Becuase it's too much for them to deal with. Because they don't want to talk about that stuff.
Because they want you to get over it.
Because no one understands my pain.
Because they won't want to be around me.
Because I did tell, but no one wants to admit that it actually happened.

"Why didn't I tell?" is a question I sometimes ask myself a lot. The only answers I've come up with so far, have largely been mirrored here.

At first, I didn't know to. I had no idea that what was going on was wrong. It didn't SEEM right, but I looked up to him like a big brother and I guess I didn't think he'd do anything to hurt me.

Years later, when it finally sunk in how wrong it really was, I was just confused and ashamed. I couldn't let anyone know that I had ever done such things or how sick I was or else they would never have anything to do with me, and who could blame them?

The real ass kicker is I've since found out that I was abused even earlier (though the memories are practically non-existant) and evidently I *did* tell my mom then and she got me right out of there. So clearly I would have been believed the second time, if I had told.

Hope that this answer has helped Nathan.

Eric

Nathan
I think it was the author Alistair Maclean who wrote the novel "Fear is the Key" - and the title says it all, fear.

If I start at the beginning when the first abuser slid his hand inside my trousers while the whole school was sat watching a movie, there was fear.
Fear that if I created any kind of disturbance then I would be in trouble, and all he had to do was deny everything and the disturbance was my fault. I feared that nobody would believe me. He wins.

He then escalated the abuse to me masturbating him, another fear, the fear of being branded a "homo" ensured my silence.

Further escalation to anal sex, just the same fears.

Bringing his mate along to join in, same deal.

I did show some resistance, and got gang raped and beaten by all his mates. That proved to me ( at that time ) that there was yet another kind of fear, the fear of further violence. So I added that to the list.

The headmaster found out, and didn't believe me - in fact I was the one who was punished.
I then knew the fear of not being belived was true, I wasn't believed. My silence was guaranteed, and remained so for 31 years.

I lived with all these fears, the irrational fear of being homosexual ( although I have never been really homophobic towards others who were gay )

The fear of not being believed was the greatest one for me, and was only overcome by a greater fear.
At the age of 45 or 46 I was in a terrible state, acting out , depressed and mildly suicidal.

And I think that after a particularly risky and unpleasant acting out episode the genuine fear of losing everything joined my list - I believed I would lose the people I loved, my home, my work, my friends and family - and possibly my life; that fear became so great that I was forced to act and tell someone that I had "some problems"

I never intended to tell anyone the whole story, all I planned to do was tell my wife about my childhood and hope that it was enough to get me out of trouble. But we all know that didn't work !

I bet all you guys know this quote -
"Let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself."
Franklin D Roosevelt. 1933

He speaks for me.

Dave

Nathan,

Everyone here told you already, but as to why I didn't, well, it was a combination of everything.

When my middle-school counselor first hit on me, I didn't know what to do. What does an 11 year old do when an adult comes on to him and makes out with him on a couch? Later on, he conned me into believeing he loved me and I loved him. Finally, he got scared, I guess, and became abusive, sadistic, and downright violent.

I was sucked into it and didn't know how to get out. He manipulated me into loving him, and made me feel like no one else would. That was enough to keep me controlled through the "I-know-it's-wrong" stage. Later on, when it got really scary, I didn't know how to get out. I thought my Mom would hate me, my Dad would literally kill me, and all my friends would know I was a faggot, whatever that's supposed to mean. When he tortured me and tried to kill me (twice!), that scared me enough to repress.

I don't know if that answers your question. I'm still trying to puzzle out if it answers all of mine.

Peace and love,

Scot

Why didn't I tell anybody about the SA? humm.

My memories of perp #1 end with him very angry and what appeared to be getting violent, because I wouldn't let him take the elastic band of my underwear of me. A few months of memories are gone after that and resume with me beginning therapy, I which I never said a word, but kept drawing a picture of his face each and every visit. I don't know why I didn't tell, most likely fear.

When it started over again with #2, wasn't this the way men treat little boys. This is what my history shown. I figure I didn't tell mostly because of shame.

#3 was definately intimidation, and lead me into severe depression. That is why I didn't say anything about her, intimidation and depression.

I didn't tell anybody about #4 because of shame. She was younger than me and would SA me in the morning while I was sleeping. I would have to fight her off me every morning, and this was during the deep depression set off by #4.

#5 was a different beast all together. He was a doctor, a specialist I was seeing, shortly after coming out of the depression. Who would believe me over a reputable doctor? When I did tell of this, It was used as a joke.

Why I didn't tell anyone was combinations of fear, intimidation, lack of emotional stability, shame, feeling that I wouldn't be believed, and ridicule. And you can add on that my mom, a woman I admire and adore, has an extreme hatred towards homosexuals. And having been SA by three different males, that would make me gay. The thing my mom hated and the hate would spill upon me, and I need her love.

Bill

This question is an interesting one for me.
At first I had no idea that it was wrong. He told me it was right, good, loving, and it felt that way to a lonely 9-13 year old boy longing to be loved and cared for. So I never even thought that I should tell anyone and he asked me not to, so why would I betray the only one who loved me?
Then I began to hear the kids at school make gay jokes and describe the very things we were doing and talk about them being gross or only done by "faggots". I sure was not going to tell then!!!
Then at age 13 as I was entering puberty and being very arroused by the things he was doing to and with me, that is when my mom caught us together!
Her reaction was to slam the door and scream through it that I was a faggot and no son of her's was going to be a faggot. That night my father came home late and through his friend (my perp) out of our house. He came in to tell me that what I'd done was wrong and disgusting. I should NEVER do anything like that again and I should never tell anyone about it. He said others would hate me and make fun of me if they knew. I knew he was right from listening to the kids at school. So from that night to today we have never talked about it again.
I was 22 and in college before I ever talked about it to another person and that was a school counselor.
I still find it almost impossible to talk about.
Ron

My father and another started when I was young I forgot everything. After that when I was nine it literally didn't occur to me that there was such a thing as asking for help. Even though I had forgotten the earlier abuse, I had apparently learned the lesson from it that I was helpless, that adults could not be trusted. My method of survival was to adapt to whatever happened and ignore the bad stuff. Right now my main focus is to figure out what I am unhappy with in my life and make the plans to change it. In this way I constantly remind myself that my life is mine to live (and my responsibility.)

Why didn't I tell? Such a difficult question to answer, and those answers are long, difficult and involved. But I will try to give answers in "Reader's Digest version." These answers may be a trigger, so proceed with caution.

I guess, is some shame, they threatned my life, threatned my friends, and saidno one would believe a dirty little faggot who's own father can't even stand him. And it was so engrained in my head that it was my fault, that I asked for it, that I wanted it, was told that much. I remembering tell a friend from team once about coach, and that I may go to police, and after that he and most of team cornered me and my best friend in locker room, they forced me to watch as they beat my best friend to death, and then beat me nearly to death and took turns.....r**ing me, so after that never even considered telling anyone again.

I still don't tell anyone because of shame, and because I still feel so bad and dirty and wrong, and am still scared, my coach is still around, in fact couple of months ago, he hurt me really bad, I had to spend couple of months in hospital, and I am ashamed of that, I about the same size as him, I am younger and stronger, I should have been ablt to stop him. So shame is the driving force behind the silence, shame and fear, perhaps one day that fear and shame will start to subside, but it hasn't begun to dissapate yet.

scott

Scott,

Is it possible for you to move to a different area far away from your coach? This man has committed murder. You need to get away from him.

Mary

Scott. Do not let that son-of-a-bitch continue to control you. Sure you are younger and stronger but the past is rearing up to prevent you from responding. You are not weak anymore Scott and there is an army of brothers here to ensure that you are never alone again.