I was born I family of two sons. One that was totally devoted to them no matter what they did and one that hated them for what they did. One that eventually got free of them and began to enjoy life as it is. And one that remained trapped the family traditions, of anger and rage and overeating.
My father. He never saw his, who died suddenly before his birth. and my father was the bad omen for the family.
Though I saw mine physically, emotionally he was never there. He was busy with his career, local politics, his friends and his myriad ailments, which he so lovingly embraced he knew that was the only time he got the attention he missed as a child.
So what could he give that he didnít have. He gave beating I guess he had lots of it in his own childhood. That was the language he learnt as a child, of rage when he felt out if control. breaking dishes slamming door, verbal and abusing and beating good out of me. But I was not allowed to cry, because I did cry a lot as child. I cried over everything, now I know why I cried so much. And they laughed at me about. So my tears stopped mattering to them, I stopped mattering to them. I muffled my cried, cried in bathroom or while going to bed most nights.
With both my parents working, they hardly had any time for me. They had been thru it all with my elder brother, so no excitement for me as a child. MY father gave away his camera when I was growing up so I dont have any childhood photographs.
I always felt I have done something wrong that they dont love me. I must be my fault. I felt worthless. They always seemed to be picking on me instead I was not allowed to speak and was slapped openly. My mothers rage was legendary she used to beat us with slippers and belt with neighbours watching.
They thought by just providing food and shelter it was enough, they forgot it is love that a child needs. I used spent most time with neighbour, as they loved me a lot.
In my look out for love, one day at a local fair I met a guy. He must have notice the love hungry label on me. Standing amid the crowd he was first one to have touched me, it felt good. I allowed it. I said this must be love.
Soon I was addicted to power of love. I could MAKE someone love me. Even now even I feel unloved or powerless I go to gay porn site and watch powerful and willing men, willing to love. There is such love deficiency that I am too willing to be seduced by anyone. Be it choclate cake or a man. I could never learn to say NO to love.
My lover had an ugly face. So love got an ugly face that day. I wanted to be loved badly and he gave it to me. Though I paid a heavy price for love.
I looked out for him at every public function. And thus began my secret love affair. And he never disappointed me, unlike my father, who never came to any of my school functions.
He rubbed me, standing in the crowd and always had a leering smile, he must have really loved me. That became our game. He seeked me and I seeked him. WE met in the crowd. While the crowd was busy watching a game, we were busy making our own.
I usually didnt do anything. Once he came I just surrendered to him. I was frozen in fear and delight.
Later when I used to meet him, but used to hide my genitals deep inside. I wanted love but not that.
That night he touched me in front and he asked me whether I wanted to go ahead. He said, should I come over, my mother is not at home. He knew me! He knew about my family, I was caught and panicked. I left the crowd and my lover.
That day on, ever man was my potential lover, every man was a suspect.
Then a neigbourhood boy who rubbed me the wrong way one night and he became my lover for next two years, till he grew out of it, only I remained stuck there.
I thought I was woman, a girl whom ever was eyeing. I got scared of people. of men including me. I went into hiding from my self. I was wanted to get away from the man in me. I decide to become a girl. Slowly, I succeeded. I was in there company most of the time. The only safe company that I could find.
The effeminate I got, the more I attracted the wrong attention right up to the college hostel. Or was it the right one.
Where I made love to hot hunky men. For two years straight, I hardly had time to study, every man was eyeing me. So I flunked, repeatedly. My father thought it is the attack of Asthma I had. Little did he know that the attack was on a different kind, from the man kind. I was the only girl in boys hostel. Finally my secret was out, I became a public joke. and I left the college, the city, the hostel. In shame.
I went back home. My father now openly announced that he hated me and beat me at slightest pretext. I contemplated suicide. But failed in that as well.
I ran away from the home town to the big city where my brother stayed. He stood by me, and was convinced my parents that I can make it.
But something followed me home. Like that night after the first night, I thing the abuser followed me home. he knew where I lived. Now he lived within me. I was my abuser now.
I was good at seducing men now and finally I was succeeding.
I started a career in advertising, soon every one in office suspected me. and few even caught me. And the right ones noticed me rubbed me in right places.
But then I feared everyone, my bosses, I fear opening up, opening my mouth. Naturally I was chucked from one job after another, though starting brilliantly, promisingly in each, soon the old patterns of trust unfolded and I folded back in.
I was thinking I was closet gay. The only way I could live.
Supressing my anger, pain and abuse had turned me into a angry young man. My seuxality was the final victim of the abuse. It got lost somewhere during my hunt for love outside, because it brought in abuse.
That time I met a girl. He loved me too, like all the men did. Soon she seduced me like all men did. But this time there was difference. I was enjoying sex, I was taking part in, taking lead in it. Something was opening in me as never before.
I was beginning to respond to a woman and in a big way. But that soon ended as she learnt that I was black hole which will suck every thing in. My ways of pleasing to get love werenít working after all, by offering SEX. That was the only way I had learned to please others and myself.
And the trouble was that she was married and I was gay. Or so I wanted to convince myself.
It would be so comfortable I could just be gay. Slip into the old and the comfortable. Instead I tried to my self my sexuality in a big city, by my self. But another test was awaiting me, a white man who was gay.
A beautiful man. He loved me dearly and so did I. BUT his love was of other kind. He knew that I wasnít gay, but my past crept up from the back and gradually he seduced me. My no didnít work on him and they were soon drowned, in the ocean of Lust.
I was so deeply in love with him that I would do anything to get him; I would let him penetrate me. After he made me to do it to him for several times, it wasnít bad. He was horribly painful, but felt loved and yes I was pleasing him, convincingly. And it kept love home.
But one day while he was entering, something snapped. My memories of past came right out and I froze. I told him, and he pretended it was not so serious, and said I was sexually confused.
I knew it was the end. But I wanted to believe otherwise. Slowly it became worse when one night I had to stop him from entering me. ďI donít like it.Ē I was too big a price to pay for love. Finally I said it!
Soon he lost interest discovered that I didnít love him any more and disappeared into the horizon.
Now what do I do with my sexuality and the mess the heap of shit I was sitting on. I turned upwards and inward for the light. I left my job and started freelancing so that I could find time to heal. It had taken two years to just unravel the mysteries and let them out and another one to break them bit by bit.
Now I stand at a threshold where I can go any where. Towards light or towards darkness. It is a choice, every single moment and that is what is daunting me right now. When will there be light enough that I can be safe from myself?
Soon I know.
Thank you, will keep adding more as I move.