she was talking about my sister and me growing up under the influence of a Transexual person. She said there was no Social Security deptment of local government, no charities or helpgroups existed that she could turn to, except the family and she didn't want to burden them. But she was clearly ripped apart emotionally.

She'd kept silent for ten years about dizzy spells, headaches, blurred vision etc, because she assumed that the pain was simply punishment for being such a terrible mother and wife.

A couple of months after she passed on I went to see my father Aunty. I said "Aunty I've always thought of you as my Dad and I love as my Dad because you are my Dad!" FatherAunty said, "You should have had a dog when you were small, but Mother would never want smells in the house. A shame..." which shut down the conversation. I haven't seen him since.
 
I couldn't bear to live on the same island as my Father, simply because it made getting to his house to kill him so much easier. So I've moved away of course.

So a few years ago I was crashing through another relationship/job/friends and going down very deep into depression. I really wanted to die and at one time I came very close indeed. I decided that doing it is so horrid for other people that it would really be an anti-social act. For the love of strangers I moved away from the water edge and went and got some help. I started seeing a psychiatrist regularly and got medicine.

For two years things only got worse, nightmares depression, rage, cutting my hands with knives, unregulated use of some drugs, yelling in the streets, just getting into madness. Wierd dreams about violence and sex and just full of pain.

Then I got the Internet. hey life goes on even when you're crazy. First thing I did when I got online was search for some Support Groups for the close Family of Transexual persons. Well there isn't much. I have been told that in 99.9% of cases when one parent changes sex the family just breaks up.

I have never ever spoken to anyone who knows what it is like to have a transexual parent or other relative. I really wanted to. I was sure that if I could find a web-forum of family of ts folks I would find myself.

I eventually did find a group that were all ts family members. I wrote them an email asking about joining the forum. They asked for an email with my reasons for wanting to join that group. I wrote down a load of questions I wanted to answers to, and sent it off. Then I cleared away all traces af that email, the web site etc. It just seemed like the most dangerous thing I'd ever done.

Two weeks later I got the reply: no sorry you cannot join us.
 
I didn't have much idea of what I'd written so i wrote back and asked 'why not'? They told me, the sexual abuse you described sounds very severe, and the damage that having a transexual parent might do just pales in comparison. They said I needed proper help for childhood sexual abuse because that was what I'd described.

I was furious. They obviously didn't know what they heck they were talking about. 'Sexual abuse! No way!' I was raving bonkers for a couple of days, then one time I was a park and I remembered and fell down like shot.

I had remebered some way I felt, and because I got that emotion I got to understand. I had described how Aunty would take a long time to wash 'down there'. I couldn't see how it was sexual abuse. i mean, no-one got arroused by it. Then it hit me, the feelings I felt in the bath as he touched my inappropriatly - how dirty and guilty and shameful I felt when he was doing that, and how in later years the memory of that touch lived on and affected everything I did. He'd touched the childs sexuality weather the child knew it or not.

He would attack at bathtime on saturday evening. It started when both me and my sister were so small we could share the bath without our legs meeting if we sat at each end. Pretty small then. I don't know what he got up to before the cut, but I don't see any reason to assume he started after surgery. So I assume he started at my birth or shortly thereafter.

He wanted to spend time looking at external organs, and with sighs and shakes of the head and talk of filth and dirt he'd scrub away until the water was cold. It might take me 5 or 10 minutes to wash myself all over (except there, not allowed to wash there) and get washed by Dad for twenty or thirty minutes.
 
There never had been a lock on the bathroom door, because "Gran might slip in the bath and we couldn't get in to help her if the door was locked." Gran died just before my sixteenth birthday. A couple of weeks after my 16th birthday I was sitting shivering in the bath because I was waiting for Aunty to come and abuse me some more. Then I remebered the excuse about the door lock and decided to make a change.

I put a lock on that bathroom door, and the last time he washed me was a reallity. I was so scared, the last time he tried to get in I pushed him away with force. Meanwhile I'd grown into a large size. I was sure I'd be required to leave home after I'd stopped that bathtime terror.

This flood of new information about my childhood was just a total amazing thing. For years I have not been able to remember anything much from childhood before I left home. Now I know why.

tired now. thanks very much for reading this far!

Of course, I never heard of anyone being abused by a transexual parent have I?

Now it is three years since the first revalation of truth. My sister has told me that she was also subjected to viewing and manipulation, both in the bath and in her bedroom. She felt that Dad was really jealous of her because she had proper ladies organs and he had some some surgeons cut up job.

Recently I realised a wonderful truth. There is no reason why a transexual person cannot be a good parent. However things would have to be a lot different. For instance there should be no restriction ever on the children asking questions. And if a person is a good caring nurturing parent it doesn't matter what they've got down their trousers.

Is the sexual abuse is more or less traumatic because of gender dysphoria of the predator?

We always got abused on a saturday night. Mostly Mum would be away at work that evening (she was a nurse) but sometimes she was around when Aunty was doing her thing. I did sometimes complain but she never 'rescued' me, she'd leave the room. She did really know what was going on.

Well that's some of my tale. I think I'll feel a need to write some other stuff another time. So glad to have found this forum! Searched for ages for an active place.
 
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