My Story, Part Whatever
This is more of a stream-of-consciousness type blog, so things may appear to be out of order, repeated or whatever. That's okay since this is mostly to help me organize my thoughts.
Lately I have been dwelling on the sexual abuse I endured. I've endured a lot of abuse, of which the sexual abuse was part. For a long while I didn't believe it impacted me once. "Oh, that thing happened to me, it is not why I am depressed," I'd tell myself. I am now no longer sure it has such an insignificant role in what happened to me.
I suppose I should start with what happened.
When I was much younger, I had trouble making friends (this issue is a separate matter that I will touch upon in later posts). When I was eight or nine, a new family moved in down the street. They had a son, about a year or so younger than me. We quickly became friends. Even better, he had this newfangled thing called a Nintendo. In his own room! Color me impressed. We'd spend a lot of time playing games at his house.
One day, he pressured me to get naked. I was apprehensive, but he made it clear that the friendship was contingent on it. At that point, he was pretty much my only friend, so I acquiesced.
I'd rather not relate more of the details at this stage.
This went on for a few years. It happened to coincide with the beginnings of puberty; I am still not sure what effect that aspect had.
What I think happened is an adult molested my friend -- someone at such a young age could not have come up with this by himself. I don't blame my friend for it; although we haven't spoken to each other since I was 17 I have kept tabs on him, and his criminal record seems to imply that he did not emerge from his experience unscathed.
I don't know if knowing the adult responsible will make it any better or worse. It may have given me someone to focus untold amounts of rage on. If he was known, chances are my parents would have probably killed him. Maybe he is already dead, who knows what has happened in 20+ years. But I do know he has caused untold amounts of damage in my life. And I also know that the adults at school and in the community who were more than content to see me bullied and ostracized directly caused me to be vulnerable to a situation like this.
Both the sick fuck and the other adults belong in a special circle of hell, yet because of our fucked up system I get to pay for their retirement through my taxes. Why the fuck should they be taken care of when no one took care of me when I needed it?
Lately I have been dwelling on the sexual abuse I endured. I've endured a lot of abuse, of which the sexual abuse was part. For a long while I didn't believe it impacted me once. "Oh, that thing happened to me, it is not why I am depressed," I'd tell myself. I am now no longer sure it has such an insignificant role in what happened to me.
I suppose I should start with what happened.
When I was much younger, I had trouble making friends (this issue is a separate matter that I will touch upon in later posts). When I was eight or nine, a new family moved in down the street. They had a son, about a year or so younger than me. We quickly became friends. Even better, he had this newfangled thing called a Nintendo. In his own room! Color me impressed. We'd spend a lot of time playing games at his house.
One day, he pressured me to get naked. I was apprehensive, but he made it clear that the friendship was contingent on it. At that point, he was pretty much my only friend, so I acquiesced.
I'd rather not relate more of the details at this stage.
This went on for a few years. It happened to coincide with the beginnings of puberty; I am still not sure what effect that aspect had.
What I think happened is an adult molested my friend -- someone at such a young age could not have come up with this by himself. I don't blame my friend for it; although we haven't spoken to each other since I was 17 I have kept tabs on him, and his criminal record seems to imply that he did not emerge from his experience unscathed.
I don't know if knowing the adult responsible will make it any better or worse. It may have given me someone to focus untold amounts of rage on. If he was known, chances are my parents would have probably killed him. Maybe he is already dead, who knows what has happened in 20+ years. But I do know he has caused untold amounts of damage in my life. And I also know that the adults at school and in the community who were more than content to see me bullied and ostracized directly caused me to be vulnerable to a situation like this.
Both the sick fuck and the other adults belong in a special circle of hell, yet because of our fucked up system I get to pay for their retirement through my taxes. Why the fuck should they be taken care of when no one took care of me when I needed it?