It has came to my realization that I've made many new friends here over the last many months that know little of my past - some of them have asked me if I would ever share my story here - and I shall now - I originaly posted about my past in the Members stories section cause I just did'nt feel safe haveing all of what happend to me in the past as public knowledge for all to read about - I think I am past that fear now... - I understand now that through shareing of 'how' these things happened to me that maybe someone somewheres will be able to find a way of stopping this from happening to another...

Just a little background about me before I get into the details about my past...

I am a 33 y/o single male survivor - I was physicaly and mentaly abused by my mother most of the whole time I was growing up in that house - her youngest brother sexualy abused me many times between the ages of 4 and 9...

Please, only read on if you are feeling safe and mentaly strong - it is not my intention to trigger anyone - just to let the facts of my life finally be known...

*****TRIGGER WARNING*****TRIGGER WARNING*****

I was sexualy abused between the ages of 4 and 9 by an Uncle who was 8 years older (he should of known better - should'nt he?). He never really physicaly forced me to do anything - he more or less tricked me into it. I did'nt understand that it was wrong when it started - it started out so innocently. He had a doctors bag that he liked to play with and I was his patient - at the tender age of 4 I did'nt think it wrong to strip down for a full exam (reflex tester, stethoscope, ect...) - he would strip down too and let me do the same things to him - the exams always wound up at our genitals - his were much bigger than mine - almost a fascination for a young mind - it started off with just innocent touching the first few times - then he wanted me to stroke him and he would do the same for me - then it moved on to me sucking him and then he would suck me. This went on for over 5 years - every time I would visit my grandparents (wich was quite often) he would find a way to get me alone - most of the time it was up in his room or out in the old shed where no one was around. I really didn't understand that it was wrong at first. He always said that it was our little secret. He was so nice to me (rode his 3 wheeler - played with his new toys - ect). Said not to tell anyone or he would'nt like me anymore . I so needed a loveing friend that I never did tell anyone - not even when I did start realizeing that it was wrong. I remember wanting to stop long before it actually did - he was so insistant - I needed someone to like me so I kept on doing it. It stopped shortly after he started to come in my mouth. I knew it was wrong then - somehow I just knew - I could not come and he could - it was wrong, very wrong - he said that it would not hurt me - he started to suck me longer/harder trying to get me to continue to suck him - I could'nt do it - I did'nt want to do it - I started trying to avoid him by latching on to grandpa (to be with him at all times when I was there) - eventually my Uncle did let me go - just told me to not say one word to anyone or he'd make sure everyone would hate me (that was when I learned what a gay-faggot little homo-boy I'd been - which was enough to shut me up for over 20 years)

To say that TJ was born into a fairly normal family would be a laugh. I was born on April 26, 1972 to a woman who was barely out of high school with high hopes and dreams crushed by early pregnancy. my dad was a man in his late 20's who worked at a canning factory 12+ hours a day and then just came home and crashed on the couch out of exhaustion. If he was not working we were not to disturb him. I barely knew my dad at all growing up. I do have a few memories of past hunting and fishing trips but they are few and far between and most of them was when I was older. Mom; however, I got to know REAL well. She really did wear the pants in the family. She was under a lot of stress in the early years. Bouncing from job to job with lots of financial problems. She could work an 8 hour shift and then come home so mad and stressed out that she would explode at the slightest thing. My brother and I took the brunt of her anger on more than just a few occasions. (oops... - forgot to mention that I have 1 brother 16 months older than me). Dad did a lot of drinking in those days and that just made mom even more of a bear. Mom had a fireball temper in those days and it did'nt take much to push her over the edge. She would take out her anger and frustration on my brother and me at the drop of a hat if she could find anything that we did wrong. My brother was the lucky one. He rarely got punished to the extent that I did. I don't say this because I'm biased - it's just the way it was. I was Dad's kid so if she was mad at him for anything I got it even worse. It was well known that my brother was mom's kid and I was dad's kid growing up (she was always saying it to everyone). I could never do anything to mom's expectations. I was always a "fuck up" in her eyes. I was always a "stupid - dumb - imbecile - who never used his brain - and would never amount to anything - just a waste of life". This went on for the full 18 years that I lived in that house. She has said much worse than I wrote here - but I think you can fill in the blanks for yourselves... - the words I could handle - I always tried to let them pass right through - as if she wasn't really saying them to me. The Physical part is what really broke me... The first harsh paddling that stands out in my mind is when I was about 4. My brother and I were playing in the living room while mom was in the kitchen. We were just kind of horsing around. Somehow I got shoved into an end table that had a really pretty green porcelain lamp on it. As you can guess the table went over and the lamp came down on me smashing into a million pieces on the floor. Mom - hearing the noise from the kitchen - comes in to see me lying on the floor amongst the broken porcelain. My brother is standing in the corner of the room pointing a finger at me blubbering "he did it - he did it". Mom grabbed me up off the floor shouting at me "how could you break my favorite lamp"(mixed with a bunch of her favorite words for me). I could see the fire growing in her eyes as she took me over to the stairway and set down with me across her knees. The things she was yelling at me I can not even repeat here, yet they are etched in my mind for life. I was bawling my head off from the pain of haveing a lamp broken on me - saying how sorry I was - it did no good - it was too late - off came the pants and underwear and she started in to paddling on my bare butt with her bare hand. I screamed - I cried - I howled - I tried to get away - this all made her even more mad - she would paddle untill her arm got tired and then switch me over to the other knee and paddle with the other arm untill it got tired (yelling degrading things at me the whole time). She switched me from knee to knee like 5 or 6 times untill she finally tired out and I ran into my room and layed on my stomach bawling for hours untill I finally fell asleep. No dinner for bad little boys... (that is the first time I can remember her totally loosing control while disciplining me. Some people would not call this child abuse because it was only a bare hand on a bare bottom - I only know what I felt - a 40 pound child being pounded on by a 300+ pound mother who should have "come in - picked up her crying child out of the pile of broken porcelain and comforted him and told him that it was all right - that a lamp was replaceable". Perhaps this was not child abuse but what would happen down the line would get much more severe. I can remember one morning when I was around 5-6. My brother was playing with a staple gun in the back porch. When he brought it back in and put it away I started messing around with it out of curiosity. I shot a staple into moms good bread board not realizing what I was doing. My brother pulled the staple out and put the stapler away. Later on when mom got home it did not take her long to notice. I did not want to take full blame for this one so she started in by taking turns paddling our asses with a large - heavy handled - wooden spoon. I finaly took full blame for it about 50 swats later. She let my brother go and then had me drop my pants and underwear and then I got another 100 swats with the spoon (I can remember her breaking the spoon across my bare ass, but I don't remember if it was this time or a later time)(I can remember her always making us count out the swats. There were many diffrent times she'd say an exact # - like 20, 30, 50, 100, ect... and you'd have to count out loud for her without screaming or moving - if you did she'd start all over from 1). I'd get my ass paddled for just about anything - from grades - to not having the dishes done on time - to not keeping my room clean enough - ect... Most of the time she would use a stick on my bare ass so that she knew that there was nothing blocking the pain of the blows. (dad had cut some stickes for propping up the windows in the summertime - mom found a diffrent use for one of them and actually kept it in the microwave cart just especialy for that purpose. I stole a stick out of that cart once (got my ass beat for that one too). They measure 3/4" x 1 1/2" x 15" (how much force do you think a 300+ pound person can inflict with something like that?). One other memory that comes to mind is when I was about 7-8. My brother and I were downstairs watching cartoons and mom was upstairs sleeping. My brother found a box of matches and started lighting them. Then he found a citronella candle and lit it because he liked the smell of it. I can clearly remember that I wanted nothing to do with this and telling him to put it away. Not too much later mom came downstairs and could immediately smell the candle which he'd just blown out and shoved under the couch. He'd just had his butt paddled the other day for something or another so begged me to take the blame for it or he'd make my life hell. I did'nt want to take the blame for it so mom started in on both of us with the stick. My brother kept yelling that I did it, and I eventualy did take the blame - little did I know what was to follow... Off came the pants and underwear and she had me bent against the steps going upstairs. She flailed away at my bare ass with the stick at full power. Even though I was well accustomed to these beatings I could not stand still for this one. She had totaly lost control - she would keep right on going even as I tried to get away. I tried to get her to stop a couple of times by spinning around frontwards but she just kept right on spanking away at my frontside untill she'd either hit my penis or balls hard enough to get me to spin back around again. The more I yelled and moved the more out of control she got. I was starting to lose control of my legs (pretty much just laying against the stairs). She finally got wound up enough that she actualy broke one of those sticks across my bare ass. She just held me down while she grabbed another off the window by the stairs and continued on. My ass was bleeding as well as my frontside (I burried many pair of bloody underwear in the backyard). I could not control my legs anymore so just layed against the stairs and let her flail away. This episode finally ended at least 20 minutes after it started when I lost bladder control and pissed all over the carpet next to the stairs. She was still furious but for some reason it did stop her. She made me clean it up and then I disappeared to the confines of my room. I cried all night - could'nt sleep - it hurt way too much - in not the normal way. Good thing for her that it was summer break or I can gaurantee that the school would of found out what had happened (she kept us issolated from others durring the summer). I was bruised from the knees to mid-chest both sides. I had one testicle that swelled up like a balloon - luckily it subsided in a few days. It was over a week before I could stand to sleep on my back (fairly sure she broke something)... This is one of the memories that keeps comming back to haunt me in my dreams. I think that I was literally ready and almost expecting her to kill me that day (part of me still wishes she had). The paddlings continued on all the way into high school although they did taper off dramaticaly around 13. I think that this was due to the fact that I had retreated so far into myself that she could no longer get a sound or movement out of me by beating on me. Sort of took all of the fun out of it for her. She was smart most of the time in her discipline - she kept it to areas of the body that most people would'nt see (only in the locker room at school - which got me teased and bullied all the more - I can remember being held down on the shower-room floor with the showers still running while a bunch of kids took turns at spanking me - totaly humiliating...)

TJ was not a really bad child - honest Abe he was'nt. He was just a child looking for love and affection but wound up with hurt and pain. There is so much more that I could of wrote here - but simply don't have the time and don't want to overwhelm you any more than I probably already have...

I'm not looking for sympathy in this letter - this is only written to record the past and memorialize the strength of the little child I was to have survived to become the man I am today...

_________________________
Who will cry for the little boy? - I will... - Antwone Fisher

Abuse happens in silence/isolation - Recovery happens only when that silence/isolation is broken...

TJ's History