For the Glory of Sport: Part 2 Triggers:
This telling recounts another incidence of sexual abuse and molestation of my recently turned 6 year old self. The abuser was my football coach, Coach Ron. It may be helpful to read the first telling/posting titled Another remembering: For the Glory of Sport. Warning that story Part 1 as well as this the second part of the story both contain triggers. Care is encouraged and caution advised that the reader be in a safe and supportive environment and that the reader be in a healthy frame of mind. At this stage of my recovery having never spoken about these events to anyone and my silence is now being broken. The little child in me is screaming out his bottled up voice and the emotions so long trapped are pouring forth. Unfortunately, but understandingly, the telling of these events are coming out nearly as graphic and violent as the abuse was. It certainly feels that I am reliving the horrors all over again.
* Note I am disturbed with the complex issues this recounting has brought up. The shame is too great for me to re-examine its content, grammar, or redress with commentary or reflect at this moment having just read it. This one has a whole lot of triggers for me and suspect it will for many please, please be safe and of solid mind before you attempt to read it. I have delayed sending it by several days worried of its content. However the need to address these matters have given sway. Forgive me for any unintended pain my brothers. It has not been an easy thing to write and has been even harder to send and make public. The little one in me begs you to not reject me for this experience.*
For the Glory of Sport part 2:
I have not been able to process or order my mind in such a way. Order my mind into neat little compartments. This is a defensive mechanism which sadly I have been poor at mastering. That which I had thought was nicely tucked away and avoided is in reality not so. There is an illusion of false security in thinking that I can put unpleasant things in neat little boxes and hide them away far in the dark recesses of my mind and should with the objective of them never being brought out into the light of day again. I by now should ever question thoughts and behaviors promising security. There is a certain amount of shame, self-loathing, and self anger knowing that I seem to never learn from this lesson. I disgusted with myself that I did not or do not posses the self worth required for self-protection. This places me in the uncomfortable position of addressing the matter of complicity. How much of this victimization was at my own doing. I know now as an adult that the responsibility for avoiding abuse lay solely in the hands or at the feet of the abuser particularly if the abuser was of significant age beyond myself or was an adult. However it becomes a guilt ridden quagmire of understanding too that there exists this destructive truth that if you were victimized a second or multiple times after the first and worse yet by the same abuser you had to accept to a certain degree that there was complicity in the re-victimization. Is it not? When you break the issue down it comes down to "power" your abuser had it all he/she took any that you might have possessed they had it you did not so you were not a participant in complicity. You were the victim and had everything indicative of re-experiencing being a victim again. However my experience is anger. I am angry that I did not have the instinctive behavior of self-preservation at the very least to end the abuse, worse yet to have it occur over and over and then repeat itself at the hands of so many others to whom I allowed-there I go again (I allowed?), myself to be victimized again. See, I cannot yet convince myself of disavowing this notion of complicity-why? Logically, practically, reality screams at me that if you are in an abuse of power situation, you have no complicity. However, there is the unanswered affront of experience which counters this. How did I find myself in the same situation again. Also, what do you do with being honest to oneself with those parts of the physical, emotional, sexual that were pleasurable or worse yet those times that I found myself wanting, asking pursuing more ‘attention' from my abusers? It was a different era then I rationalize there was no ‘telling' of abuse there was no one to tell. One of the things that gives me great comfort and hope for the future and all the little boys to come is that I can do my part in creating an environment a permissive society to "tell" if God forbid they do find themselves victimized. Hopefully, at least re-victimization is something these little ones can be spared. I feel that MS empowers us not only in our recovery efforts. It also, empowers us in being a part of hope and the progress. A part of creating environment to support the victim to tell. Through education and leadership, our experiences can be helpful in assisting in prevention. Light, hope, action progress. I'll work for this hell yeah! A safer world for children yeah I work for that. I can't be of much help in these endeavors however if I don't first take care of myself, heal and recover to the best I can. So if I a to set an example my own telling must continue.
Wow. Look at this 2 pages of avoidance above. Enough. For the little one inside me for children of today and tomorrow, my story continues may it set you free.
For The Glory of Sport Part 2: triggers
It was another day of practice. Our one on one practice not team practice. This the hour before team practice begins that Coach Ron had set up with my uncle for me to participate in at Coach Ron's suggestion. I remember by this time being eager to get to the field house and see this man that I had now so given my love to, my hero and protector this grown up who pulled me out of my well of darkness, loneliness, and solitary existence into the warmth of ‘love' acceptance, being cared for, wanted accepted. That my idol my hero wanted to do things scary, new, naughty, to my body and have me do these things to him as well, was not of such cost as to want me to risk losing Coach Ron's ‘love and affection' hell I would give anything to avoid this. No cost was too high.
So I remember the school bell finally ringing I had been watching the clock hands drag on and on and on forever. Surely the and thing has broken it seemed to me that 10 minutes in actuality passed for every one the clock ticked off. But, at last the bell rang and I bolted out of the door to the cloak room grabbed my back pack and duffle bag and took off for the field house at my top speed, ignoring the pain of my well strapped bottom and thighs from my teacher and subsequently my uncle's beatings the previous day and night. Several beatings from my uncle in fact these days uncle rarely felt I deserved only one. There it was just a few more blocks ahead the white and brick field house with attached concession stand, announcer box (up stairs over looking the field) and equipment storage it was a large multi story sprawling building with the foot ball, soccer, field hockey, la cross and base ball fields beyond.
I was so excited I had the desperate need to pee. I had such and urgency that somewhere within myself I found the reserved energy to put on a extra boost of speed to cover the distance more quickly. Then as I got closer within sight of the parking lot a crushing sense of despair enveloped me, stopping me dead in my tracks. I fell too my knees in shear disappointment and through tear filled eyes checked again and again for coaches station wagon in his usual parking spot. But it was empty. He had forgotten, he was not there. He abandoned me. Did I do something wrong last time. Had I not been a good enough boy for him? Sobbing I kneeled there in self-reproach and disheartened misery not wanting to believe how stupid I was in driving the one person who ‘loved' me away. I knew it. Damn it all why am I such a screw up. How could I let this happen. I kneeled there for a long time. Then the door to the field house open and out stepped Coach Ron. My heart racing with unmitigated joy I placed my hands upon my knees to brace myself to get up and run to my hero. Then noticed my shorts wet. Oh God I had pped myself at some point. I guess I was so disappointed I did not notice I had done so. Disgust with myself was no match for the love and joy of seeing my hero though. I picked up my back pack and sports duffle and took off a world record speed madly screaming Coach, Coach Ron!!! Coach!!! I closed those few blocks in no time at all and crying laughing crying some more threw myself into his arms latching onto his neck as if life depended upon it. Squeezing him with all the strength I had with arms locked around his neck my legs around his waist my face buried int the musky ticklish hairs sticking out of his button front shirt. Sobbing, I was telling him that I loved him, not to leave me, that I would do better, would be the bestest ever, just please, please don't leave me. Not making a lick of sense in retrospect in my agitation. Stroking my hair and saying woah buckeroo, slow down, what is all this fuss about? As he carried me into the locker room and into his office he sat down in his chair and some how pried my body off his only to have me immediately clamp right down all the harder on him. Resigned he waited rubbing my back kissing my head and whispering endearments in my ears until I subsided enough to listen to him, and allow myself to very reluctantly be pried from him one more time.
Coach took my chin in his hand and lifted my face up and using the corner of his now very went shirt wiped my tears and snot from my face and looking into my eyes gently asked me to tell him what was the matter.
Hesitating, I began through my sobs for they were starting all over again to tell him of my fears and anxieties, my love, and devotion, of how much I loved him and wanted to be the bestest little boy for him if only.. If only...crying now he did not leave me. That I thought I had lost him forever. That I did not see his car and .....
Reaching forward he kissed me one of our long ones like the movies but a thousand times more conflicting and scary yet so very nice too. Hushing me. Breaking our kiss he ruffles my hair and says silly, silly, boy I had some gear to put away was loading it in the equipment room out back is all. Then looking down at my wet pants and his wet, snotty pee stained shirt said I think maybe we best clean this mess up a bit don't you. And he reached to me said "arms up my pet" and pulled my shirt off with out unbuttoning it it caught snagged on my nose and laughingly he tickled me under my arm pits causing me to squirm and giggle too he unbuttoned a few more buttons enough to slide off my shirt the buckled my web belt unsnapped my pants and unzipped my fly pulling my pants and underoo's the incredible hulk briefs I was wearing down and off me taking my shoes off with out untying them he then takes off my socks placing me on the floor in front of him he tells me "undress me boy" and I happily comply. He then picks me up and pressing me too him again kisses me his hairy chest tickles my entire front side all at once and walks us into the showers where we spend quite some time cleaning each other sitting down on the floor of the shower with the warm spay off water cascading down like summer rain he then lifts and eye brow quizzically and asks "seems to me my pet, you were saying something about being the bestest....
Stopping him with a kiss of my own this time I squat over him and straddle him reach down and grasp him and move my hand up and down his huge pee'r a few times bring him between my bottom and to my pooper and sit down on him wincing at the very painfulness of this act but not caring just wanting with my every fiber to please him and prove to him I could really be all of the good boy I said I could possibly be. My tears this time were a mixture of pain and pleasure as I found myself once again adoringly giving my hero all of me.
We did it this way and then again with Coach on top of me with me ankles up and over my shoulders as he pounded himself in and out of my now very sore bottom. Then with out being told after he pee'd in me a second time. I went down on him and cleaned him good for and extra long time before he pushed my head aside and said "enough for now my pet." And he picked us up grabbed the soap and quickly washed us again then he carried me in his arms again back into his office and proceeded to dry me then assist me with putting on my athletic supporter and him a clean tee shirt and supporter and shorts to await the arrival of my team mates for today's practice. Placing me on his lap his kissed, hugged, and fondled my pee'r and bottom, and pooper hole until we heard the first of my team mates enter the locker room I remember the jealous feelings and even hatred of Bobbie I had at that moment for ruining this time with my hero. I didn't even mind however the teasing of my teammates for my boner as they filed in. It was a reminder of what had just happened and I was then in no hurry for it to go away. I played my hardest that afternoon for coached really pushed myself earning his praise, then it was time to share his attentions with my team mates dang them in the showers, before once again we were alone and I was earning praise from him in a whole new way.
As I reread this writing I am a little concerned and shocked at the undercurrent of love and sexuality that pervades the>