My story. A lamb to the slaughter. - triggers
Hello. I've been coming to these forums on/off for years. It's time to bite the bullet and actually contribute. The main reason I've held back isn't fear. It's my lifetime of not feeling worthy. I've never believed my story was worth telling, or that people would take me seriously. Never believed I'd be believed. I always expect people to roll their eyes, get super annoyed with me, tell me I'm over-reacting, making stuff up, being sensitive. A "sook" as my family so often called me.
Even now it's a huge struggle. I want to write my story, but I feel a chorus of persecuting readers. They're bored. They're irritated. They think I'm being self-centred.
And yet when I read others' stories, I find them nothing but brave and heart breaking. I hang on every word. I'm grateful that they've shared their painful tales.
The gap between those two poles is the great black hole of my life.
I was sexually abused several times growing up. I was already a mess - born to a broken, lost, criminal father, and a schizophrenic mother. My dad was actually a good man, sensitive, but just lost and in pain. He wasn't always good - he was extremely domestically violent towards his first wife. Poored boiling water on her. He had 5 kids with her, and one day he couldn't handle family life any more and said he was off to the pub. He never came back. He wandered the land for a while, then he met and fell in love with my mum. He busted her out of the psychiatric hospital she was locked up in. They went on the run. They very quickly had 5 kids.
I'm number 4. My 3 older siblings were all taken away from my parents when they were born. One of them was adopted out. My 2 older brothers were sent to a boy's home. They were returned to my parents when I was born, and we came together as some kind of 'family.'
Well. It's safe to say my 2 older brothers were LIVID that I wasn't separated from mum and dad like they were. My earliest memories are of the 2 of them torturing me. Taking me into empty rooms, closing the door, and beating me senseless. Punching and slapping my face. Strangling and suffocating me. Making me perform sexual acts on them. Terrorising me in my bed at night, pretending to be murdering burglars. Bullying me emotionally. Excluding me from games. It was hell. Sheer hell.
My dad died from cancer when I was 5. I couldn't have known the impact of his death. Within 3 months, a replacement father had moved in. And he was a monster. He met my mum down the shops. She was so lost. Gullible. Desperate. Poor. Tired. Susceptible to flattery. She was such a good woman but struggled to bring up 4 young boys on her own. She loved it when this monster moved in. She could finally rest.
He took over the whole house, and immediately started sexually abusing me. He was calculating. He enjoyed the rituals of it. He would wait til my mum was asleep (her snoring was his safety). He would come and stand in the doorway of my bedroom, in the pitch black. He would stand there for ages. Then I would hear the familiar click of the torch. And suddenly a bright light was shining in my face. It was the signal. He always started this way. The moment that bright light hit me, I played dead. Every time. I never moved, as he climbed into bed with me, and had his filthy way with me.
Right up until I was 31, I fully believed I had been haunted by a ghost in those horrible early years. But it wasn't a ghost. It was an ordinary man, doing to me what was done to him. And destroying my soul.
My mum kicked him out when she caught him fondling my younger brother in the bath. I told her he'd done the same thing to me. She told me I was lying. "It only happened to your brother" she said. And that was that.
3 years later, the second monster came calling. He had the same MO. He led on my mum. Made her feel special. Paid for things. Pretended to be the father figure us boys longed for. The whole time, he was slowly grooming me.
He took his time. He was patient. He made sure everything was in place before crossing the line. He made me feel SO special. Told me he loved me. I think he actually WAS in love with me, for a time. His sexual abuse of me lasted about 18 months. It was disgusting. HE was disgusting. He was actually the worst human being I will ever know. Vile. He stunk of booze and cigarettes. He was vain. Boastful. Self-centred. Bitchy. A moron. A snob. Devoid of rhythm and soul. Devoid of love and empathy. He pretended to be kind when he was actually the devil.
He used me completely. He told me that if I told anyone, it would upset my mum so much, she would have another nervous breakdown and be taken away to the pscyh hospital. He knew that for me and my brothers, that was the worst case scenario.
He took me into the bush to meet 2 other men. One of them was his brother in law. All 3 of them made me perform oral sex on them. Those men got away with blue murder. They all acted like upstanding citizens. They were all homophobic. Bullies. Duplicitious cowards.
I loved the attention. It was SOMETHING. It was better than nothing. I thought this man truly loved me. How wrong I was. One day, out of the blue, he was done with me. It ended abruptly. I was crushed. Deeply confused. He no longer wanted me. Worse, he actually despised me. He went from giving me romantic gifts and making love to me, to bullying and belittling me. He marginalised me. He enjoyed and encouraged my older brother's belittling of me. He made sure I stayed powerless in my family. Afraid. Lost.
And boy was I lost. After his abuse, I was done. Dead inside. A completely false self. Dissociated. Depressed. Full to the brim with self loathing, self consciousness, shame and self blame. I developed body dysmorphia. I thought I was the ugliest thing in the world. I became deeply confused about my sexuality and severed from any sense of being a man.
Ever since then, my life has been very bleak. I have never been in a relationship. Not one. I am 37. I was told by the people around me, from a very young age, that I was gay. Since I got my sense of self from other people's impressions of me (something i now realise was actually mostly their own projections), I just believed that I was gay. Now I'm not so sure.
It's a miracle I'm still alive. I have come very close to ending it all in the bleak past. I was trapped. Prisoner in my own family. Scapegoated, isolated, powerless, bullied. I had to go on living with that man, after he was done abusing me. He became our step father. My mum died of cancer when I was 16. This man then became our parent. My brothers adored him. I was encouraged to the do the same. The whole time, he and I knew the truth. I felt as trapped as a human being could be. Finally, when I was 31, I snapped. Something inside me was DONE. I fled. I literally escaped. It was like breaking out of a prison. I went to the other side of the world, to fall apart. I let the anger come to the surface. I let the memories flood me. I started piecing together the awful puzzle. My god that work takes time.
Things got a lot harder. And then they got easier. Slowly, I started to reclaim my own life. Every day is still a challenge, but it is SO clear to me that I have made huge progress. My life is small, but it is MINE. I can work now, which means I can support myself. And afford therapy. I have an amazing therapist. She genuinely accepts me as I am and doesn't project her own bullshit onto me. I never had that growing up. And she believes me.
I make art now. And I've freed myself from every fucked up relationship I was trapped in for YEARS.
I confronted my main abuser 3 years ago. I told the truth. Told my brothers. It went disastrously. But it liberated me. No one believed me. They sided with our 'step dad'. He played the victim. They all said I'd made it up, for attention and because I like being the victim. It hurt like hell. But still: I TOLD THE TRUTH.
I pressed charges. Unfortunately, he died before he was arrested. He disowned me from his will. My brothers got hundreds of thousands. Good luck to them. Poisoned money.
I no longer see my family. Deep down, they all know I told the truth. They always knew. One day when I was 10, and my 'step dad' dropped me home after having me spend the night at his other house, my brother told everyone what I'd been up to. He did it to hurt and humiliate me. My mum heard the information. She stared at me with pure disgust on her face. She called me a "poofter" and stormed off. Nothing was ever said about it again.
So they all knew. But they live in fear, so they have to pretend otherwise. Good luck to them. My life now is MINE. It's honest. Every day I look in the mirror.
I don't know what the future holds. Some days are better than others. The sexual abuse I experienced is by no means my only problem. I was so badly neglected growing up, and experienced a lot of loss. Everything's connected. I have a quiet hopefulness in the back of my heart. It feels genuine. Truth and honesty really do set you free. I can hold my head high, knowing that I've told the truth. And I got to tell that vile scumbag EXACTLY who he really was, before he died, and EXACTLY what he did to me and the impact it had. I nailed him. He dismissed it all as "rambling drivel". But i know I got to him. The day I confronted him, he went on the biggest bender of his life and was rushed to hospital and put in a coma from all the booze he drowned in. So I know I got to him. Right now he's rotting in hell, with all the other scheming, two faced, child raping liars.
And I guess that's it. I'm grateful to the people that set up and run this site. It's been very helpful to me. I wish the rest of you such good luck, and bright days ahead. Take care.
Even now it's a huge struggle. I want to write my story, but I feel a chorus of persecuting readers. They're bored. They're irritated. They think I'm being self-centred.
And yet when I read others' stories, I find them nothing but brave and heart breaking. I hang on every word. I'm grateful that they've shared their painful tales.
The gap between those two poles is the great black hole of my life.
I was sexually abused several times growing up. I was already a mess - born to a broken, lost, criminal father, and a schizophrenic mother. My dad was actually a good man, sensitive, but just lost and in pain. He wasn't always good - he was extremely domestically violent towards his first wife. Poored boiling water on her. He had 5 kids with her, and one day he couldn't handle family life any more and said he was off to the pub. He never came back. He wandered the land for a while, then he met and fell in love with my mum. He busted her out of the psychiatric hospital she was locked up in. They went on the run. They very quickly had 5 kids.
I'm number 4. My 3 older siblings were all taken away from my parents when they were born. One of them was adopted out. My 2 older brothers were sent to a boy's home. They were returned to my parents when I was born, and we came together as some kind of 'family.'
Well. It's safe to say my 2 older brothers were LIVID that I wasn't separated from mum and dad like they were. My earliest memories are of the 2 of them torturing me. Taking me into empty rooms, closing the door, and beating me senseless. Punching and slapping my face. Strangling and suffocating me. Making me perform sexual acts on them. Terrorising me in my bed at night, pretending to be murdering burglars. Bullying me emotionally. Excluding me from games. It was hell. Sheer hell.
My dad died from cancer when I was 5. I couldn't have known the impact of his death. Within 3 months, a replacement father had moved in. And he was a monster. He met my mum down the shops. She was so lost. Gullible. Desperate. Poor. Tired. Susceptible to flattery. She was such a good woman but struggled to bring up 4 young boys on her own. She loved it when this monster moved in. She could finally rest.
He took over the whole house, and immediately started sexually abusing me. He was calculating. He enjoyed the rituals of it. He would wait til my mum was asleep (her snoring was his safety). He would come and stand in the doorway of my bedroom, in the pitch black. He would stand there for ages. Then I would hear the familiar click of the torch. And suddenly a bright light was shining in my face. It was the signal. He always started this way. The moment that bright light hit me, I played dead. Every time. I never moved, as he climbed into bed with me, and had his filthy way with me.
Right up until I was 31, I fully believed I had been haunted by a ghost in those horrible early years. But it wasn't a ghost. It was an ordinary man, doing to me what was done to him. And destroying my soul.
My mum kicked him out when she caught him fondling my younger brother in the bath. I told her he'd done the same thing to me. She told me I was lying. "It only happened to your brother" she said. And that was that.
3 years later, the second monster came calling. He had the same MO. He led on my mum. Made her feel special. Paid for things. Pretended to be the father figure us boys longed for. The whole time, he was slowly grooming me.
He took his time. He was patient. He made sure everything was in place before crossing the line. He made me feel SO special. Told me he loved me. I think he actually WAS in love with me, for a time. His sexual abuse of me lasted about 18 months. It was disgusting. HE was disgusting. He was actually the worst human being I will ever know. Vile. He stunk of booze and cigarettes. He was vain. Boastful. Self-centred. Bitchy. A moron. A snob. Devoid of rhythm and soul. Devoid of love and empathy. He pretended to be kind when he was actually the devil.
He used me completely. He told me that if I told anyone, it would upset my mum so much, she would have another nervous breakdown and be taken away to the pscyh hospital. He knew that for me and my brothers, that was the worst case scenario.
He took me into the bush to meet 2 other men. One of them was his brother in law. All 3 of them made me perform oral sex on them. Those men got away with blue murder. They all acted like upstanding citizens. They were all homophobic. Bullies. Duplicitious cowards.
I loved the attention. It was SOMETHING. It was better than nothing. I thought this man truly loved me. How wrong I was. One day, out of the blue, he was done with me. It ended abruptly. I was crushed. Deeply confused. He no longer wanted me. Worse, he actually despised me. He went from giving me romantic gifts and making love to me, to bullying and belittling me. He marginalised me. He enjoyed and encouraged my older brother's belittling of me. He made sure I stayed powerless in my family. Afraid. Lost.
And boy was I lost. After his abuse, I was done. Dead inside. A completely false self. Dissociated. Depressed. Full to the brim with self loathing, self consciousness, shame and self blame. I developed body dysmorphia. I thought I was the ugliest thing in the world. I became deeply confused about my sexuality and severed from any sense of being a man.
Ever since then, my life has been very bleak. I have never been in a relationship. Not one. I am 37. I was told by the people around me, from a very young age, that I was gay. Since I got my sense of self from other people's impressions of me (something i now realise was actually mostly their own projections), I just believed that I was gay. Now I'm not so sure.
It's a miracle I'm still alive. I have come very close to ending it all in the bleak past. I was trapped. Prisoner in my own family. Scapegoated, isolated, powerless, bullied. I had to go on living with that man, after he was done abusing me. He became our step father. My mum died of cancer when I was 16. This man then became our parent. My brothers adored him. I was encouraged to the do the same. The whole time, he and I knew the truth. I felt as trapped as a human being could be. Finally, when I was 31, I snapped. Something inside me was DONE. I fled. I literally escaped. It was like breaking out of a prison. I went to the other side of the world, to fall apart. I let the anger come to the surface. I let the memories flood me. I started piecing together the awful puzzle. My god that work takes time.
Things got a lot harder. And then they got easier. Slowly, I started to reclaim my own life. Every day is still a challenge, but it is SO clear to me that I have made huge progress. My life is small, but it is MINE. I can work now, which means I can support myself. And afford therapy. I have an amazing therapist. She genuinely accepts me as I am and doesn't project her own bullshit onto me. I never had that growing up. And she believes me.
I make art now. And I've freed myself from every fucked up relationship I was trapped in for YEARS.
I confronted my main abuser 3 years ago. I told the truth. Told my brothers. It went disastrously. But it liberated me. No one believed me. They sided with our 'step dad'. He played the victim. They all said I'd made it up, for attention and because I like being the victim. It hurt like hell. But still: I TOLD THE TRUTH.
I pressed charges. Unfortunately, he died before he was arrested. He disowned me from his will. My brothers got hundreds of thousands. Good luck to them. Poisoned money.
I no longer see my family. Deep down, they all know I told the truth. They always knew. One day when I was 10, and my 'step dad' dropped me home after having me spend the night at his other house, my brother told everyone what I'd been up to. He did it to hurt and humiliate me. My mum heard the information. She stared at me with pure disgust on her face. She called me a "poofter" and stormed off. Nothing was ever said about it again.
So they all knew. But they live in fear, so they have to pretend otherwise. Good luck to them. My life now is MINE. It's honest. Every day I look in the mirror.
I don't know what the future holds. Some days are better than others. The sexual abuse I experienced is by no means my only problem. I was so badly neglected growing up, and experienced a lot of loss. Everything's connected. I have a quiet hopefulness in the back of my heart. It feels genuine. Truth and honesty really do set you free. I can hold my head high, knowing that I've told the truth. And I got to tell that vile scumbag EXACTLY who he really was, before he died, and EXACTLY what he did to me and the impact it had. I nailed him. He dismissed it all as "rambling drivel". But i know I got to him. The day I confronted him, he went on the biggest bender of his life and was rushed to hospital and put in a coma from all the booze he drowned in. So I know I got to him. Right now he's rotting in hell, with all the other scheming, two faced, child raping liars.
And I guess that's it. I'm grateful to the people that set up and run this site. It's been very helpful to me. I wish the rest of you such good luck, and bright days ahead. Take care.
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