Introducing Yabbo
People see me as a lot of things: man, biker, husband, programmer, engineer, eccentric, human and so on. I have a hard time identifying with any of these. I do not like people but enjoy being around them. I do not have trouble making friends but I have never been any good at collecting them. I suppose, in no small way, I am afraid, given enough time, they will see me for what I feel I am and ultimately reject me. I do not think the rejection is what bothers me, but the rejection mirrors back to me that I am not average, something I have desperately tried to be. Some would say that my general appearance, sense of humor, and attitude are designed to keep people at arms lengthI cannot wholeheartedly disagree. I am not sure I know enough about the relevant parts myself to have an opinion one way or another.
I have been in and out (mostly out) of therapy for going on 16 yearsa handful of doctors, consolers and a brief stay at a mental health facility. I have a number of mental illnesses and other issues which include: chronic insomnia, sleepwalking, night terrors, depression, anxiety, dissociative disorder, and hallucinations. As a result of one or potentially a combination of these issues I take a decidedly critical and logical look at most things in life with very little emotional attachment. For the most part I only feel a sub-set of shallow emotions. Pity, disgust, distraction, obsession, contentment, and a general feeling of being lost are the ones that come to mind. I have done my best over the years to emulate all other emotions as dictated by social cues.
When I was 7 my family lived next door to a sexual sadist whom also happened to be a pedophile. I will spare you the details at this time but it will suffice to say the abuse lasted for about two years and escalated from touching to rape to all out torture very quickly. I was 14 before anyone found out; it was my first serious girlfriend. She had a similar experience and just knew. I guess looking back I knew about her past before she told me as well. I did confide the CliffsNotes version to her, a lot like the account above. In a way telling her did make me feel closer to her but in-turn made me feel further away from myself. As a result I did not really tell anyone the details of what had happened until my late 30s: my wife after 10 years of marriage and my current therapist.
Like a lot people here my childhood was brief and my introduction into adulthood was premature, violent, and pornographic. I spent the first few years after the abuse ended ignoring it completely and the next 20+ years convincing myself it did not have even the most remote or trivial effect on me. I have recently come to accept all experiences have an effect on everyone they touch. These experiences not only had an effect on me but also the select group of people in which I have shared this part of my life. With the acceptance that these experiences affect me, I have a very hard time separating the experiences with who I am as they have played a large part in what has sculpted me into what I am today. This profound realization fills me with a sticky dark center and at the same time drains me to a blank and shallow void.
I have been in and out (mostly out) of therapy for going on 16 yearsa handful of doctors, consolers and a brief stay at a mental health facility. I have a number of mental illnesses and other issues which include: chronic insomnia, sleepwalking, night terrors, depression, anxiety, dissociative disorder, and hallucinations. As a result of one or potentially a combination of these issues I take a decidedly critical and logical look at most things in life with very little emotional attachment. For the most part I only feel a sub-set of shallow emotions. Pity, disgust, distraction, obsession, contentment, and a general feeling of being lost are the ones that come to mind. I have done my best over the years to emulate all other emotions as dictated by social cues.
When I was 7 my family lived next door to a sexual sadist whom also happened to be a pedophile. I will spare you the details at this time but it will suffice to say the abuse lasted for about two years and escalated from touching to rape to all out torture very quickly. I was 14 before anyone found out; it was my first serious girlfriend. She had a similar experience and just knew. I guess looking back I knew about her past before she told me as well. I did confide the CliffsNotes version to her, a lot like the account above. In a way telling her did make me feel closer to her but in-turn made me feel further away from myself. As a result I did not really tell anyone the details of what had happened until my late 30s: my wife after 10 years of marriage and my current therapist.
Like a lot people here my childhood was brief and my introduction into adulthood was premature, violent, and pornographic. I spent the first few years after the abuse ended ignoring it completely and the next 20+ years convincing myself it did not have even the most remote or trivial effect on me. I have recently come to accept all experiences have an effect on everyone they touch. These experiences not only had an effect on me but also the select group of people in which I have shared this part of my life. With the acceptance that these experiences affect me, I have a very hard time separating the experiences with who I am as they have played a large part in what has sculpted me into what I am today. This profound realization fills me with a sticky dark center and at the same time drains me to a blank and shallow void.
