This is going to be one of those posts that has anyone who reads it thinking, "Where the hell is Ken going with this?" Yeah, yeah.... just stick with me.

Several weeks ago I had lunch with an old friend and coworker of mine who I hadn't seen in over a year. I met this old friend of mine when we worked together many years ago but he has since moved back to his home town of Chicago, where most of his family also lives. In all the years I've known this guy, I've never met or even heard him speak very much about either of his parents. During our lunch, however, he brought up his dad and mentioned that his father had been permanently disabled in an old work-related accident. This was the first time he's ever told me anything about this.

Apparently, about thirty years ago, my friend's father worked for an elevator repair company. Somehow, while working in a elevator shaft, this guy had his arm underneath an elevator that dropped down and smashed his arm completely. According to my friend, it was a freak accident. The elevator, that must have weighed several thousand pounds, literally just destroyed this guy's arm. Every bone was completely pulverized.

After being examined by doctors, my friend's dad was told that there was nothing they could do to save his arm. No amount of surgery or physical therapy could or would ever repair it or make it usable or useful again. He was given the option to have it amputated but decided against it. Now, I didn't even know that happened. I thought when they had to amputate a limb it was always because there was no other option but, according to my friend, that's not what his father was told. The doctors told my friend's dad that he could choose to keep the arm but that it would never be anything but all fucked-up and gimpy. (Although, I am going to go out on a limb and say that's probably not the terminology that the doctors used.)

So, to this day, that arm is still attached to this guy's body. He doesn't have much feeling in it and can't use it at all but it remains a part of him. His arm is a smashed, twisted and useless appendage, but it is still a part of him. The only happy part of his story is that he was able to retire with the money he won in the resulting lawsuit and still lives off that money to this day.

On my way home that day, my brain suddenly drew what seemed like a natural analogy between my friend's father's story and my own. In a way, my sexuality and my psychosexual self is much like that guy's arm. My childhood sexual trauma, my premature sexualization, my CSA, was the elevator. My childhood sexual experiences smashed, pulverized and destroyed my sexuality. There is nothing that can be done to save it or fix it. No amount of therapy or medication will ever repair the damage that was done. The prognosis is hopeless and absolute. My sexual self is completely and utterly twisted, ugly, ruined and unusable now. It is "all fucked-up and gimpy" and always will be.

There are three ways, however, in which the analogy does not fit.

One, my friend's dad doesn't have much feeling in his arm. It doesn't cause him much pain, discomfort or distress. My sexual self, on the other hand, is anything but painless. It hurts, and the pain it causes me torments me every singe fucking day, affecting everything in my world. Not one single aspect of my life goes untouched by the injury.

Two, my friend's dad had the option of amputating his arm and probably still does. I am bound to my sexual self. I would just lop it the fuck off if I could, but I can't. It is irrevocably and unavoidably a part of me. It is my curse. It is and always will be my burden to bare, tormenting me every single day until the day death mercifully finds me and ends my decades-long sentence on this shithole of a planet.

Three, my friend's dad's arm weighs what a normal arm weighs. My sexuality weighs much more than a normal sexuality. It is so heavy. It weights me down, making it difficult to function like a normal person. It's such a burden. I'm so tiered of carrying it. I am so tiered of struggling every day just to get through. I am so tiered of dragging this weight around with me everywhere and I want to just kill it or cut it off but I can't. I am so fucking tiered of struggling through each day only to "survive" and go on to struggle again each and every subsequent day. It all seems so pointless. I am so fucking tiered of it and of this GOD-FORSAKEN LIFE!!!!

I came up with that analogy weeks ago and initially thought I would post about it but had decided not to until now. I figured the analogy was kind of stupid and that it wouldn't completely make sense to anyone else. I finally decided to go ahead and post about it tonight anyway. I don't know why. Things are not good right now and I just needed to unload. It's hard to explain the things that are going on with me right now or the things that go on in my head much of the time. This post was the only way I could think of to do that so, there it is. I wish I could express these things more accurately and directly but I can't. I'm sorry. Goodnight. Peace,

Ken


Edited by BraveFalcon (02/26/14 09:31 PM)