As I remember things, my parents always partied. They had epic parties of 20-30 people wasted and running amok. And I was on my own, as well as most of the other kids in our apt building during those parties.
Bu I wasn't always parties, sometimes it was them wasted, or dad coming home late and mom pissed, money all spent, smelling like some other woman. Big screaming physical fights, dishes and furniture flying.
I had an older teen I thought was so cool. He was 15 or something, and I was 8. I would go to his apt or he would come to ours during parties at first. He was teaching me how to grow up and be a man. He had hair in places I didn't. He had fluids come out of his penis that I didn't. He was a man, and my dad was too busy drinking, fighting my mother, or beating the crap out of me for no good reason to worry about teaching me on being a man. So I found my own role model.
So it started. Sadly I was oh so very willing and amazed at how I would grow up like him some day. At first it was the drunk parties, then I ran to his apt when things went crazy at my house. We serviced each other. I thought I was cool. I thought he was god like.
This lasted about 6 months I think. His parents moved. I was heartbroken. Not only did I lose my mentor, but I lost my place to run for escape.
The mental sickness was really deep. I associated my molester with what I thought was good. I also identified him as my savior from getting my little ass beat and screamed at.
I got older and felt shame at what happened. I knew I liked it and missed him so there was conflict in my soul. I wondered if I was gay? Not really. I discovered vagina later on and quickly bonded with it. I noticed I was just a slut. Never could I feel actually loved. I never felt worthy really. I started drugs and alcohol early in life. I was blackout drunk on weekends at 15. I started living any lie I could stuff my soul into.
I never figured anything out about my CSA until this year. I always remembered I missed him. I liked it and felt safe. I kept my mind locked in at 8 years old in that regard.
So now, 45 years later I see. I was a very vulnerable kid. I was used. I responded to a twisted form of attention as it was love. I never dealt well with love ever after. I have learned much in my AA recovery and become functional and pretty much sane, in all but one area.
Now after lurking here a while and sharing a while.... Reading the hard learned lessons of others... I think I am starting to get it.
So that is my not so dramatic story. But it is mine. I am thankful to all of you that shared over time.
I feel optimistic on getting over this. It is not a dirty little secret. It is something bad that happened to an innocent child.
I feel more like I do now than I did when I got here.