I would have been Hetero, part one Triggers -


Member, Male
My earliest memories are from the age of four. Rita (my mother) and I were living with my younger sisters father. This man was cruelty personified and blessedly the year I turned five, Rita left him taking me with her but leaving my sister behind. While we lived with that man my life was a living hell, both because of him and because of my mother. The violence that he subjected Rita to, she took out on me. My sister being a toddler was spared a lot of what I had to endure. This is the age where I acquired the name from Rita that would follow me all of the years that I was under her domination: Stupid little bastard.

In the afternoons when my sister would nap, Rita would lock me out the house so that I wouldnt wake her. I would sit on the front steps and wait. I had NO toys because he said that toys spoil and ruin a boy. Truly, all I had to play with were the stones and twigs that littered the yard. And then one afternoon this teenage boy showed up and started talking to me. Talking nice to me and smiling and everything. No one talked nice to me and certainly no one ever smiled at me. When he asked if I wanted to play a game, I told him that I had no toys but he said that was ok because he knew a game that didnt need toys. All I had to do was go with him into the bushes behind our house and he would show me how to play his game. I remember being awed that this boy wanted to play with me and I followed immediately. I dont recall all of the things that he made do for him over the course of many afternoons; a lot of the sex details are fuzzy. What stands out in my mind is that he was always so nice to me and that he never hurt me. I always felt safe with him and I would look forward to his showing up in the afternoons. He was my friend, he even said so and on top of that, he was my secret friend. I wasnt to tell anybody or it wouldnt be a secret anymore and then he wouldnt be able to come and see me. I didnt want that, did I? So, I never told I kept the secret until I was thirty four years old.

My secret friend made my life bearable. Before bed time every night I would get some form of corporal mistreatment (Ill skip the details) from my sisters father as a warning to me to behave for my mother the next day while he was at work. Then Id go into the furnace room and make up my bed on the floor all while trying not to cry or make any noise so as to not set him off or Id really get it. My days with Rita were not any better. I could do absolutely nothing right and no matter how good I tried to be, nothing ever pleased her. I was always being yelled and slapped at for something. There was just no winning. And then one day she tried to suffocate me. Of the three times over the course of my childhood that I believed I was going to be killed, this was the first.

I remember it this way: Rita was sitting on a kitchen chair and was screaming at me to: Get over here you stupid little bastard, Im going to teach you a lesson youre never going to forget. To this day I dont know what I had done wrong. She grabbed me and forced my head between her legs, pushing my face up against her sex and then squeezed me in place with her legs. She then reached over and pushed my pants down and began beating my bare bottom with a wooden spoon. She kept screaming at me the whole time that it was my fault for making her do this to me and why didnt I behave and so on. I couldnt breathe and I couldnt cry much either because I couldnt draw breath. When I did manage to get a little air the stench from between her legs made me gag. I felt myself getting very light-headed and tingly all over, and then I was suddenly thrown to the floor. The back of my head hit the linoleum and I bit my tongue, drawing blood. She said to me: Dont you dare fucking cry, either; Ive heard enough out of you for one day. Now go play with your sister.

My secret friend made my life bearable. He was the only person who was nice to me, who said nice things to me; he said that I was a special little boy and that he liked being my friend. He would hold me real tight against him and he would give me little kisses in my neck. It tickled something awful and would make me giggle. He liked that. I did too. And then one day he stopped coming to see me. I would wait all afternoon, even after Rita said that I could come in, I still waited outside for him. I dont know how many days I waited, how many times that I stood at the end of our drive and watched up the road from where he would always arrive but, at some point realization dawned that he had abandoned me. And as I type this now, I can feel once again the hurt that pierced my little heart and I remember too the terror that I felt at the thought that now no one would save me and that no one ever again would like me. I remember thinking that I must have done something really wrong for him to not want be my friend anymore. What little importance that I may have felt because of him completely left me and only until very recently (since finding MS) I had been totally incapable of connecting with other people. From that day until I was forty two years old, I carried within me the feelings of being lost and hollow. Its as though I experienced the world from behind a gauzy curtain. I could sort of see and hear but I could never touch, never make physical contact.

One afternoon after another interminable wait for my secret friend, I entered the kitchen to see Rita making ringlets in my sisters hair. They were giggling and playing together and having fun. They did that often. It seemed to me then, in my four year old mind, that it was much better to be a girl than a boy. My mother was a girl and she could do whatever she wanted, she had power. My sister was a girl and no one hardly ever beat her and she had dollies to play with too. I was just a boy that nobody wanted; I had no power, no toys and now no friend either. So as I stood there, I decided that from then on I was going to be a girl too. My psyche abandoned little Jol on the spot and I became someone else. Over the years that someone else would start to call himself Jennifer, and was totally convinced that he had been born in the wrong body.

And now I cant type anymore. My arms feel like lead suddenly. I thought when I started this that I could get through it in one sitting but, I have to stop now. Im trembling all over and I feel nauseous. Ill try and finish this some other time.
Wow. I do not know what to say. You've brough tears to my eyes and thoughts to my mind. Thank your for your honest candor. I'm so moved. I do not recall everything as well. More is coming. I had remember the big bush of hair yesterday of mom. I don't know what is there could be innocent but I am not afraid to look. love ya
Howdy, joelRT,
Yep, those perpertrators of ours sure have made our lives a pure living hell and I'm not so sure that we'll ever get over it. But my FRIEND, I'll always be your FRIEND, just BE YOU. Heal well my FRIEND.
Pete (Irishmoose)

My heart aches for that little boy on the steps and for you.
Thank you so very much for being so honest and open about the abuse that was inflicted on you as a child.
I admire your strenth and commitment to yourself and to your recovery.
You are truely an inspiration and example for the rest of us.
Thank you for blazing such a clear path for the rest of us to follow.
I am proud to call you a friend and a brother.

Your friend always and forever



I am very sorry to hear how badly your mother treated you. I also feel very sorry that your secret "friend" abused you - even though you felt "safe with him" - He did abuse you as as you probably are aware of. A boy starved for care and nurturing affection is more vulnerable to fall for prey for a sexual predator. (to a hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet. proverbs 27:7)

I can relate to trying to make sense of the meaningless physical abuse by your Mother and Stepfather. I have slittered and cowarded like a beating dog most of my life - I have a very low startle response to noises, even a shadow from a bird flying past the windows makes me shutter and duck.

Where you got traumatized by your mother and felt like suffocating - I got the same from my stepfather beating me and strangling me until I submitted to his sexual abuse. And my mother knew and did nothing to protect me. I think she was just as scared that he would kill her too, if she interferred.

I also find it tough that you call her Rita - I see it as a way to distance yourself form her.


Member, Male

I started dealing with my mother pain over twenty years ago now. Did many retreats and workshops over the years, read a lot of books and faced and analized each and every one of the sitations that she put me through. I was in my forties before I could accept that while she birthed me that was pretty much the extent of her mothering. I call her by her name because mother simply doesn't fit.

A few years back I learned that she was the one who paid for my former wife's divorce attorney and it was then that I finally accepted that the woman hated me. And you have to understand her I guess, I mean after all I did have the temerity to be conceived. :D

Today I have no contact whatever with her. I don't hate her - there's no room in my life for hate, there is also no room in my life for toxic people.

I accept that Rita was incapable of loving me. That had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. She has never been capable of love, period. Whatever brokeness she inherited from her own childhood she carried into her adulthood and sadly sshe never moved beyond it.

What was done to me is far less important to me than the fact that I have the ability, and the support as well, to outgrow it. That I can get well and become who and what I could have been if it had not been for her interference is what counts for me now.



I'm glad you felt able to say as much as you did. You did not deserve the abuse you suffered. And I'm glad you are able to leave your mom out of your life. This is something I have been trying to do for a long time.


Member, Male
Thanks guys,

Your support and your care mean so much to me. I really hesitated posting this because it left me feeling very vulnerable. Now I realize that had nothing to fear. Maybe now I'll find the courage to post part 2.


I think we all feel vulnerable when we open up and share what happened to us and how it has affected us. We fear that we will not be understood or that we "hurt" other survivors by letting it all out. But there are so many men here who have experienced something similar and probably also keep some parts to themselves. Parts that we are ashamed of, or feel make us different from other survivors. Take your time Joel. I look forward hearing part 2, to get to know you better.



I wish you didn't have to go through all that...its amazing how some adults make children's life misserable...you deserved better...my hope is that you will heal and be happy and go on with your life....(((((((joelTR))))))
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