Ok, after a brief hiatus, I'm back. Bubble and I have apologized to each other, and since he absolutely in no way could have known what was going on behind the scenes when he made his post, I would really appreciate it if we could all avoid piling on or taking sides or anything of the sort. We're all friends/family here, that's why I could never actually stay away. My HalFamily is very important to me. All of that being said, I do need help.
I'm not going to repost my anxiety thread - not because I'm uncomfortable with people here reading it, but because I know our threads are Google'able and I'd rather it not continue to be updating out there. I will, however, repost the bit that PatrThom replied to. If you aren't comfortable reading the spoiled content, you may not want to continue beyond the break either.
Now those are obviously very serious allegations. They point to holes and/or failures in the system so rampant that they're nigh unbelievable. The missing link is that when my parents went to the school administration, my molester's best friend's father was the Superintendent; and when he managed to get his homeroom assignment changed, his best friend's father had been demoted to Vice Principal of our middle school; and the same man was an Assistant Scoutmaster in my troop. The system didn't just fail me, it actively protected my molester at every single turn.
I haven't dealt with any of that mess up there for 25 years. I just pushed it down and hid it until I could reliably lie to myself and convince myself that there really was nothing wrong with it. It really was just kids being kids and exploring their sexuality and there was no reason for me to be upset about it. Or it didn't happen. I'm misremembering things. But I wasn't.
The problem is - well, the problems are many, but a problem is - I'm really struggling to continue to function as a member of society. I can't handle being alone for more than 10 to 15 minutes outside the house. In fact, I'm not really certain I could handle being alone in my house. And if anything happens to separate my wife and I while we're outside the house, I can't stop panic attacks from happening. I can stop myself from boosting it from panic to crippling panic for a while, but I can't stop them. But it comes and goes. Right now I'd have no problem walking (or probably even driving) to the store, or walking the pup around the neighborhood. But I can't get a job. I can't even talk to people on the phone aside from family members. The phone ringing makes me want to cower and hide. A lot of things do these days.
I am determined not to let this destroy yet another generation of my family, but right now I'm failing at that. Right now, my family is being torn apart by this, and further by the fact that I can't work. We just bought a house, but it took a month too long and $20k more than I was really budgeting for, and we just can't make ends meet on just my wife's salary. We already didn't pay November's mortgage payment. We can either pay bills and buy food or pay mortgage payments, and last month I chose bills and food, and a dog to help with the anxiety. And thank god I did, because without our dog, I wouldn't leave the house for anything except weed. I want to fight this, but I can't fight it alone anymore. I've been doing that for far too long.
I'm not going to repost my anxiety thread - not because I'm uncomfortable with people here reading it, but because I know our threads are Google'able and I'd rather it not continue to be updating out there. I will, however, repost the bit that PatrThom replied to. If you aren't comfortable reading the spoiled content, you may not want to continue beyond the break either.
I was molested almost every single day of my elementary school career, into middle school, by one person, over and over. It started with him kicking me in the nuts every day, but that's nowhere near where it ended. Before long, he was grabbing my crotch or knocking me down and humping my butt or my crotch. I would complain, my parents would complain, but it was just "boys being boys," or "kids exploring their bodies," or I was "being too sensitive," or just flat out "making stuff up for attention." By the end of the year, he liked to stick his hands down my pants on the playground and stroke my dick and squeeze my nuts as hard as he could, every chance he could get. We had all the same classes, and teachers wouldn't even bother to try to split us up so he couldn't grope me in class. He joined my Cub Scouts group so he could molest me outside of school time. He never touched anyone else the same way, only me (at least not that anyone would admit to), and he had really cool toys (probably bribes to keep quiet about abuse he was suffering at home) so almost all of my friends chose him over me. My parents and I went to the school administrators, the district, everyone we could - except, of course, the police. What would they do about a little boy putting his hands down someone else's pants? That's just me "being ridiculous for attention again." Eventually my parents seemed to believe that I was making it up for attention too.
Unfortunately, that's right around when he started trying to sodomize me. And no one else seemed to have a problem with it, so I just let him stick pens and stuff up my ass whenever he wanted. Middle school was going to be a relief, because we would at least have different classes, different homeroom assignments, and he joined a different Boy Scout troop than I did; but it wasn't to be. He managed to get himself transferred to my homeroom class, and after my parents and I moved out of that town, he switched troops to join mine so he could get back to raping me up the ass whenever he wanted. He wasn't kicked out transferred back to his original troop until he got caught trying to stick his dick up some other kid's ass on a camping trip that I wasn't on.
All of this has left me with some pretty significant damage - physically as well as mentally/emotionally. My testicles were apparently crushed so thoroughly and frequently that they stopped developing fully. I feel a horrible sense of guilt whenever I masturbate. I don't trust anyone fully except my wife - and it's a real struggle to trust her completely. It's extremely hard to see any self-worth, when for seven years you were being molested and it wasn't good enough to get your molester in trouble until someone else complained. Oh - and it's not like everyone apologized and I was vindicated or anything. Nope, it was all just brushed under the rug. I was expected to forgive and forget all the people who disbelieved me all that time. Well fuck them. Why wasn't I worth enough for people to want to protect me?
Unfortunately, that's right around when he started trying to sodomize me. And no one else seemed to have a problem with it, so I just let him stick pens and stuff up my ass whenever he wanted. Middle school was going to be a relief, because we would at least have different classes, different homeroom assignments, and he joined a different Boy Scout troop than I did; but it wasn't to be. He managed to get himself transferred to my homeroom class, and after my parents and I moved out of that town, he switched troops to join mine so he could get back to raping me up the ass whenever he wanted. He wasn't kicked out transferred back to his original troop until he got caught trying to stick his dick up some other kid's ass on a camping trip that I wasn't on.
All of this has left me with some pretty significant damage - physically as well as mentally/emotionally. My testicles were apparently crushed so thoroughly and frequently that they stopped developing fully. I feel a horrible sense of guilt whenever I masturbate. I don't trust anyone fully except my wife - and it's a real struggle to trust her completely. It's extremely hard to see any self-worth, when for seven years you were being molested and it wasn't good enough to get your molester in trouble until someone else complained. Oh - and it's not like everyone apologized and I was vindicated or anything. Nope, it was all just brushed under the rug. I was expected to forgive and forget all the people who disbelieved me all that time. Well fuck them. Why wasn't I worth enough for people to want to protect me?
I haven't dealt with any of that mess up there for 25 years. I just pushed it down and hid it until I could reliably lie to myself and convince myself that there really was nothing wrong with it. It really was just kids being kids and exploring their sexuality and there was no reason for me to be upset about it. Or it didn't happen. I'm misremembering things. But I wasn't.
It really helped with the illusion (and really didn't help with my mental health) when I shared this for the first time with someone outside my family when I was 13, to my best friend, and he called me a queer and laughed at me. That night I woke up choking on his dick. He wanted to know what a blowjob felt like and since I was queer anyway, why not? It never happened again beyond that night, but I never felt safe again.
There's a smell that I'm sure a lot of people are familiar with - a sweaty, funky, greasy smell that can perhaps best be described as "sweaty junk." The smell can, most regrettably, be replicated by one of my favorite foods of all time. When fried in slightly skanky oil and paired with bland sausage gravy, diner Chicken Fried Steak smells just like it. I can't even have a fucking normal breakfast out with my wife without running into a reminder of all of this shit. Not to mention, every once in awhile I wake up in the middle of the night and have to go puke, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. It's not the GERD, it's not the ulcers, Pepto won't stop it, TUMS won't even slow it down. Well, yeah. Is it any wonder?
There's a smell that I'm sure a lot of people are familiar with - a sweaty, funky, greasy smell that can perhaps best be described as "sweaty junk." The smell can, most regrettably, be replicated by one of my favorite foods of all time. When fried in slightly skanky oil and paired with bland sausage gravy, diner Chicken Fried Steak smells just like it. I can't even have a fucking normal breakfast out with my wife without running into a reminder of all of this shit. Not to mention, every once in awhile I wake up in the middle of the night and have to go puke, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. It's not the GERD, it's not the ulcers, Pepto won't stop it, TUMS won't even slow it down. Well, yeah. Is it any wonder?
The problem is - well, the problems are many, but a problem is - I'm really struggling to continue to function as a member of society. I can't handle being alone for more than 10 to 15 minutes outside the house. In fact, I'm not really certain I could handle being alone in my house. And if anything happens to separate my wife and I while we're outside the house, I can't stop panic attacks from happening. I can stop myself from boosting it from panic to crippling panic for a while, but I can't stop them. But it comes and goes. Right now I'd have no problem walking (or probably even driving) to the store, or walking the pup around the neighborhood. But I can't get a job. I can't even talk to people on the phone aside from family members. The phone ringing makes me want to cower and hide. A lot of things do these days.
I am determined not to let this destroy yet another generation of my family, but right now I'm failing at that. Right now, my family is being torn apart by this, and further by the fact that I can't work. We just bought a house, but it took a month too long and $20k more than I was really budgeting for, and we just can't make ends meet on just my wife's salary. We already didn't pay November's mortgage payment. We can either pay bills and buy food or pay mortgage payments, and last month I chose bills and food, and a dog to help with the anxiety. And thank god I did, because without our dog, I wouldn't leave the house for anything except weed. I want to fight this, but I can't fight it alone anymore. I've been doing that for far too long.
