Starting real therapy in a couple weeks *Triggers*
By "real therapy" I mean actually doing it and sticking with it. I'd tried, about 3-4 years ago, and once my therapist and I started actually talking about things, I bailed, just stopped going. She had no choice but to drop me as a client, and I do not fault her.
I've been on emotional downward spiral the last few months. Nightmares are common again. Strangest thing about them is I'm always a grown man in them, never my 8 year old self, yet my abuser and his wife have not aged. I shout at them, curse them, even punch and kick them, and it's completely ineffective, they don't even notice.
I'm angry at him. I'm angry that he would do such things to a little boy. I'm angry that he used his "pillar of the community" status as a weapon to keep me quiet. I'm angry that because of him, I have a severe distrust of the police. I'm very bitter that he could be so malignant that he could turn even "innocent" things into evil practices. Because of him, it's impacted my relationships and ability to be a good father to my children.
I'm angry at his wife. Not only did she know about the abuse, but she enabled it. It was her that "taught" me how to perform oral sex. It was her who would lie to my mother about all these wonderful things I'd done during the day, when I hadn't done likely any of them. I'm very angry and ashamed at myself that I have difficulty equating her with an abuser, when she was just as guilty.
I'm angry at my family. How did they not notice the talkative, outgoing boy had become quiet and isolative? How did they not notice the weight gain (I am still heavy)? Why did they not ask themselves why I was suddenly sleepwalking, or having "accidents" in my sleep? Why didn't they question when I was older why I was looking at very niche pornography? Typically 11-12 year olds don't search for the stuff I was unless they'd been exposed to it. Then I become ashamed at my anger, as none of them had or have any training or experience in this, and wouldn't know the signs, and that my mother herself had her own problems from childhood.
I'm angry at my ex- girlfriend, my first "real" girlfriend. She is still the only person I've ever told, and I was married almost 10 years (different woman). When I told her, I mean she was my love, she dumped me because I had "weirded her out". Then I become ashamed and embarrassed, as we were both young, and she likely did not know how to process the dark tale I told her.
I'm angry that my Dad never stepped up. Mom was a single mother, and tried her best. I don't fault her for placing me in that situation, as "on paper" it was ideal for childcare. I am angry at my Dad, though, as he was first pick, and declined. My goal is to always be a better Dad than him, so when my ex-wife needs me to keep our kids, I drop everything and do it.
I'm hyper-vigilant with my kids. Everyone is a potential predator, everyone has ulterior motives. That's madness, but it's my reality. I'm very overprotective, to the point I sometimes stymie their growth and maturity. They're getting older, but I still sometimes treat them like toddlers.
I'm angry and bitter that such simple things I'm proud of, things that other people just "do". Being able to not *have* to wear socks and shoes, being able to use public restrooms, being able to talk to male authority figures without looking down at my shoes, not saying "sorry" for every little thing.
I'm disgusted that *anyone* not only could, but would, do those things to a child. To introduce an 8 year old to sexuality, kink, and fetishism, it's just revolting.
I'm mostly angry at myself. Angry I never told anyone. Because of me, he and his wife likely victimized other boys. I know I wasn't his first victim. I'm angry that he never faced worldly punishment (I found out a few years ago he had died). I'm angry that I didn't fight him, that I just let him do those things to me. I never even screamed for help. I'm angry that it's taken me 25 years to finally do something about it.
I'm angry at whoever developed film for him. He and his wife didn't have a dark room, and he didn't use a Polaroid. Even back then a legitimate film developing company would have called the police.
I'm angry that I can't just "get over it". I've read so many horror stories, so many people who had it so much worse than me, and here I am wallowing.
Sorry this was so long and disjointed. I know I rambled throughout much of it.
I've been on emotional downward spiral the last few months. Nightmares are common again. Strangest thing about them is I'm always a grown man in them, never my 8 year old self, yet my abuser and his wife have not aged. I shout at them, curse them, even punch and kick them, and it's completely ineffective, they don't even notice.
I'm angry at him. I'm angry that he would do such things to a little boy. I'm angry that he used his "pillar of the community" status as a weapon to keep me quiet. I'm angry that because of him, I have a severe distrust of the police. I'm very bitter that he could be so malignant that he could turn even "innocent" things into evil practices. Because of him, it's impacted my relationships and ability to be a good father to my children.
I'm angry at his wife. Not only did she know about the abuse, but she enabled it. It was her that "taught" me how to perform oral sex. It was her who would lie to my mother about all these wonderful things I'd done during the day, when I hadn't done likely any of them. I'm very angry and ashamed at myself that I have difficulty equating her with an abuser, when she was just as guilty.
I'm angry at my family. How did they not notice the talkative, outgoing boy had become quiet and isolative? How did they not notice the weight gain (I am still heavy)? Why did they not ask themselves why I was suddenly sleepwalking, or having "accidents" in my sleep? Why didn't they question when I was older why I was looking at very niche pornography? Typically 11-12 year olds don't search for the stuff I was unless they'd been exposed to it. Then I become ashamed at my anger, as none of them had or have any training or experience in this, and wouldn't know the signs, and that my mother herself had her own problems from childhood.
I'm angry at my ex- girlfriend, my first "real" girlfriend. She is still the only person I've ever told, and I was married almost 10 years (different woman). When I told her, I mean she was my love, she dumped me because I had "weirded her out". Then I become ashamed and embarrassed, as we were both young, and she likely did not know how to process the dark tale I told her.
I'm angry that my Dad never stepped up. Mom was a single mother, and tried her best. I don't fault her for placing me in that situation, as "on paper" it was ideal for childcare. I am angry at my Dad, though, as he was first pick, and declined. My goal is to always be a better Dad than him, so when my ex-wife needs me to keep our kids, I drop everything and do it.
I'm hyper-vigilant with my kids. Everyone is a potential predator, everyone has ulterior motives. That's madness, but it's my reality. I'm very overprotective, to the point I sometimes stymie their growth and maturity. They're getting older, but I still sometimes treat them like toddlers.
I'm angry and bitter that such simple things I'm proud of, things that other people just "do". Being able to not *have* to wear socks and shoes, being able to use public restrooms, being able to talk to male authority figures without looking down at my shoes, not saying "sorry" for every little thing.
I'm disgusted that *anyone* not only could, but would, do those things to a child. To introduce an 8 year old to sexuality, kink, and fetishism, it's just revolting.
I'm mostly angry at myself. Angry I never told anyone. Because of me, he and his wife likely victimized other boys. I know I wasn't his first victim. I'm angry that he never faced worldly punishment (I found out a few years ago he had died). I'm angry that I didn't fight him, that I just let him do those things to me. I never even screamed for help. I'm angry that it's taken me 25 years to finally do something about it.
I'm angry at whoever developed film for him. He and his wife didn't have a dark room, and he didn't use a Polaroid. Even back then a legitimate film developing company would have called the police.
I'm angry that I can't just "get over it". I've read so many horror stories, so many people who had it so much worse than me, and here I am wallowing.
Sorry this was so long and disjointed. I know I rambled throughout much of it.

