My Story, from the beginning.
I've read in more than one place, that one way to work on recovery is to write your story. To try to reconstruct my childhood with as much detail as possible.
Four months ago, I would have told you that I don't remember anything. Now, four months into this recovery, much has come back. While I prayed to remember, I was not prepared for so much, so fast, and perhaps I didn't realize what I was asking for. Much of what I'm about to write not only disgusts me, makes me feel ashamed, guilty, angry and other emotions that I can't even put a name to. My only hope is that by posting it, I'm letting it loose. While the guidelines say no replys are allowed, if you have any insight, please don't hesitate to send me a PM if you want. If I write what I know, if I can truly put it down here and post it, I suspect that I will be rejected and judged, but if it will help me heal in even the slightest way, I'm going to take that chance.
While I may need to amend this later, as more memory takes place, this is what I know now.
The earliest childhood memory I can recall is being in kidergarten. I remember the class taking a walk around the neighborhood. There was this big black dog running around. He kept coming up to us kids, just wanting to be petted, trying to be playful. I remember petting him, a few different times, along with some of the other kids. I remember how some of the kids were afraid of him, I didn't know why. Just as I finished petting him one time, as we kept walking, he darted into the street, and was hit by a car. I remember crying, uncontrollably, for a long time.
I remember looking at him, and wanting him to get up, and be ok. I remember seeing the blood running out of his open mouth. I kept screaming, get up boy, please get up!! He didn't. I don't remember how long I was crying, but they called my mom to come get me and take me home.
I don't know why, but that is my earliest childhood memory. There is so much "missing" from my childhood and while some of it has surfaced in some early morning nightmares, I still have much blank space to fill in.
I remember one time, on a trip to visit my Grandpa, in the mental health hospital in Farmington. My brother kept sticking his hand out the window, and my mom kept yelling at him to stop it. He wouldn't stop, so, the next time he stuck it out, I hit the power window up button, and it caught is thumb in the window and ripped his thumbnail off. What a mess, had to rush him to the closest hospital. I got my butt whipped real good. He didn't stick his hand out the window any more. I was probably about 6 when that happened.
In between kindergarten and first grade, my dad got transfered to St. Louis. We were from a very small town up til this move. I remember how BIG St. Louis was. I remember feeling scared. I don't know what I was scared of, perhaps such a big, new place where I didn't know anyone. The small town we moved from was where all our family lived. Three aunts and three uncles on my moms side, both of my moms parents, my dads sister and my dads mother and more cousins than I could keep track of, even now.
I do recall that we had two brothers as friends when we lived in one apartment in St. Louis.
Mike and Pat were their names. Mike was the oldest, about my age, and Pat was my younger brothers age. I have faint memory of the four of us playing in our basement. Somehow, we got to the point of pretending to give each other a bath. All I can recall is that I wanted to touch Mike's private parts, and when it was his turn for the bath, that is the spot that I pretended to wash for him. I have no memory of any pleasure comming from it, and at about 6 years old, I guess I really shouldn't have. These are the only friends I can recall up to about age 10.
I remember my first day of first grade. My mom took me to school, walked with me to class and met the teacher with me. Everything was just fine, until she said "ok, I have to go to work now, you will be just fine here, and I'll be here to pick you up later" as she reached out to hug me, I latched on with all my might, and screamed no...NO don't go, don't leave me here, I was crying with all my might. The teacher helped pry me away, and held me as she left, she was crying too, and didn't even look back as she went out the door. I was not OK. I cried, I screamed, I lay on he floor kicking. I don't recall what kind of reaction this got from the teacher, or any of the other kids. I remember crying until I couldn't cry anymore, I got up, walked into the restroom (they had one inside the classroom) and locked the door. I just wanted to disappear, I wanted to be invisible, I didn't want anyone to see me, or talk to me. I can remember several adults, trying to coax me out, but I wouldn't budge, I also wouldn't talk to them. I stayed there until they got in touch with my mom, having given her time to get to work, and when I heard her voice at the bathroom door, that is when I opened it. I don't remember anything eles about that day, or how I made it in the days after that.
That is pretty much everything I can remember from birth to age 10 or 11 years old.
Around age 10 or 11, we moved into our first House. We had always lived in an apartment up til then. I do remember the new house, and how cool it was to drive over where it was being built. Seeing just the dirt, then the foundation, the framing, etc.etc.etc.
Once we moved in, I met Jimmy and Danny, our next door neighbors kids. They were the same age as my brother and I. Jimmy was the oldest, my age, and Danny was the same age as my younger brother who was 14 months younger than I. We became good friends almost immediately. We played almost every day, built tree houses, rode bikes, just the normal stuff boys do at that age.
One weekend, Jimmy and Danny's family were going out of town on Friday evening, and coming back Saturday evening. Danny, did not want to go, and he asked me if I could see if my mom and dad would let him stay with us, and sleep over at my house Friday night. I can remember being excited. I had never had a sleep over, and had never been invited to one either. It sounded like a blast, spending a whole day and a whole night with my best buddy. I also remember that I was somehow, attracted to Danny. While I felt nothing unusual about his brother Jimmy, I remember feeling "different" about Danny.
My parents said OK to the sleepover, and I was so excited, and happy, without really understanding why.
We had a split level home, with a nice family room in the basement. My mom suggested that the two of us sleep downstairs, on the sofa sleeper. That way we wouldn't bother them upstairs with our noise and laughing. I can still almost "feel" how anxious I was to sleep with him.
We talked, and laughed, and watched tv until late, and we went to bed. I can remember laying there, wide awake, waiting for Danny to fall asleep. I can remember listening to his breathing, trying to determine if he was asleep yet or not. Then I can remember thinking about touching him, where his private parts were. As I thought about it, my heart started beating really fast, and I could feel my own parts becomming aroused. I remember gently touching him through his pajamas, my heart racing, and I remember wanting to get inside his pajamas, wanting to actually feel his skin, but being too afraid that it would wake him up, so I didn't go any farther. I didn't go any farther that night, that is.
This is the first memory I have of wanting to touch someone while they slept.
There were many more sleepovers, at his house, and mine, and with each one, my probing and touching went a little further and further, until I was completely comfortable just sticking my hand down his pants and feeling for as long as I wanted to. Sometimes he would become aroused, though still asleep, sometimes he wouldn't. I however, became aroused everytime. I still had never orgasmed, didn't even know what that was. I was not touching myself while I did this, so I wonder now, what was so attractive about it to me then. All I knew then was the desire I had to do this, I had no idea why, or what I was supposed to gain from it. I guess in some ways, perhaps some of it was the excitement of being able to do it without waking him up, or even the excitement of what would happen if he did wake up. It is still confusing to me now. This went on for about a year or so.
One weekend, some family friends came to visit. They were good friends with my parents, and they had a daughter. She was about 3 years younger than me, and we had grown up together from the time she was born. We took baths together, me, my brother, and her. I still have some photos of the three of us in the tub all at once. Now, that seems really strange to me. Back then, how the hell did I know it probably wasn't normal. Anyway, her parents wanted to go somewhere for a week, and asked if she could stay with us. Of course, my parents said it was fine.
The first night, she was set up to sleep in the family room, on the sleeper. Me and my brother shared a bedroom connected to the family room in the lower level. While I entertained thoughts of what it would be like to touch her, I didn't have the nerve to get up and go do it. I did think hard about it for some time though. Then, I remember being woken up, by her, saying she was scared, and asking could she sleep with me. Sure I said, as I pulled the blanket back and let her crawl in next to me. I'm about 12 now, she's about 9 or 10. As I lay there, on my side facing her, she turned on her side facing away from me, and pushed herself back against me. This placed her butt, right where my equipment was. I put my arm around, or over her, and I felt her hand take hold of mine. What happened next took me by total shock. She slowly slid my hand, being held by hers, into her underware, and down to her private parts. I was frozen stiff. I couldn't move. I can remember how crazy my head was spinning. I had just been thinking about this, and now, I can't even move. It was very confusing to say the least. Not sure how long it took, but probably only a few minutes, I started to feel around down there. This was completely new territory for me. I had done this with Danny, but he was a boy, with the same parts as me. I knew that she was "different" since we had been bathing together all our lives.
Not a word was ever spoken, and as I was feeling around, I felt myself become VERY aroused. I remember feeling myself pressed against her butt, and I remember kind of rubbing against her. Then, all of a sudden, I felt like I had to pee....REALLY BAD, I remember yanking my hand out of hers, and out of her pants. I grabbed my organ, trying to hold it shut to keep from "peeing" my pants as I ran to the bathroom. By the time I got there, it was too late, and it wasn't pee I found in my pajamas either. It scared me at first, then, I felt like I knew what was going on, even though I had no knowledge of sex at all. No one had ever had "the talk" with me and they weren't teaching this in school yet, back then.
We never spoke of the incident, and it never happened again, at least not with her.
Then, my dad signed us up with the Scouts. I made a couple of friends, and on the camp outs, I did my best to cop a feel off of any one of them that I could as they slept. The only difference now is that I was able to get this incredible feeling, an orgasm, by simply touching someone else, while they slept. The strange thing now, as I look back on all this shit, is I didn't want anyone to touch me. I didn't want "sex" in the normal sense of the word. I wanted it to be my secret, that no one else would ever know. Even now, I don't know if I got off more on actually touching them, or on the thrill of thought that they might wake up and "catch me".
Now I'm 12 years old, and my mom gets sick. She goes to the hospital for a while. We visit, she looks like she is not feeling well, but she's going to be home soon, I believe. After a long time, my dad says that we are getting a special bed delivered so mom can come home sooner.
I was so glad the day the ambulance brought her home. The men carried her in the house and put her in the "special bed". She seemed to be still sick, but she was home, so she must be getting better real soon. She's home about 2 days. I come home from school, running up to her room, and the special bed is empty. I yell, mom, where are you? My dad comes up from the basement, says mom got sick again today, and had to go back to the hospital for a little while longer, but she will be home again soon.
I was woken up the next morning. The preacher next to my bed, and my dad was crying. I had NEVER seen my dad cry before. I knew something had to be really bad. The preacher speaks, "Scott, your mother got very sick last night, so sick that she couldn't stand the pain anymore so God took her to be with him, she won't be coming home again."
"NO, that can't be" I scream, "she is going to get better, my dad said so!! Get out, get out, you're lying, she's coming home soon, I know she is"...................she didn't.
I remember having dreams that she was not dead. I kept thinking I saw her at different places. Like the grocery store....I look....at the end of the isle.....there she is.....I run to the end of the isle, but she's not there. I tell my dad, I saw mom. He gets mad, tells me to stop saying that, mom is gone, shes not coming back so stop that nonsense. I remember screaming at him.....YOU LIED, YOU SAID SHE WAS COMING HOME!!! I know I did and I'm sorry, but you have to accept that she is not coming home, shes gone, you have to face it. Yeah, I had to face it, so I did. I never forgave him for knowing that she was dying of cancer, but hiding it from us. He thought he was protecting us? From what, the chance to live every moment with her that she had left, to allow us to go on like nothing was wrong, to have her just disappear from our lives without the chance to say goodbye, or even the chance to tell her how much I loved her? Yeah, he protected us all right. The same way he protected us as he molested us at night when we were "sleeping".
I have to stop now, too much in my head, and too many tears to look through to see what I'm typing.
Edited by walkingsouth (08/04/07 11:06 PM)
I'm here for a reason. Failure is not an option.