What I want to say is that if the people in my life can't bare to hear my story then they are not my friends. If I have to keep secrets to protect them from my truth just like I hid to protect them from the monster I wrongly believed I was then what is the point? Hiding is how I protected and tortured myself. Where is the freedom in that? My heart tells me to be as honest and forthcoming as I can be. My current truth, and a critical part of my everyday life, is learning how to be the free, courageous and compassionate man I want to be and that requires that I unravel the mess of my sexual abuse. It requires that I allow myself to feel and process what I'm feeling. It means some days I'm just going to fall apart, but I don't feel that it is right that on days like that I need to closet myself and lick my wounds in private. If I fall apart, I fall apart and I want to say why to those I care about. That seems right. Secrets nearly destroyed me.
I told my wife I was raped as a child and what I did to myself because of it. I told her that I couldn't live shutoff from intimacy anymore. I didn't even have the chance to tell her more. She left me. I felt like I had betrayed her and I always thought I would kill myself if I did that. But I didn't betray her. Continuing the masquerade would have been a far greater betrayal and more cruel to both of us. She is gone and I am free to try and get better. I cannot imagine having a romantic relationship without telling my partner about my past. How could I ever feel truly loved if I kept a secret like that? How could I ever really feel free to be myself? Does it scare the shit out if me that I might never be able to find someone who is willing to know about me and be with me? Yes! But I can't hide anymore. I just can't and I won't.
Maybe I am being selfish and desperate. Maybe I am setting myself up to be hurt. Maybe I am going to be lonely for the rest of my life because no one will be able "take" me. These kinds of fears kept me locked away for 50 years. I always found reasons to keep quiet. There are always reasons to keep quiet.
Many of you are much farther down the road than I and are wiser and more mature. You have and have had families. You have built real lives that you want to keep intact. My life was built on a lacunae -- even worse than sand -- and I have to rebuild myself while I rebuild it. I know that I am immature in some very important ways because parts of me just stopped growing up when I was raped and started to hide in earnest. I feel very connected to my pre-rape self when I tell my story (our story). That boy cared more about the truth than almost anything else. It was his life raft, but then he/I were raped and then I gagged him for 50 years. No more. Never again.
I am only speaking for myself here. Visitor and MO-Survivor are much more rational about this than I am. I didn't intend to write as strongly as I did, but I guess I really needed to.
I told my wife I was raped as a child and what I did to myself because of it. I told her that I couldn't live shutoff from intimacy anymore. I didn't even have the chance to tell her more. She left me. I felt like I had betrayed her and I always thought I would kill myself if I did that. But I didn't betray her. Continuing the masquerade would have been a far greater betrayal and more cruel to both of us. She is gone and I am free to try and get better. I cannot imagine having a romantic relationship without telling my partner about my past. How could I ever feel truly loved if I kept a secret like that? How could I ever really feel free to be myself? Does it scare the shit out if me that I might never be able to find someone who is willing to know about me and be with me? Yes! But I can't hide anymore. I just can't and I won't.
Maybe I am being selfish and desperate. Maybe I am setting myself up to be hurt. Maybe I am going to be lonely for the rest of my life because no one will be able "take" me. These kinds of fears kept me locked away for 50 years. I always found reasons to keep quiet. There are always reasons to keep quiet.
Many of you are much farther down the road than I and are wiser and more mature. You have and have had families. You have built real lives that you want to keep intact. My life was built on a lacunae -- even worse than sand -- and I have to rebuild myself while I rebuild it. I know that I am immature in some very important ways because parts of me just stopped growing up when I was raped and started to hide in earnest. I feel very connected to my pre-rape self when I tell my story (our story). That boy cared more about the truth than almost anything else. It was his life raft, but then he/I were raped and then I gagged him for 50 years. No more. Never again.
I am only speaking for myself here. Visitor and MO-Survivor are much more rational about this than I am. I didn't intend to write as strongly as I did, but I guess I really needed to.