My Story... *TRIGGERS*
To share my story in it’s entirety will be the one thing that will actually be the most cathartic. Over the past 25 or so years, people have received bits and pieces of my story, but nobody has ever heard the whole thing. I also apologize if it comes off as disjointed. I am trying not to go back and edit anything. I’m just putting it down as I think of it, trying to keep some sense of coherent order to the whole thing.
I want to preface this with the fact that my dad was a Marine up until just before I was born. It took him around 20 years to finally get over the Marine mentality. Therefore, when I was growing up, showing emotion and weakness was a sign of not being a man.
I was always a precocious child. I learned early that manipulation and lying would get me the things that I wanted. I found my genitals at a young age and didn’t stop playing with them until I was in my late 30’s. I was curious about sex and it took me until about a week ago to put all of the pieces together and admit to myself what the hell happened.
As a child, I would often ‘explore’ with the neighbors. We were caught more than once having sexual relations. I was only 5 or 6, so it “wasn’t a big deal.” My parents never really took the time to explain what sex was and what it meant. Sure, they explained the birds and the bees, but not the whole love and caring thing.
My grandfather one day and separated myself and the neighbor boy. Apparently that sparked something in his mind, because when I stayed at my grandparent’s house over the summer, he decided that I needed to fellate him. I did it to the neighborhood boy, so I should have the opportunity to do it “with a real man.” His last words to me were, “Don’t even bother telling anybody about this. They won’t believe you, because you’re a lying little shit.” Or something along that line. I don’t remember the exact words. But, I do remember being a “lying little shit.”
After that, it really went downhill. My dad was around in physical form, but mentally he was elsewhere. He was working a lot of hours to make sure that we had a roof over our head, food in our stomach, and clothes on our back. So, for most of my childhood, it was just me and my mom. Well, given the lack of friendships in my mother’s life, I became the man of the house at a young age. She would often treat me as a partner, rather than her son. If you go down the emotional incest checklist, I can give you specific examples of what she did. Then there was the time that she caught me masturbating. Instead of talking about it, she mocked me for having a ‘pleasure chair.’
Whenever I tried to talk to either one of my parents about this, they would shut down and ignore me. I was just a little hellion trying to create issues. There would literally be days when my mother would tell me she loved me so much and would do anything for me. The next day, I was locked in the basement. When I told this to a therapist, they told the good doctor that I was imaginative and prone to lying. They never did lock me in the basement after that. Instead, they would have a mixture of mocking and making fun of, intermingled with showing parental love, mixed with a dash of sexual tension from my mother.
I later found out that my parents were virgins when they met. They had never been with anybody else, prior to each other. I also found out that they had a long discussion on whether they wanted kids or not. They told me that one of them did not want kids and the other one did. They never told me who was who, though.
When I hit puberty, it was driven into my head that success was measured by the house you lived in, the car you drove, the amount of money in your bank account, and the fact you were married with kids. So, in my pubescent mind, to show myself as a success to my parents, I needed to get into a relationship. I needed to get married. Have kids. Get a super-duper good job to have an enormous house. Have 3 cars and a swimming pool.
So, I slept with the first girl that would have me. I made some bad decisions during that time, but came out unscathed. She wasn’t a horrible choice and she was sweet. She was looking for fun, I was looking for long-term. That became a trend really quickly. I found I was looking for someone who wanted a long-term relationship. I wasn’t looking for the fun times you’re supposed to have around that time. Instead, I wanted my parents to actually consider me a success for the first time in my life. Getting great grades didn’t do it. Teaching myself programming didn’t do it. Maybe if I got married!
After getting kicked out 2 months after my 18th birthday, I moved in with the sister of the first girl I ever slept with. We never slept together, but were good friends. That’s when I discovered the internet for real. I could cultivate relationships without ever meeting anyone. This is also when I started my obsession with being lusted after. I, at that time, equated being lusted after as being the same as loving someone. After all, my mom essentially lusted after me, at least on an emotional level. Then a girl came into my life, who we will call Renee.
Renee was pregnant with another man’s child when we met, though she didn’t know it. We slept together within days of each other, so I wasn’t really sure until it came out (blonde hair and blue eyes are not in my family...anywhere). But, I promised to be there for her. During the next 3 years, we got married and I joined the Army. That’s what people on the outside saw. What happened on the inside was constant physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. She also raped me more than once, telling me that since I had an erection, I obviously wanted it. Later, she told me that she had cheated on me multiple times during those three years. Even willingly sleeping with her uncle (no coercion, according to her). The night we broke up, she told me that she had been at the center of a gangbang and that I shouldn’t be worried about things like that. It’s just sex, after all. Renee is also the one that got me hooked on crystal meth. I would eat it in powder form and drink at the same time, to function on a ‘normal’ level. That lasted until March 17, 2002 or so. Somewhere in there, though I don’t remember the date, I also overdosed and apparently my heart stopped for a minute.
After Renee, I had a few one-off relationships. Most of them were chased off with my dreams of marriage within the next couple of years. Turns out that most women aren’t like ones in romantic comedies. Especially when they’re dating an alcoholic recovering drug addict. From there, I tried to get a new start on life. I thought I was good. This is when my alcoholism took a large hold. I was a functional alcoholic, though. Went into work on time, albeit hungover. Bills were paid, but I often passed up eating, so I could have a beer (or wine, or rum, or some other alcoholic beverage to make me forget the fact that I fucking hated my life). This is when I met Ellie (not her real name). Met her at a karaoke bar and she made these grand promises. Promises and promises that were never fulfilled. I worked two jobs, trying to cover the rent and the rest of the bills. Meanwhile, she was working a minimum wage job and borrowing money from me to go out at night. Financial abuse is a terrible thing. Especially when all I wanted was just to be loved.
That all went to shit when the money ran out. So, she left and I was, once again, alone.
Mind you, I had an off-again-on-again relationship with my parents during this time. They claimed they wanted the best for me, but never actually were there for me. My mom would sent me on guilt trips every time she could, but wouldn’t ever actually talk about the issues at hand. It was this weird passive-aggressive thing where she wanted to take jabs and be sarcastic...masquerading as love.
So, during the time that Ellie and I were separated, I decided I would give OkCupid a try. I met a girl (we will call her Kay) and she was (by far) the most stable and emotionally in-check girl I had ever dated. I said I didn’t want to get married (and I didn’t). But, cue up the psychological manipulation, and I was married within 3 years. There were a number of times when my experience with Renee was repeated, with Kay telling me, “You have an erection. Obviously you want it.” From there, my pornography addiction and compulsive masturbation made a nice little connection with cultivating emotionally charged relationships with women both on and off the internet. But, I wasn’t physically cheating...so it wasn’t an issue.
At some point during the time when Kay and I were dating, my parents invited us to their cabin. We went there and they proceeded to make sure we were drunk enough to not drive home. They then went on a drunken tirade about how sorry they were about what happened with my grandfather. He had tried to molest my mother, but since I was male, it shouldn’t have been a concern. Then they told me that my mother had watched me masturbate often. Then my mom got embarrassed and left. I never found out the point of that conversation, but that was the last time I had a face-to-face conversation with them.
During the time that we were married, I thought it was my alcoholism that made me resent her and what we had. So, on November 1st, 2015, I had my last drink. It was a Tequiza, of all things. After going through withdrawal, I found myself still upset and angry with her. I was completely unhappy. I was making good money. I had a big house. I was married. We had three cars. No swimming pool or kids, but that’s supposed to make you happy, right? I was miserable.
So, July 6th, 2017, I left Georgia and moved. I left Kay behind. I left my dog and cats behind. I left everything and started over.
But, I still wasn’t happy. I was a miserable bastard. I plowed through Thanksgiving and Christmas, seeing my extended family for the first time in 20 years, with an aunt telling me, “Oh, hey . Hey , you were talking about disappointment? Josh knows all about disappointment and failure.”
My girlfriend showed me the book Recovery by Russell Brand. I read through it and on February 16th, 2018, something clicked in my head. After masturbating for the 15th time, thinking about this girl who was lusting after me, while watching some disgustingly freakish porn on the computer, what Russell Brand was talking about connected in my mind. I was a sex addict. Compulsive masturbation? Pornography? Having others lust after you? There were some other aspects, but these definitely hit home for me.
So, February 17th, 2018, I went to my first meeting. I have been sober since that date. Giving up alcohol was easy. Giving up drugs was easy. Going through this, however, is the hardest fucking thing that I have ever done. I have had to take long looks at myself, including the things that I have done to hurt others. But, this also meant looking back at what had happened to me over the years.
Not too long ago, I was over at my girlfriend’s parents house. For the first time in my life, I saw how a family is supposed to interact. It was amazing. It was refreshing. It was kind of like the 12-step meetings that I swear by, but they were related by blood. Addicts are related by their common problem. Families are related by blood. Both can offer a source of support and help.
Now, that was a lot to take in and I’m sure I missed some stuff, but there is a lot of good things that happened during this time.
First, my discovery of the power of music. Heavy metal has helped me stay alive over the years. Cannibal Corpse has saved my life more than once. I have seriously tried to commit suicide twice. I have had almost constant thoughts for 30-ish years, off and on. Still, to this day, it crosses my mind. But, music helps me through those down times.
Second, the realization that I am not alone. Sexual abuse of males is something that our society ignores. I am not trying to minimize the abuse and assault of women, but it’s harder for a man to come out and talk about this sort of thing. When I mentioned the term “covert incest” at my 12-step program the other night, I heard a few snickers. While old me would have felt embarrassed, new me feels like that’s their issue to deal with. Not mine.
Third, the past 10 or so months have inspired me to try to make a change in the world. Instead of sitting on my laurels, complaining about how shitty it is that this happened to me, I am trying to generate more awareness and acknowledgment of male sexual abuse. I know when I was younger, I felt like there was nobody I could talk to. Even when I talked to someone about my story, it typically went something along the lines of, “Yeah right. You’re 6’5”, she’s 5’2”...she didn’t rape you.” or “Uh-huh. You’re a guy. You’re supposed to be the provider.” or “You gotta make sure your woman is satisfied.” Even recently, with the #metoo movement, men were harassed when they tried to participate.
My story took a few twists and turns and probably isn’t coherent. But, I needed to get it out. I can edit it, rearrange it, add to it, or whatever you need. This is my story, though.
At the end of the day, I am a sex addict. An alcoholic. A drug addict. A love cripple. But. I am also a mentor. A teacher. A friend. A lover. Most of all, I am me.
I want to preface this with the fact that my dad was a Marine up until just before I was born. It took him around 20 years to finally get over the Marine mentality. Therefore, when I was growing up, showing emotion and weakness was a sign of not being a man.
I was always a precocious child. I learned early that manipulation and lying would get me the things that I wanted. I found my genitals at a young age and didn’t stop playing with them until I was in my late 30’s. I was curious about sex and it took me until about a week ago to put all of the pieces together and admit to myself what the hell happened.
As a child, I would often ‘explore’ with the neighbors. We were caught more than once having sexual relations. I was only 5 or 6, so it “wasn’t a big deal.” My parents never really took the time to explain what sex was and what it meant. Sure, they explained the birds and the bees, but not the whole love and caring thing.
My grandfather one day and separated myself and the neighbor boy. Apparently that sparked something in his mind, because when I stayed at my grandparent’s house over the summer, he decided that I needed to fellate him. I did it to the neighborhood boy, so I should have the opportunity to do it “with a real man.” His last words to me were, “Don’t even bother telling anybody about this. They won’t believe you, because you’re a lying little shit.” Or something along that line. I don’t remember the exact words. But, I do remember being a “lying little shit.”
After that, it really went downhill. My dad was around in physical form, but mentally he was elsewhere. He was working a lot of hours to make sure that we had a roof over our head, food in our stomach, and clothes on our back. So, for most of my childhood, it was just me and my mom. Well, given the lack of friendships in my mother’s life, I became the man of the house at a young age. She would often treat me as a partner, rather than her son. If you go down the emotional incest checklist, I can give you specific examples of what she did. Then there was the time that she caught me masturbating. Instead of talking about it, she mocked me for having a ‘pleasure chair.’
Whenever I tried to talk to either one of my parents about this, they would shut down and ignore me. I was just a little hellion trying to create issues. There would literally be days when my mother would tell me she loved me so much and would do anything for me. The next day, I was locked in the basement. When I told this to a therapist, they told the good doctor that I was imaginative and prone to lying. They never did lock me in the basement after that. Instead, they would have a mixture of mocking and making fun of, intermingled with showing parental love, mixed with a dash of sexual tension from my mother.
I later found out that my parents were virgins when they met. They had never been with anybody else, prior to each other. I also found out that they had a long discussion on whether they wanted kids or not. They told me that one of them did not want kids and the other one did. They never told me who was who, though.
When I hit puberty, it was driven into my head that success was measured by the house you lived in, the car you drove, the amount of money in your bank account, and the fact you were married with kids. So, in my pubescent mind, to show myself as a success to my parents, I needed to get into a relationship. I needed to get married. Have kids. Get a super-duper good job to have an enormous house. Have 3 cars and a swimming pool.
So, I slept with the first girl that would have me. I made some bad decisions during that time, but came out unscathed. She wasn’t a horrible choice and she was sweet. She was looking for fun, I was looking for long-term. That became a trend really quickly. I found I was looking for someone who wanted a long-term relationship. I wasn’t looking for the fun times you’re supposed to have around that time. Instead, I wanted my parents to actually consider me a success for the first time in my life. Getting great grades didn’t do it. Teaching myself programming didn’t do it. Maybe if I got married!
After getting kicked out 2 months after my 18th birthday, I moved in with the sister of the first girl I ever slept with. We never slept together, but were good friends. That’s when I discovered the internet for real. I could cultivate relationships without ever meeting anyone. This is also when I started my obsession with being lusted after. I, at that time, equated being lusted after as being the same as loving someone. After all, my mom essentially lusted after me, at least on an emotional level. Then a girl came into my life, who we will call Renee.
Renee was pregnant with another man’s child when we met, though she didn’t know it. We slept together within days of each other, so I wasn’t really sure until it came out (blonde hair and blue eyes are not in my family...anywhere). But, I promised to be there for her. During the next 3 years, we got married and I joined the Army. That’s what people on the outside saw. What happened on the inside was constant physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. She also raped me more than once, telling me that since I had an erection, I obviously wanted it. Later, she told me that she had cheated on me multiple times during those three years. Even willingly sleeping with her uncle (no coercion, according to her). The night we broke up, she told me that she had been at the center of a gangbang and that I shouldn’t be worried about things like that. It’s just sex, after all. Renee is also the one that got me hooked on crystal meth. I would eat it in powder form and drink at the same time, to function on a ‘normal’ level. That lasted until March 17, 2002 or so. Somewhere in there, though I don’t remember the date, I also overdosed and apparently my heart stopped for a minute.
After Renee, I had a few one-off relationships. Most of them were chased off with my dreams of marriage within the next couple of years. Turns out that most women aren’t like ones in romantic comedies. Especially when they’re dating an alcoholic recovering drug addict. From there, I tried to get a new start on life. I thought I was good. This is when my alcoholism took a large hold. I was a functional alcoholic, though. Went into work on time, albeit hungover. Bills were paid, but I often passed up eating, so I could have a beer (or wine, or rum, or some other alcoholic beverage to make me forget the fact that I fucking hated my life). This is when I met Ellie (not her real name). Met her at a karaoke bar and she made these grand promises. Promises and promises that were never fulfilled. I worked two jobs, trying to cover the rent and the rest of the bills. Meanwhile, she was working a minimum wage job and borrowing money from me to go out at night. Financial abuse is a terrible thing. Especially when all I wanted was just to be loved.
That all went to shit when the money ran out. So, she left and I was, once again, alone.
Mind you, I had an off-again-on-again relationship with my parents during this time. They claimed they wanted the best for me, but never actually were there for me. My mom would sent me on guilt trips every time she could, but wouldn’t ever actually talk about the issues at hand. It was this weird passive-aggressive thing where she wanted to take jabs and be sarcastic...masquerading as love.
So, during the time that Ellie and I were separated, I decided I would give OkCupid a try. I met a girl (we will call her Kay) and she was (by far) the most stable and emotionally in-check girl I had ever dated. I said I didn’t want to get married (and I didn’t). But, cue up the psychological manipulation, and I was married within 3 years. There were a number of times when my experience with Renee was repeated, with Kay telling me, “You have an erection. Obviously you want it.” From there, my pornography addiction and compulsive masturbation made a nice little connection with cultivating emotionally charged relationships with women both on and off the internet. But, I wasn’t physically cheating...so it wasn’t an issue.
At some point during the time when Kay and I were dating, my parents invited us to their cabin. We went there and they proceeded to make sure we were drunk enough to not drive home. They then went on a drunken tirade about how sorry they were about what happened with my grandfather. He had tried to molest my mother, but since I was male, it shouldn’t have been a concern. Then they told me that my mother had watched me masturbate often. Then my mom got embarrassed and left. I never found out the point of that conversation, but that was the last time I had a face-to-face conversation with them.
During the time that we were married, I thought it was my alcoholism that made me resent her and what we had. So, on November 1st, 2015, I had my last drink. It was a Tequiza, of all things. After going through withdrawal, I found myself still upset and angry with her. I was completely unhappy. I was making good money. I had a big house. I was married. We had three cars. No swimming pool or kids, but that’s supposed to make you happy, right? I was miserable.
So, July 6th, 2017, I left Georgia and moved. I left Kay behind. I left my dog and cats behind. I left everything and started over.
But, I still wasn’t happy. I was a miserable bastard. I plowed through Thanksgiving and Christmas, seeing my extended family for the first time in 20 years, with an aunt telling me, “Oh, hey . Hey , you were talking about disappointment? Josh knows all about disappointment and failure.”
My girlfriend showed me the book Recovery by Russell Brand. I read through it and on February 16th, 2018, something clicked in my head. After masturbating for the 15th time, thinking about this girl who was lusting after me, while watching some disgustingly freakish porn on the computer, what Russell Brand was talking about connected in my mind. I was a sex addict. Compulsive masturbation? Pornography? Having others lust after you? There were some other aspects, but these definitely hit home for me.
So, February 17th, 2018, I went to my first meeting. I have been sober since that date. Giving up alcohol was easy. Giving up drugs was easy. Going through this, however, is the hardest fucking thing that I have ever done. I have had to take long looks at myself, including the things that I have done to hurt others. But, this also meant looking back at what had happened to me over the years.
Not too long ago, I was over at my girlfriend’s parents house. For the first time in my life, I saw how a family is supposed to interact. It was amazing. It was refreshing. It was kind of like the 12-step meetings that I swear by, but they were related by blood. Addicts are related by their common problem. Families are related by blood. Both can offer a source of support and help.
Now, that was a lot to take in and I’m sure I missed some stuff, but there is a lot of good things that happened during this time.
First, my discovery of the power of music. Heavy metal has helped me stay alive over the years. Cannibal Corpse has saved my life more than once. I have seriously tried to commit suicide twice. I have had almost constant thoughts for 30-ish years, off and on. Still, to this day, it crosses my mind. But, music helps me through those down times.
Second, the realization that I am not alone. Sexual abuse of males is something that our society ignores. I am not trying to minimize the abuse and assault of women, but it’s harder for a man to come out and talk about this sort of thing. When I mentioned the term “covert incest” at my 12-step program the other night, I heard a few snickers. While old me would have felt embarrassed, new me feels like that’s their issue to deal with. Not mine.
Third, the past 10 or so months have inspired me to try to make a change in the world. Instead of sitting on my laurels, complaining about how shitty it is that this happened to me, I am trying to generate more awareness and acknowledgment of male sexual abuse. I know when I was younger, I felt like there was nobody I could talk to. Even when I talked to someone about my story, it typically went something along the lines of, “Yeah right. You’re 6’5”, she’s 5’2”...she didn’t rape you.” or “Uh-huh. You’re a guy. You’re supposed to be the provider.” or “You gotta make sure your woman is satisfied.” Even recently, with the #metoo movement, men were harassed when they tried to participate.
My story took a few twists and turns and probably isn’t coherent. But, I needed to get it out. I can edit it, rearrange it, add to it, or whatever you need. This is my story, though.
At the end of the day, I am a sex addict. An alcoholic. A drug addict. A love cripple. But. I am also a mentor. A teacher. A friend. A lover. Most of all, I am me.
