I've been thinking about some things the last few days. My life is pretty hectic right now and things just don't seem to be going my way. I talked about what happend last week and how my little sister found my journal and showed it to her friend, who then told her mother about it. My grandpa spoke to her and her mother, who live right next door to us. I was pretty freaked out about the whole thing the last few days, but as it turns out, the mother was very understanding and my grandpa says she has nothing but sympathy and understanding of me. So that is actually great news!
I think whenever something devastating happens, I go into a little shell and I hold my emotions in until I can't take it anymore and they just explode. That's something I'm trying to work on, but it hasn't been easy. It's not easy telling people that when you were 5-years old you sucked your uncle's cock and got raped by him. I know I shouldn't feel shame or guilt about it, because I also know deep down, that it really wasn't my fault and I have no control over the situation. Unfortunately, I still feel shameful. I still feel like I had a choice and options in telling somebody of authority what was happening. I wish I could go back to the first time I realized what he was doing was unacceptable and wrong.
It may sound very weird, but I always wonder what I was like when I was little. I don't have vivid memories of much of my childhood. I think I blocked so much out. But I've been thinking about.... when I was 7, or 8, or 9, and I laid in bed at night, what did I think about? I don't remember how I felt when I was in school and 2:30 would roll around and it was time to go home. All the other kids were going home to loving parents, playing in the backyard, video games, and fun. I was going home to abuse. I do remember thinking to myself, "I hope he doesn't put anything in me today." I used to hope that sucking his cock or him sucking mine would be enough and there wouldn't be any pain involved. Gross huh?
Ya know..... when I got to be about 13-14, the abuse died down. It didn't stop altogether, but it wasn't as frequent. I don't know if my uncle was abusing any other little boys, but I do know that I was a last resort for him. I mean, I think because I was 13-14, I was maturing and my body was developing, and I think that was a turn-off for him and the only way he'd abuse me is if he was horny enough and had nobody else to take it out on. Then I began to hate him because I felt rejected and I felt like he didn't love me anymore. I used to try to "fix" myself and do what I thought he might like in the hopes that the abuse would continue. It's weird, because I surely didn't like the abuse but on the other hand, I felt rejected and ugly if my uncle wasn't abusing me. Does anybody else feel that way?
I don't know where my life is going right now and I don't know if I'm a good person or not. Doesn't mean anything that I want to go the right way and I want to be a good person? Isn't it possible that someone could have the thoughts and feelings I have and still be a good person?
Well thanks for listening. Have a Merry Christmas!