Disclosing My Abuse My Story...[Added to 07-26-2021] 3:12PM

As I've sat here, staring at my screen, trying to talk myself out of what I'm about to share, I've decided to share some things about my abuse, or, what I've done as a child as a result of my abuse, I've never disclosed to anyone else aside from my Therapist, and I only briefly talked to him about all of it, because of HORRIBLE I felt about it, and how I still feel that way, to this day.

There was a reason behind telling my Therapist I thought I was Evil, when I first started my therapy sessions with him, more than just being gay, or whatever the F I am.....
In the context going forward, I will use terms that I HATE using or even saying when it comes to my abuse, because it's an admission of what I've done, what was done to me. I still have an aversion to saying these terms vocally, there's been sessions, where it's just dead silence, because I cannot, will NOT speak or utter these words. No one close to me knows some of these things I will share in this post, and if after sharing, if anyone here, the moderators or admins, decide I no longer have a place here, I'll understand. I deserve whatever judgement that comes.


I don't remember much about my early childhood before the age of 6. When I asked my Mom what she remembered of me, she said I was always smiling, happy, a ray of sunshine. That I always wanted to help others, even when I couldn't [physical limitations]. I told her I don't remember that. I told her I never really had any memories of her that didn't involve her yelling at us, screaming at Dad, and threatening to leave us, and live with her parents. She then asked me, if I remembered getting Ice cream with her every Friday at McDonalds? Because that was our time together..... No mom...I don't remember that...sorry....*sigh*. My earliest memory, I can't even tell you how old I was, because I don't know, all I know was, I was able to walk, but I was still in diapers. My Dad had flicked a cigarette on the ground, and it was still smoldering on the ground, and my older brother picked it up, and pretended he was smoking it. Dad saw this as did I, and there was no response, no reaction. So after my brother placed it back on the ground, I went and picked it up, and did the same, I pretended to smoke the cigarette, in my memory, I never actually put it in my mouth. But my brother and my Dad both said that I did, so maybe I did...I got used to getting blamed for things I didn't do, or don't remember doing. So anyways, my Dad backhands me across the face to the ground, screaming what the hell are you doing? If I ever see you do that again, I'll beat the shit out of you. And you know what? I don't smoke, I've NEVER smoked, because of that. Although, my brothers, my Dad, my Grandpa, everyone else I knew, smoked....fucking hypocrites....whatever. So yeah, great first memory....woo....

According to my parents, I didn't start to actually talk until I was 4 or 5, and this caused concern for them, because they thought there was something wrong with me, just like when I would yell at them to get their attention when I got a bit older, they thought I was deaf, and took me to the doctor for that as well. The stupid shit they caught, but they never caught on to the fact that my next door neighbor was using me for his own selfish needs...and I let him...I had no words to describe what was going on. So I never said anything...ever...

Growing up at home was like waiting for a storm to roll through, or waiting for a powder keg to go off. I just never knew when I would need to run for cover. My Dad had a horrible temper when we were children. And I admit that my older brother got the brunt of it. But as they say, it rolls down hill..the domino effect. I don't remember a lot of the happenings at home, because, once I could get away, I did. I remember times fighting with my brother, to the point I would tell on him for hitting me or shoving me. Expecting him to get punishment in the form of a spanking...I learned real quick that wasn't the case with my brother. I feel guilty to this day about all the times I caused him to get hit because I was a cry baby. Dad would yell at him, and it was always with a raised fist, and an image that has remained frozen in my mind, is my brother in front of the wall heater in the kitchen, with his arms out in front shielding his head, while my Dad hit him, I remember this, because I tried to stop Dad after I realized what he was doing...I was 6...maybe 7....for my efforts...He turned on me, back handed me across the face, and told me to mind my business. There was another time it got so bad for my Brother, that he bolted outside to get away from Dad, and I remember my brother running up the street at full speed as my Dad chased after him. He never caught him, my brother didn't return home, until he caught a ride home with Mom, coming home from work. Me and my brothers always made excuses for why Dad was the way he was. He lost his Dad when he was 7...he didn't even get to say goodbye to him...just woke up in the ER asking for his Dad...I'd be angry too....but ....he didn't have to take it out on us...we were his children, his own flesh and blood.... Dad was a mean cuss when we were kids. He mellowed out as he got older, we were actually able to have a meaningful relationship with him, in adulthood, of course, it helped he was taking medication for his anger ...so that definitely helped...


My mom tells me 'they' moved in to the house across the street from us in 1985, when I was 5 years old. But I don't remember engaging with them at all until I was 6. I think I had a limited vocabulary at the time, since I didn't really start to talk until then. But when I actually did start to talk, I was a CHATTERBOX, I talked and talked and talked to ANYONE that would listen. I don't remember what I talked about, only that I talked A LOT!! [from the few that actually talk to me in DM's on here, you know I still talk ....a lot...I'm just not very outspoken publicly]

Looking at google maps with Satellite view, nothing much has changed from either house....NOTHING. It's just an image, but looking up that driveway in the image, fills me with terror and excitement...not sure how those two words fit together....not sure they should....

I have a lot of memories up that driveway, and I wish they had all been good ones...they were not...I thought it was safe there....I was wrong.
My first memory of him, was going to get the mail from our mailbox, I cannot remember if I wanted to get the mail, or If my parents told me to do so, nor does it really matter I guess. He was at the mailbox when I got to ours [they were right next to each others] He talked to me like any adult would have, Hello, how are you today? and It went from there. Introductions, What's your name? Likes and Dislikes. That's how it started. He noticed me, he paid attention to me, he listened to me. I see it for what it really is now, that was beginning of him grooming me, getting me to trust him, care about him......love him [not a romantic love, an innocent childs love for others, because I was pure at one time in my life] And he took advantage of that. It was this way for several months, maybe half a year [honestly I don't know for sure, I was young, I didn't care nor did I keep track of time, and when I finally started to face these demons, I thought I was older when the abuse happened, but I was young, I was just forced to be a grown up before I was ready...] I know I couldn't have been older than 10, considering he took his own life 2 months before my 10th birthday. But I thought I was 11 or 12 when it happened....it's weird how our minds work sometimes I guess....

I'm not going to focus on a time line for this specific reason [what was stated in the previous paragraph]...I just don't know how old I was when he got his claws into me, I just know it ended in the fall of 1989. I would almost question ...or wish It didn't really happen. But I remember smells, tastes, I remember his touch, I have scars on my back and upper right arm as a constant reminder that he was indeed real, and that he left his mark on me. I have scars that no one will ever see, because they are within me. No amount of tears will heal those scars. They will remain, as long as I remain.

I won't paint a pretty picture for you, not like before, because he doesn't deserve to be remembered with any form of fondness, even if I still remember the kindness he once showed me, it was all a trick to get what he wanted.

Trigger Warning

After all the times I would help him in the yard, go fishing with him, help him in his garage and woodshop, I wish that is what I remembered about him. I never disclosed his age with anyone before, it was always someone older than my father. But the age difference was...I was 6 or barely 7....he was 70...I think I didn't want to disclose the age because of how drastic the ages were, he should've known better. I didn't see age or care at the time...but I care as an adult...and...WTF!!!

My very first memory that something was different, was when they were seated at their normal spots behind their house in the shade. I had stopped to talk to them, as I riding my bike up and down their driveway. His wife asked me If I wanted something to drink, a soda, maybe a cookie. She was nice, she was always offering me goodies. So she gets up and goes into the house. I honestly don't know if she ever knew or if she was in on it, it's hard to know what was real with her, considering what her husband did. But as she went inside, he leaned forward with and outstretched arm and touched me. I thought he was brushing something off of my shorts, but I didn't see anything, but then he asked, what he would continue to ask going forward, 'Does that feel good Matthew?' Um, what? Does what feel good? I didn't understand what he meant from his statement. And I'm sure the puzzled look on my face was enough to get him to stop whatever it was he thought I should be feeling?

The next time the same scenario happened, his wife went inside for something, and I had dropped my bike on the ground and sat in her chair while she was gone, being a chatterbox, when he did it again. I had cloth shorts on, and he began to touch me or fondle me [up to this point, I don't ever remember having an erection of any kind nor did I masturbate...I was 7....] but as he continued to fondle me, I began to feel my first erection. I still wasn't sure what he was doing, but neither did I try to stop him, this was a new feeling, and I wasn't sure why it felt the way it did. It felt good. I told him that I think I had to pee, but he just told me that was ok, it was normal. I'm not sure what he meant by normal, but I didn't want to pee my pants, but he wouldn't stop and he wouldn't let me get up either. I was frozen there, by this feeling I was having. I couldn't hold it in any longer, but nothing came out, just this intense feeling I didn't understand. He removed his hand from my groin area, and I just sat there confused and embarrassed, not sure what to say. That's when he leaned in, and whispered into my "That felt good, didn't it?" I didn't answer him. But it did feel good, I just wasn't sure why it felt good.... That was the day I lost my innocence, I lost my purity....after that day, I started to masturbate, not really knowing what that was, but I felt guilty after the feeling passed, but I would continue to do so, trying to understand, why I felt that way. It was just normal exploration I guess...even if it was introduced by him...it didn't get out of control until after he died...after he left me...

I'm not sure why it felt different, more intense when he would do it than when I did it to myself, but I would go back often after that, seeking his touch, wanting to feel those intense feelings again. I'm afraid that was my admission to him to keep going, and I regret I didn't tell someone what he had done after the first time, it could've ended there, but I wanted to understand the why, and I wanted to feel it again, and I felt safe with him....



Stepping away for now
Trying to do a full disclosure of everything....is a lot more taxing than I thought it would be.....
I'm experiencing some whiplash from all this and I haven't even scratched the surface...yet
It's causing me to dredge up some pretty horrible stuff in my dreams as of late..
Thank goodness for Grounding Techniques.
I thought I could get further in my story before feeling anything, I'm so used to feeling nothing, that I wasn't expecting to get emotional over....this...this is nothing...I just had a rough home life....I've seen worse....I've experienced worse....

Maybe it's fear of knowing what comes after this.....how I met my first abuser....what happened...how...it happened....and how fucked up I was because of it....after he died...he left me with this....this disease.....and I did some really messed up things trying to figure out why, trying to fill the 'void'...fill the emptiness within....

None of you can judge or hate me anymore for the things I did in that time frame.. from the age of barely 10 years old to maybe 11 or 12....I fucking hate myself, and nothing any one says ...will change my mind...I knew things I didn't understand and I knew things I shouldn't have...and because of that knowledge....I introduced that knowledge to others...

I'm going to stop here....I need a break....
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I'm sorry for what your home life was like, and I'm sorry for what happened to bring you here. I think it's very brave of you to share what you already have, and I will continue to consider you brave when and if you share any more.



Trust me when I tell you that you are not alone in terms of acting out as a child. No matter what you did. We were children, and were traumatized and screwed up because of what was done to us. One of the phrases used often that I like when looking back is, "It wasn't your fault. I just happened to you," because of all the crap you went through. As kids, we can't own responsibility for how we developed, for what we repressed, or how we acted out - even if we knew something was wrong. So I want to encourage you not to beat yourself up over those things. I am sure they cause revulsion in yourself, and there is probably a lot of anger and rage at yourself - because we know the pain caused why what happened to us and think, "How could we do those things?". Forgive that kid in you - he needed help and no one helped him. It wasn't his / your fault.
I’ll just say I’m so very sorry for the incredibly painful life and incredibly painful memories that you so bravely shared. I know self hatred intimately. I understand your knowledge and feeling that it will never change, as I too am there. Regardless, you are sharing your story and that is an incredible accomplishment. You will experience understanding of your story regardless of what you perceive as unforgivable. Many will share that sentiment. Please continue, when safe for you, to share what happened. There are good people on this site that care and will assist. Most importantly, they will listen to your story. I realize where you are going, and already I can tell you I understand the horror of what happens to us, and what can be created within us. Take really good care of yourself, the work you are doing is exhausting. Thank you for sharing part of you and what happened to you.


Really glad that you decided to come here and get some of that off your chest. No one is going to judge or hate you here - we all understand. We’ve all been there, done that.

When you say that you are evil, please know that this kind of extreme self-hatred happens to others too. I’m not sure what you think you did to label yourself this way, but it’s probably not nearly as terrible as you think it is. And even if someone acts out as a child in ways that turns their pain on others, well, yes you may feel guilty about it, but as a child you lacked the moral, legal and intellectual capacity to be responsible for such acts. Was it great that it happened? No. Does the fact it bothers you now mean something? Yes - that you are a much better person than you give yourself credit for. If you were genuinely evil you would have no remorse or guilt about your actions.

You will probably be resistant and bristle at me saying this, but “evil” is a pretty big label to burden yourself with anyway. I mean … there are plenty of examples of truly evil people, those who make other people, innocent people, suffer for no good reason. Look at all of the Nuremberg defendants after WWII, look at Pol Pot or Stalin or Kim Jung Un, committing mass murders of innocents by the millions, for what purposes except to feed their own megalomania? Or serial predators like John Wayne Gacy, Ted Bundy, Manson. Are you really like them? Probably not.

Some years back I was at a really low point in life, and then I was diagnosed with at first bipolar, then about 6 months after that rediagnosed with PTSD instead. At that time, being “labeled” with a mental illness really pushed me over the edge into a place where I made myself sick, because I thought having that diagnosis was literally going to be the end. I got the notion in my head that I was somehow the worst piece of scum ever born. I didn’t say “evil” - my terminology was “ an abomination in the eyes of God and the universe”. I told my therapist probably 100 times in a year or so that I deserved to die in the most degraded, painful way for my “crimes”, but I could never come up with any concrete examples of what my “crimes” were that made me so horrendous. It was extremely irrational. My argument as proof that I was just the worst piece of scum to ever live was “well, all of these bad things happen to me (abuse, followed by the problems that stem from it like addictions, social anxiety, relationship issues, lack of career achievement, etc.) so I must deserve to be punished, which implies I must be a bad person, because bad people are punished.

Talk about nonsensical circular logic. But that was where I was. Now I look back and think what a crapload of manure I told myself.
All I can say is I empathasize with you and I haven't walked in your shoes. But I do not believe you are the awful person, you were a child, a boy, that went through some heinous experiences that taught you some really horrible beliefs about yourself. I get it. You have so much courage to post this. I respect you for it, and I know you are going through hell. I hope you can find some peace.
When you say that you are evil, please know that this kind of extreme self-hatred happens to others too.
I say evil, not just because of what was done to me, or what I myself did as a child, but also because that is basically what my religion views me as, or I guess viewed me as. I have my fair share of spiritual brainwashing and abuse. It was my religion that told me it wasn't ok to be that way....

I was in love with another boy in middle school / early high school...but because of my upbringing in the church...I chose a different path...plus...those you love hurt you the most....in my opinion...in my experiences.
Thanks for sharing these difficult memories. The picture is so clear and so familiar to anyone living with trauma. You had the misfortune to be born in a family where violence was a favored means of communicating and you as well as your siblings received the brunt of the attacks. Your brother may have been the primary recipient but it is as traumatizing for witnesses as it is for those physically abused. Then you did what so many of us did when it was unsafe at home... we looked for connection elsewhere and for most of us that meant we fell into the clutches of a pedophile who used us for his or her sexual satisfaction. If done well, and most pedophiles are adept at grooming their victim, we return. It feels good even if it hurts sometimes. The good our body's experience outweighs the pain and we have no one to tell about any of it. We are alone. Then you speak about the religious faith you were exposed to that taught you in no uncertain terms that you were a sinner and you discovered the word pervert and had found your home... you're a sick fuck who is worthless. I know that place well my friend... the ground out of which a lifetime of shame grows.

I won't try to change your mind. If you're to find compassion for yourself you'll need to find the path yourself. I will say after eighty years of shame and confusion, I regret that I lost so many years to it all. I now understand that I was my own worst enemy. I understand it was the best I could do carrying the trauma I experienced at home and next door. I am glad you're talking with us. Perhaps someone will say something that allows you to give yourself a bit of a break. You really are NO different than other men here... certainly no worse... trust me on that.
It feels good even if it hurts sometimes. The good our body's experience outweighs the pain and we have no one to tell about any of it. We are alone.
Thank you for sharing this.....
I'm still confused about how I could go back to him after he would hurt me...in truth. I had no where else to go, but to him. I wanted to feel something..I wanted to be loved and needed, and I'm almost certain I never got anything I wanted...just the scars, mentally, emotionally, and physically he left me with, as a reminder of him....

I still am alone..
You're not alone... and what you describe about going back is absolutely the truth of what it was about. You read the listed Impacts of Trauma. It really messes with our bodies and our minds. That is why we end up in shame and confusion. It all contributed to decades of struggles for me that produced incredible shame. But we really were innocents and all we were trying to do was feel safe... even though we never did and at times still don't. Your job, the seeming Mission Impossible, is to begin to be kinder to yourself. The shame really doesn't belong to us even though we've carried it for so long. We deserve better than that and the only way that will happen is through the effort we invest in caring for ourselves. You might want to check out something Toad wrote on another thread in this forum... I had to copy it for myself... sort of a simple guide for living.