in search of identity
It did not occur to me until this evening that I might find some form of support here on the Internet. And after only a few minutes of searching I stumbled across this forum. I have spent the last four hours reading post after post. It sent chills down my back to read peoples messages that describe me. I know the sexual abuse inflicted on me as an adolescent was not particularly unique. But I never would have believed for an instant that other people shared the misery of my consciousness. As I read the messages here I felt so much desire to reach out to you for help. But I am scared too. In spite of my fear I take a timid step out into the open
My early childhood was devoid of affection. My mother was only a teenager herself and I didnt have a father until I was six. I grew up far out in the cornfields. I never had a best friend. I lived my life on the outside of all the social groups at school. Sexual abuse started when I was 15. The first man I reported immediately. But the second man, a friend of my mothers, befriended me first. He earned my respect, trust and admiration. He was a sort of role model for me. He was non-judgmental and open-minded about my thoughts on life. Gradually he introduced sex into our relationship. After that our relationship lasted for about five years seeing each other sometimes frequently, sometimes not. There were several other instances of abuse with still more men after that, but after a certain point no more damage could be done there was nothing left intact to damage. When I wanted to get out of the last abusive relationship the man tried to pay me to keep seeing him. God only know how, but this stirred enough self-respect in me to finally make a stand for myself and end the abusive relationships.
But this really is only the beginning of my misery, because my life now is inconceivable more miserable than it was then. Then I had no understanding of what was happening to the real me. I couldnt fathom the depths of the consequences of what was happening to me. I think that I still cant for that matter.
Three and a half years ago I married my wife and in a decision that seemed reasonable to me then I abandoned everything that I had made stable in my life. We were both in school at the time, but in different states. I transferred to her school and converted to her religion. None of this seemed significant at the time. But it turned out to be devastating. Without realizing it I sank gradually into a deep and prolonged depression. Our marriage was rocky and anything but a haven to either of us. We hung in there for quite a while though, but a month ago my wife moved out.
Okay those are the facts but they are just the facts. I have told my story many times and while it gets easier to tell with time it really doesnt describe the horrible misery that I live. My life is so completely devoid of *connection* that I can barely comprehend the concept. I could tell my wife everything except how I felt what I thought. I am so ashamed of my feelings that I can scarcely find the courage to describe them to myself. I am terrified that I will never know what it is like to connect with someone. I put my post here because so many partners of sufferers have so much insight into my wifes perspective on our relationship.
Whenever we would have one of those moments the ones where I felt the possibility of some sort of intense closeness I would shut down inside. I couldnt tolerate the emotional intensity. Try though I might I could not share that with her. It breaks my heart to admit that. I am ashamed f it and scared to death of it. I love her with all that I am and what I mean by that is that I want to make her feel safe and happy. I want to make her life and mine a more fulfilling experience. And I also mean that I want her to be the one that makes me feel safe and happy.
We dont know if our separation is the beginning of our divorce or the beginning of our marriage. I have finally come to appreciate her desire for space and time to nurture herself. I also am coming to realization that our relationship was an impediment to any sort of healing on my part. I was consumed with the desire to save our marriage because all of my self-worth rested on her not rejecting me. But I cannot make this journey with the goal of saving anything except myself.
I hate that I have to make a journey and that I have to heal. Those words fill me with rage. But I cannot direct the rage at anything. It is aimless and intense. I hate my mother for making my childhood one of isolation. I hate my step-father (the only father I had) for not protecting me. I hate the Bad Man for earning my respect and admiration and then using those things to satisfy his pathetic compulsions. And that these peoples careless disregard for the horrible misery it is to be so alone as an adult it makes me want to scream and cry at the same time. WhyMe indeed. And I hate so much the whole concept of healing.
I was robbed of all things worth anything in childhood and adult life is so ridiculously unsatisfying. I cannot imagine what it is like to be really happy. I dont know what it is like to enjoy a nice day because it is nice. I only fake happiness because I am supposed to be happy on a nice day. Except for this crazy fit of anger that I have brought on typing this I think all of my emotions are fake. For three years I have forces myself to have sex because that is what a good husband does with his wife. But because I dont know what it is like to want sex to express love, I always feel like I am taking advantage of her. I cant comprehend her wanting me sexually because she loves me.
I cant stand the touch of another man. A pat on the back makes me flinch with fear. A hug is a sexual advance. A sincere conversation is an opportunity for him to earn my trust so he can exploit me. And hasnt it been the same with my very wife. I could never really believe that she wouldnt somehow inflict the same sort of emotional devastation on me if I gave her the chance. She is, of course, the sweetest tenderest person I have ever had in my life, but even that is not enough for me.
I dont want to heal. I want to be better. I dont want a journey. I want to be happy when I would be happy. My life is a fake because I cant stand the though of what I am a victim of other peoples thoughtlessness. I am a sad, lonely man who cant figure out why he is not happy. My life is the fantasy of joy without a trace of the real thing. How can I face that? How can I admit that changing school or religions is important to me? How can I feel the desire for something anything? I work. I eat. I sleep. I take out the trash. Life is empty and I just dont know how to give it meaning. I wish that I wanted to go out with friends. I want to have an actual relationship. But I dont know how.
This scares me to death. In the past I would have pleaded with you to treat me tenderly. I would have apologized for the length of my post. But I cant keep up this farce. I am this raw unnerved person and I can't keep hiding it. I have been so afraid of pain in the past that I have done absolutely anything to avoid it and in the process heaped mounds of it on my wife. But the pain and anger are so intense now that there is no hiding from it. There is no avoiding it. It is in my face and it is exactly as awful as I expected it to be.
Maybe my pain and anger are fake too. Maybe I conjure them up just so I can feel *something*. I cant tell the difference anymore. When you live a lie and pretend that it didnt matter you destroy your identity. I picked the name wrangler because I drive a jeep and I love driving my jeep maybe thats all the identity I have left.
Thanks for listening. It is a relief to pour this out of my head and into the keyboard. And it is better than my journal because it does feel like reaching out.
George
My early childhood was devoid of affection. My mother was only a teenager herself and I didnt have a father until I was six. I grew up far out in the cornfields. I never had a best friend. I lived my life on the outside of all the social groups at school. Sexual abuse started when I was 15. The first man I reported immediately. But the second man, a friend of my mothers, befriended me first. He earned my respect, trust and admiration. He was a sort of role model for me. He was non-judgmental and open-minded about my thoughts on life. Gradually he introduced sex into our relationship. After that our relationship lasted for about five years seeing each other sometimes frequently, sometimes not. There were several other instances of abuse with still more men after that, but after a certain point no more damage could be done there was nothing left intact to damage. When I wanted to get out of the last abusive relationship the man tried to pay me to keep seeing him. God only know how, but this stirred enough self-respect in me to finally make a stand for myself and end the abusive relationships.
But this really is only the beginning of my misery, because my life now is inconceivable more miserable than it was then. Then I had no understanding of what was happening to the real me. I couldnt fathom the depths of the consequences of what was happening to me. I think that I still cant for that matter.
Three and a half years ago I married my wife and in a decision that seemed reasonable to me then I abandoned everything that I had made stable in my life. We were both in school at the time, but in different states. I transferred to her school and converted to her religion. None of this seemed significant at the time. But it turned out to be devastating. Without realizing it I sank gradually into a deep and prolonged depression. Our marriage was rocky and anything but a haven to either of us. We hung in there for quite a while though, but a month ago my wife moved out.
Okay those are the facts but they are just the facts. I have told my story many times and while it gets easier to tell with time it really doesnt describe the horrible misery that I live. My life is so completely devoid of *connection* that I can barely comprehend the concept. I could tell my wife everything except how I felt what I thought. I am so ashamed of my feelings that I can scarcely find the courage to describe them to myself. I am terrified that I will never know what it is like to connect with someone. I put my post here because so many partners of sufferers have so much insight into my wifes perspective on our relationship.
Whenever we would have one of those moments the ones where I felt the possibility of some sort of intense closeness I would shut down inside. I couldnt tolerate the emotional intensity. Try though I might I could not share that with her. It breaks my heart to admit that. I am ashamed f it and scared to death of it. I love her with all that I am and what I mean by that is that I want to make her feel safe and happy. I want to make her life and mine a more fulfilling experience. And I also mean that I want her to be the one that makes me feel safe and happy.
We dont know if our separation is the beginning of our divorce or the beginning of our marriage. I have finally come to appreciate her desire for space and time to nurture herself. I also am coming to realization that our relationship was an impediment to any sort of healing on my part. I was consumed with the desire to save our marriage because all of my self-worth rested on her not rejecting me. But I cannot make this journey with the goal of saving anything except myself.
I hate that I have to make a journey and that I have to heal. Those words fill me with rage. But I cannot direct the rage at anything. It is aimless and intense. I hate my mother for making my childhood one of isolation. I hate my step-father (the only father I had) for not protecting me. I hate the Bad Man for earning my respect and admiration and then using those things to satisfy his pathetic compulsions. And that these peoples careless disregard for the horrible misery it is to be so alone as an adult it makes me want to scream and cry at the same time. WhyMe indeed. And I hate so much the whole concept of healing.
I was robbed of all things worth anything in childhood and adult life is so ridiculously unsatisfying. I cannot imagine what it is like to be really happy. I dont know what it is like to enjoy a nice day because it is nice. I only fake happiness because I am supposed to be happy on a nice day. Except for this crazy fit of anger that I have brought on typing this I think all of my emotions are fake. For three years I have forces myself to have sex because that is what a good husband does with his wife. But because I dont know what it is like to want sex to express love, I always feel like I am taking advantage of her. I cant comprehend her wanting me sexually because she loves me.
I cant stand the touch of another man. A pat on the back makes me flinch with fear. A hug is a sexual advance. A sincere conversation is an opportunity for him to earn my trust so he can exploit me. And hasnt it been the same with my very wife. I could never really believe that she wouldnt somehow inflict the same sort of emotional devastation on me if I gave her the chance. She is, of course, the sweetest tenderest person I have ever had in my life, but even that is not enough for me.
I dont want to heal. I want to be better. I dont want a journey. I want to be happy when I would be happy. My life is a fake because I cant stand the though of what I am a victim of other peoples thoughtlessness. I am a sad, lonely man who cant figure out why he is not happy. My life is the fantasy of joy without a trace of the real thing. How can I face that? How can I admit that changing school or religions is important to me? How can I feel the desire for something anything? I work. I eat. I sleep. I take out the trash. Life is empty and I just dont know how to give it meaning. I wish that I wanted to go out with friends. I want to have an actual relationship. But I dont know how.
This scares me to death. In the past I would have pleaded with you to treat me tenderly. I would have apologized for the length of my post. But I cant keep up this farce. I am this raw unnerved person and I can't keep hiding it. I have been so afraid of pain in the past that I have done absolutely anything to avoid it and in the process heaped mounds of it on my wife. But the pain and anger are so intense now that there is no hiding from it. There is no avoiding it. It is in my face and it is exactly as awful as I expected it to be.
Maybe my pain and anger are fake too. Maybe I conjure them up just so I can feel *something*. I cant tell the difference anymore. When you live a lie and pretend that it didnt matter you destroy your identity. I picked the name wrangler because I drive a jeep and I love driving my jeep maybe thats all the identity I have left.
Thanks for listening. It is a relief to pour this out of my head and into the keyboard. And it is better than my journal because it does feel like reaching out.
George