What is your story?

What is your story?
S

sum1sun

Registrant
I rarely post here, if at all. I go through personality phases like change of clothes. But, what I want most from this group is self-discovery. This is where I put everything on the line.

Mom thought love was supposed to be about her and herself only. Her sexual attraction towards me, had me grow up fast. Dad was a passing conversation and nowhere to be found. My surrogate husbandry with Mom was like being Dad to my no-so-much-younger brother.

I left home at 20 to, what I thought, would be peace. Sure. Did I consider inner-peace in the equation? Mom was not functional without financial support. She did not like to work. When I left, the stabilizing force was gone.

I repressed and others knew. Something was wrong, I just repressed. I was alone. I worked. I went to school and supported. The SA was forgotten. It manifested itself in relationships. I saw Mom in girlfriends and Dad in male friends. I still see this.

No one wants to fit in like this. So, i'm isolated. It's ok.

Then an Uncle, who SA me as well, died. His son now lives with me, whom is older but acts like he's younger (has his own issues to deal, but refuses to acknowledge the issues). The realization is like a flood. It was like I was 10 again.

I cant look at women and NOT see mom. I cannot look at men and NOT see dad. I cant feel good unless I fantasize pain. It's like the attention overwhelms my senses because it is what I can guarantee myself.

So I slap myself in the face for writing this :mad:

But, if I read it back to myself in the internet world of anonymity (*sp) - it will benefit to realize, at least, it's out in the open to be ridiculed. It's egotistical and childish but to realize this is to know me. Thanks for reading.

BTW, what is your story?
 
What are you talking about? There is nothing egotistical or childish about this post. You have pain and want to share it. There is nothing wrong with that! Don't let old voices tell you that you are doing something wrong.

Right now I am not feeling like I can really share my story but I wanted to let you know not to feel bad about this post. I will try and tell my story in this thread later on but right now I am not ready. I am sorry.
 
thanks for sharing. it is hard to say some things in life, and even admitting them to ourselves. the first step in healing is sharing, and grieving and venting. my story is under the stories section, so i wont retell it here, but i wanted to post something thanking you for joining in. take care.

jeff
 
I have to agree with SP, there is nothing egotistical and childish with what you wrote. It's real and that's all that matters. I can relate to fantasizing. My sister abused me and it is all to easy to fantasize about her when I start feeling down. Good luck.
mike
 
SumISum
It took a lot of courage for you to do what you did. And there is nothing egotistical or childish about it. We are your brothers here and it is our goal, each and everyone of us, to heal and move forward. You are no longer alone and dont forget that.

Some of us have found that posting can sometimes be cathartic amidst all the pain.

You are in the right place, so visit, listen, post, help and heal with us brother
 
Sum1Sun

at least, it's out in the open to be ridiculed
Click to expand...
there is no riducule here. or amongst survivors at all that I've found. And my personal experience is that I've never ever been ridiculed, disbelieved or considered childish by non survivors either.

SA is such a reviled act that people are on OUR side, those that aren't I don't want to know or be around.

You're story shows you are man who suffered badly, but you're now fighting back and starting to reclaim your life. Telling your story and recieving the trust and support of others is a great part of that fight, and a brave step to take.

Thanks for sharing your story with us.

Dave
 
S1S:

I feel for you. My story:

https://www.malesurvivor.org/cgi-local/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=1;t=001131#000005

Victor
 
Alright I think I am ready now, at least to summarize it, details are maybe for another time.

I was premature due to my mother's drug addiction so the first 3 months of my life were spent in the hospital and were abuse-free. I don't know if this initial seperation from my family set me back emotionally at all or if all my problems were caused by the abuse. At any rate I did not ever bond with my mother even once I was out of the hospital. From 0-10 my mother physically and emotionally abused me. She was very rough on me and spared no force when she was angry. I remember that she threw me down the stairs of our apartment building when I was about 5 and I broke my leg. My daddy took me to the hospital. She would also lock me in closets and the dryer and make me stand in the cold shower for a long time if I was bad and then beat me when she got the water bill.

My mother also incested (is that a word?) with me and when I was 3 she began to prostitute me. It started out that she would bring me along to the crack house and there were people there (men and women) who would pay her for some time with me. She taught me how to please a man and she taught me how to please a woman but the latter was done through incest. At first she would not let them have actual intercourse with me because she thought that I was too small (very small for my age) and I might die and then she would be in trouble if someone found out. She forgot about that rule pretty quick though. After a while she was taking me to people's houses who wanted me and sometimes I was left there overnight (as long as she got paid for the entire stay.) There were repeat customers as well. Mostly men, but some women. She tried to sell my sister at the crack house once and I saw my sister be molested but after that I would hide her somewhere in the house every time we went so that no one could get to her. My mother would also sell herself regualrly and either lock me in the closet so I would not interfere (she often forgot about me and I was once stuck there for 3 days) or she would make me watch.

When I was 10 my parents divorced and my mom stopped prosituting me. She married a rich guy named Ray and "reformed" herself. She got custody of me. (My sis lived with my dad.) She stopped being a crackhead bum and instead her and Ray were high-class coke addicts instead. She was still emotionally abusive and was sometimes still physically abusive but mostly she ignored me. Ray had a great big house and I liked it alright but Ray would get drunk and act weird towards me and one day he coerced me into the basement and raped me and then he would come into my room in the nights. By then I was pretty accustomed to this sort of thing and I was in adolescence so it was very confusing in terms of my sexuality.

Then, my mom went to prison (for drugs) and I moved in with my dad. My dad had never been abusive and things went OK for a while. I was very troubled though, and would sell myself and I was into drugs. At around 14 I became very mentally unstable (later to be diagnosed as schizohprenia which I most likely inherited from my mother) and got into heroin and was kicked out of my father's house. I went to my uncle's house in Boston but he kicked me out as well and I spent the summer on the streets. I sold myself for money. Later I got back to my dad's house and got on medication and stabilized.

In high school I met a girl who I was not in love with but I felt like I needed to prove something so we dated for a long time. This resulted in me moving out of my dad's house. My sister had moved out as well at this point and my dad's mental health deteriorated. He had been hospitalized for extreme depression before and he was an alcoholic. He lost his job and had to move into a crappy apartment, and eventually he commited suicide. This upset me so much that I dropped out of school and became very withdrawn.

I ended up setting a rich family's summer house on fire because of my anger at my father's death and was sent to prison. There I was raped 12 times in one afternoon, on my third day there, and was sent to the prison hospital for my injuries and then was raped several more times when I got out. I had to submit to sexual slavery (very common in prison) so that I would not be gang raped again. This lasted for 2 years. I just got out in the year 2000. That was the last rape and since then I have not had any more rapes although I had been selling myself on and off until last summer.

Wow, I really did not mean to make this post so long. I'm sorry. Maybe I will post it as a seperate thread later. I hope this isn't too much of a hassle to read to to scroll through if you don't want to read it. :o
 
Sick Puppy:

Words cannot express the emotions I feel when I read your post. My brother it was horrendous what you suffered through.

There is however one sentence that makes me so happy for you
This lasted for 2 years. I just got out in the year 2000. That was the last rape and since then I have not had any more rapes although I had been selling myself on and off until last summer.
Click to expand...
Until last summer. And all of us here are so proud of you for that thing that you have done and that is to say ENOUGH.
Heal with us my brother and continue to offer the assistance as you have in the past
 
CAUTION-COULD BE TRIGGERING & WAY TOO LONG

QUOTE
______________________________________________________________
I rarely post here, if at all. I go through personality phases like change of clothes.
__________________________________________________

The first post I saw by you was about the governments conspiracy for
mothers to incest sons. My first thought was here is a sick individual,
this is very painful to read, but I want to get a bigger picture of who this
person is. Suddenly the post disappeared. This didnt surprise me.
(I later found it in the unmoderated section.)

I now love this scarcastic first post.

Your next post offered little to my picture of who you are and where you
are coming from.

Now I see you as so much like me it is just incredable.


Glib off the wall comments from me make it difficult for people to get to
know me. My wife, kids, and close friends know to hang around and
listen until it makes sense to them.

I am a hard person to get to know.


This defense of mine has served me well.

With patience, those who know and love me have learned to decipher
my cryptic language, as I have also become more verbal in my
comunicationsas time has gone on.

My artwork has been a part of own personal criptic language that
I, myself, am sometimes able to decipher only months after I've completed a work.

QUOTE:
__________________________________________
But, what I want most from this group is self-discovery.
__________________________________________________
Wow, you state your needs so clearly. I honor that, and I expect you will
experience that and more. I think thats why most of us are here.

Quote:
_____________________________________________________
Mom thought love was supposed to be about her and herself only.
___________________________________________________

I already feel myself being suffocated reading this, as I I go back to the
house I grew up in.

It is a feeling that was also restimulated by the movie, Spanking the Monkey.

I felt I was a non-entity, and lived for her life, never mind what safety I needed
as a young man.

I also heard how awful men are, and about her disasterous dates prior
to her marriage. One man she dated is now my half brother. Yes she
at 30 married his 60 year old father, who was to become my father.
The half brother would be about 90+ years old if he were alive today, I'm 57.
My dad would be 120 years old.

What she doled out as love was about what she needed, and how she
looked as a mother. She said, Dont ever tell anyone, they wont
underestand. It didnt occur to her that I didnt understand either.

QUOTE
_________________________________________________
Her sexual attraction towards me, had me grow up fast. Dad was a passing
conversation and nowhere to be found. My surrogate husbandry with Mom was
like being Dad to my no-so-much-younger brother.
___________________________________________________

My dad died when I was 10, he was 73. I don't remember
feeling connected to him either,though his importance was evident
when I cried at his wake and was told big boys don't cry.

She announced that my older
brother would be taking his place as our authority. He became the
breadwinner of the family. He lost his adolescence and was suddenly
a father. She behaved very seductively to him. It was his job to wash
her back in the tub while she covered her ample breasts with her arms
around her knees in a pseudo modest position.

He was also one of my perpetrators.

I was her romancer and confident as I spent my adolescence in bed
with her. My little brother replaced me in her bed when I, at 17, went
into the Navy.

QUOTE:
_____________________________________________________________
I left home at 20 to, what I thought, would be peace. Sure. Did I consider
inner-peace in the equation? Mom was not functional without financial support.
_________________________________________________

Close experiences here too, sum1sun.

QUOTE:
____________________________________________________
She did not like to work. When I left, the stabilizing force was gone.
___________________________________________________

She expected me to find a job in a factory after high school, and bring
her my paycheck forever.

It is part of our biologigal make-up to use our primary caregivers as a
template of adult roles. I for one have felt like I have been up a creek
without a functioning paddle.


The child in me believes the only way to get acceptance with men as
friends is what my big brother taught me. The way to survive with women
is to self castrate, become asexual and attend to their other needs.

For the most part I have a patient wife.

I have also learned to have nonsexual intimacy with men.

QUOTE:
__________________________________________________________
I cant feel good unless I fantasize pain. It's like the attention overwhelms
my senses because it is what I can guarantee myself.

So I slap myself in the face for writing this
___________________________________________________

I guess a part of me will always be the ungrateful son for exposing her secret,
but I'm learning to feel very grateful to myself for having done so.

The pain has always been so pervasive in my life. I did not know life
without it, so I increased the complexity of my life to asure I lived the role
and lifeitself as a victim and failure that I felt I deserved. To give all that
pain up is pure terror for me. I learned the
lesson for self-contempt
and self punishment well, and it guided my life.


There is a Jungian saying that says that it is not the shadows we fear
(because they are familiar), it is the light we fear.

We fear the power in our own light that we were born to experience,
not the world of shadows, as we were taught to live.

I still struggle with this, but it is getting easier to live in my light.

This is a part of my story. I have been around here a long time so some
of my posts go way back.


under SURVIVOR STORIES (Page 2) :
A Part Of My Story, self-witnessing after a long break --RJD--- March 25, 2001 06:26 AM
https://www.malesurvivor.org/cgi-local/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=10;t=000012

OR UNDER:
https://
www.nomsv.org/cgi-local/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=1;t=000569

OR UNDER:
PIECES FROM MY THESIS--
REGARDING ABUSE BY MOTHER---RJD---September 17, 2002 10:36 AM
https://www.malesurvivor.org/cgi-local/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=1;t=001078
OR, EVEN YET ANOTHER PIECE:
www.malesurvivor.org/cgi-local/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=1;t=001511

I feel like the scarecrow who went to OZ. A piece of me is over here, and another piece of me is over there....
 
sickpuppy my heart goes out to the terrorized little boy in you. You did NOT deserve any of that treatment. Where were the "authorities." Your experience sure tapped my protective anger and rage toward your mother. My mother did not do what yours did, though we both didn't experience a mother that had any concern for our well being. However in your case it is a gross understatement. She went at you with a vengeance that was in no way about you, but you got it anyway.

If you're not there yet, I hope you can soon learn how to comfort the child in you that has had little if any experience with that kind of gentle comforting. My fellow survivors teach me what gentleness looks like.

there is a saying in the 12-step support group for incest survivors that,"If any one of can recover, than so can all of us."

Thank you sick puppy and sum1sun for sharing the agony that is in the deepest part of your hearts.

You as well as others here are "Men among men" for the kind of courage you have shown by sharing and exposing your pain in your heart of hearts, the way you have here. I for one feel very very honored and far less alone.
 
There has been an incredible amount of strength show here by those that have posted thier stories. Hopefully it is a helpful step towards their healing, and that of those who read it.

My own story is much less severe than most here. At times it makes me feel like I'm simply feeling sorry for myself. ("What right to I have to complain, I had it easy. These poor guys went through real hell.") Nevertheless, I shall put my story here and share with you all as you have shared.

Fair warning, THIS MAY BE TRIGGERING

Very recently I learned that I was abused when I around two years old by the man my mother was living with. I do not have any direct memories of this, but in disclosing the abuse I do remember to my mother she told me about it. Apparently when she was changing my diaper I flipped out and was yelling "No! No suck!" And my mother eventually got out of me who was doing it. When confronted he simply replied that I was lying. Thankfully my mother realized that a two year old would not have the ability to lie about such a think and promply left him and moved out.

I have no idea if this abuse affected me as a young child or not. I really don't recall much of my early childhood.

The abuse I do recall happened when I was about 8 or so. We had moved from New Jeresy when I was 7 and I did not adjust well to the move. I did poorly in school, and failed the second grade. My mother was working swing shifts, and was often away at really odd hours, so she would often leave me with her friend, who had four kids of her own.

I don't recall where the idea to go to school with her kids after the summer (it was a different school district, so a different elementry school) came from, but I remember I begged my mother to let me do it and she agreed.

This meant that I would spend many nights at thier house (the ones where my mom's schedule would not allow her to drop me off at school, which were a fair amount.) This suited me fine because it was other kids to play with. Kind of like having brothers and sisters.

Not long after I began staying there the eldest of the boys, whom I really looked up to like a big brother, began to abuse me. He was around 14-15 I think. It started small, he wanted to have a hickey to claim to his friends a girl gave it to him and could I help him out. I didn't want to, and told him so, but he convinced me to anyway.

To this day I wonder, if I had stuck to my guns and refused would it have stopped there? I don't know.

Eventually he began wanting to play "games." I still didn't want to, but I never voiced my objection these times. I just acquiesed. (sp?) He never threatened me or hurt me physically though, and would let me hang around with him and his friends. I was the "cool little kid." Unlike other little kids who were irritating.

Though this probably goes without saying I never told anyone about the abuse, but my mom has said that I used to tell her that the younger boy was picking on me and I didn't want to go back.

This went on for about a year, and then his father was killed in an accident. His mother (my mom's friend) understandibly could not even handle her own kids after that (I think she got family to help her with them) and I returned to my own home and school district.

Life went on, except that I my anger problems got much worse, and though my grades were okay, I got into quite a bit of trouble because of my anger. I was not a bully, though I was a target of a few at first. I kept to myself and read, but when someone would try to bully me or push me around I would snap and beat them up. I remember once in third grade someone said something to me and I threw and entire desk at her. (Thankfully I missed.)

My mom took me to a T, but she concluded that I was angry because my mom had boyfriends and wasn't spending enough time with me. A waste of money in my moms opinion, and the end of the T.

When I was fourteen my mother met a man and let him move in with us. I have mentioned that situation in the thread about staying in a marriage for the kids but I will copy it here again:

When I was fourteen years old my mother allowed her boyfriend to move in with her. He was an alcoholic, emotionally abusive and I fully belive would have been physically abusive towards my mother had I not stepped in. The one time he pushed her I beat the ever-loving shit out of him with a large club and informed him in no uncertian terms that I would kill him if he ever touched him again.

He lived with my mother for nine years, and I every day I spent in that house was a complete hell comprised of the most bitter, angry, drunken fights every single night of the week (on both sides. My mother would often drink out of anger and frustration of dealing with him.) Not a day went by after I beat him that I didn't kick myself for not killing him when I had the chance.


I was a very angry teenager, but by now everyone had learned to not to mess with me. Once in a while, someone would get the bright idea to give it a try, and a fist fight was usually the result. They were fairly minimal though, as word got around pretty quickly.

When I was sixteen I began to remember the abuse. I had never totally forgotten it, but I now realize that I had pushed it aside and ignored it. Probably in the hopes that it would go away.

Now that I was remembering the abuse in fullness I tried to just push it aside again. It did not work. I grew angrier and depressed. The situation at home was certainly not helping either. As I have mentioned previously on the board I tried to hang myself once during this time. The hook I secured the belt from was not very strong though, and it broke.

Eventually I went to college. Even though it was only twenty minutes from my house, I made it a point to live on campus. I knew that living in home would be intolerable.

Though nervous and frequently depressed, I began to do much better, and was angry far less. Once in a while if I get really riled up it's not pretty, but I don't get riled as easily anymore.

A my junior year I began to become incredibly depressed again, and the memories of my abuse began hitting me incredibly hard. Eventually, after several of my friends who were concerned I was going to hurt myself intervened I went to a school counseler and begin to confront my SA issues.

Last year the younger brother of the person who abused me died. I went to the viewing for a few minutes. I don't know why. I suppose I wanted to see my perp. To see what kind of man he grew into. But I chickened out and left before I saw him.

I didn't get the bright idea to check for online resources until this year, and I am so glad that I found this site.

I'm sorry this turned out so long. I'll shut up now. :) Thank you for "listening."

-Eric
 
although i haven't shared a lot about my story here, i have in therapy. i've found it needs telling over and over and over. i'm still in the midst of getting past the pain but it is happening. with time and the retelling of my story it's gotten to be a bit less difficult to share or i should say now i'm beginning to realize the horror of it. i don't discount the sa and neglect as much as i used to. it's also becoming a bit easier to accept that it happened to me and not fall into the hole of self pity and depression as much. even the feelings, as f****'in bad as they get, I've learned that it passes. I can make choices now whether i'm willing to let them rule my life or not.

telling takes some of the power away from our abusers. it's hard to break the silence but it's the only way i know to heal. when people here don't freak and condemn me here (as i expect them to) for who i am and what i say, it gives me a bit more strength to do more.

telling our story takes some of the shame away when others can say "i know" and they actually do, and they remind me it's not my shame, it's my perp's shame i'm carrying for him.

we can't really understand another human being's pain. using a measuring stick to compare stories is a useless exercise of the ego... i had it worse, i didn't have it as bad, therefore .

for me, it's more than enough to have a brotherhood of survivors i belong to, i'm qualified enough to join the club. the last thing i need to be doing is comparing myself to others here. I've done that so much in my life, its time for me to stop that. i'm not sure i would have choosen this particular club to belong to given the choice. but i wonder, would I be able to enjoy what good and beauty i see if i didn't?

jer
 
Another saying in the 12-step group for survivors was that it only had to happen once for the damage to be done. For me, after that , it was just more of the same terror and devastating shame.

------ be gentle with yourselves
 
RJD, Jer:

Gotta agree with you bros.

I've become rather straightforward in the telling of my story. Sometimes people tell me what they went thru seems so small compared to what I went thru. I'm getting over feeling guilty about that becuz I know I don't mean to demean anyone & the horror they went thru, and I hope no one takes it that way.

Trauma is traumatizing to each person according to their unique makeup, character, upbringing, support then & now, and so much more. These things
just cannot be measured in terms of amounts. What seems trivial to some may be horribly traumatizing
to others. What seems major to some may not seem to affect others as badly.

Trauma is trauma. Abuse is abuse.

SA is soul murder. A soul can only die once.

But it can rise up & live on too!

No matter who you are, what abuse you've suffered.

Victor
 
I'm getting over feeling guilty about that becuz I know I don't mean to demean anyone & the horror they went thru, and I hope no one takes it that way.
Click to expand...
I don't think anyone would take it that way. I feel like my experience was rather trivial compared to yours but the results have been very similar. Fortunatly we've been able to cross paths here in this unique medium and that's all that matters for me. We're here to help each other.
mike
 
Brother Mike, thanks & right on!
0pouce.gif


Victor
 
RJD

that it only had to happen once for the damage to be done.
Click to expand...
This is so true, there is no league table for abuse.
It's all destructive no matter what went on or how often it happened.

Dave
 
Dave,
The sad thing is that it is so easy to dismiss your experience if it only happened once. Think about how many guys (or girls for that matter) that had it happen just once and never have viewed it for what it really was. I bet there are way too many out there to even count.
mike
 
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