at least some of it that is... I'm sorry if I have picked the wrong forum again, but I still like the idea of anyone being able to say anything they would like, no matter what, in this thread. My skin is thicker than you could ever imagine. You can't hurt me.
I have decided that since I have really been needing to get this stuff off of my chest I might as well post up "my story." I have tried to tell it to therapists in the past ((ha! big mistake) - sorry to the therapists here), I have tried to explain things to my wife (she just kind of gives a blank look and often suddenly has things to do/places to go/people to see and the conversation abruptly ends, not that she isn't "supportive" I think she just really doesn't know what to do with the "damaged goods"), and I have tried discussing issues with my mother (whoa, mistake on one hand, somewhat therapeutic on the other). I figure I'll be able to tell much of it here without interruption, well, at least I won't know you're not reading it anymore
. I will at some point in another thread perhaps beg you all to answer some questions for me that I have never been able to find the answers to in spite of years of reading and trying. Please bear with me. If I cross a line, offend or upset anyone, I am sorry. That is definitely not my intent. I just need to vent 'cause I'm not doing so well right now. My life is falling apart. Enough... Here goes... I'm gonna try this. I don't know how much I'll actually get out but here goes... Stream of consciousness.
I was born to an unwed teenage mother who eventually "married" my father. There is no actual record of this marriage or the subsequent divorce that anyone can find and mom can't remember the date of the marriage or the divorce. She did however marry my father when I was about 7 years old, with much silent protest by yours truly (by staunchly refusing to "bear" the rings to the altar). That did not stop the wedding as my father came to the back of the church and procured the rings from me. But that is not my earliest childhood memory.
The earliest memory would be from just after my third birthday when I was held by my left leg out of the driver's window of my father's car while he was speeding down the street with my mother on the hood of the car. See, my parents didn't always see eye to eye on some things. My mother had decided to leave my father "for good this time" and moved back in with her parents. "Dad" decided to win her back, although his idea of winning wasn't what my mother had in mind. He decided that physically winning her was the way to go and while discussing her return on the front lawn of my grandparent's house he grabbed her by the hair, pulled her to the ground and started dragging her to his car. My grandfather saw this and a small battle ensued in which my grandfather began strangling my father. My grandmother, apparently not wanting her husband to live in jail for murder, joined the fray and gouged my grandfather's eyes until he released his grip on my father's neck, which actually took quite a bit of bleeding from my grandfather's eyes to accomplish. While the arguing was occurring amongst the non-"Dad" involved parties and discussion of whether my grandfather required medical attention for a ruptured globe, my father regained his wits, grabbed me and ran to his car, while yelling to my mother that if she didn't "come back to him" I would die. That's where my hazy memory ends and the vivid memory begins. I end up hanging out of the car window by a leg seeing parked cars whizzing by and then seeing mom jumping on the hood of the car. Then the parked cars eventually turn into moving vehicles on the highway. Grandfather gives chase in another vehicle and eventually I am dropped into the road, mom hangs on and I'm picked up by granddad just after slamming on the brakes to avoid running over me. I was always skeptical about the memories being real and not just "memories" from hearing some story/stories told until mom informed me in my late teen years that no one ever told that story or talked about it at all except for me and I was spot on with what had happened. Typical days, until...
Mom was eventually successful in leaving my father. She went back to work at a good job and I was left at my "baby sitter" grandparents house. So things should be good. I'm left with my maternal grandparents who have protected me and my mother even to the loss of an eye. So, very, very early every morning, mom and I would walk from our apartment building, across the highway and up to my grandparents house where I would spend the day. It began with me being told to climb in the bed between my grandparents and go back to sleep. But sleep wasn't always possible. My grandmother certainly never seemed to have trouble sleeping, but I always kept poor granddad awake. I guess being too wiggly or something just wouldn't allow him to fall back asleep so he would just want to talk, and share and compare... the size of my "tom turkey" to his; the stiffness of my "tom turkey" to his; how my "tom turkey" felt compared to his... how his "tom turkey" tasted compared to mine... how his "tom turkey" felt in my "bottom"... and on and on. Typical days, until...
Dad finds Jesus and becomes a new man while traveling in Florida. He comes back to mom changed and all is very good until... they get married. I learned the words "Bastard" and "Illegitimate" from the pastor and found out that I was still both (Yahoo!) in spite of my parents now being hitched.
So, Mom stopped working and we moved into a house with "Dad" and I no longer went to my "baby sitter" grandparents' house during the day. Granddad wasn't going to exchange touches with me anymore and he wouldn't stick his "tom turkey" near me or in me anymore either. That's good. I always hated it. It made me feel dirty and sometimes sticky. Hated it. I always wondered if grandma knew what was happening next to her. Dad got a job working where my grandfather worked (he was a changed man and everyone got along now so granddad fixed him up with a great recommendation). Everything was great until...
Dad started slipping back into his "old" ways and there were lots of them. I used to think that Dad was just screwed in the head from some of the horrendous military forays he had and the drugs he got hooked on during those times, but I have since learned that he used to disembowel live squirrels and string them outside of his front door writhing and ring the door bell so his mother would open the door to a twitching, bleeding, shrieking rodent with its guts hanging out. He started that in his early childhood and continued that type of behavior for as long as I knew him. He was never offered help as a child, not that I think much existed then and when offered help as an adult he just politely refused.
So Dad is now working kind of "for" granddad and since granddad isn't able to poke me himself, Dad took over that job as well. It didn't start with little "touches" like it had with granddad. Instead it just started with "I'm going to stick this in your (insert orifice here)". So many episodes of forced fellatio that I couldn't count them. I used to try. They never lasted very long. So many episodes of anal penetration that I didn't even start counting them. If I resisted at all, in any way, something broke... my arm, my leg, my finger, a section of my skull... something always broke. I seemed to fall a lot as a child. (I find my wife's regular comments about my "incredible kinesthetic awareness, proprioception, balance and complete inability to trip, fall, slip, be pushed off a log, etc" very amusing considering how many "accidents" I had growing up. And she's right... I have no memory of ever falling down, slipping, etc. You can't even surprise me and push me down. I always catch myself. I learned to ride a bike in about thirty minutes, and a unicycle in about an hour when I was somewhere before 7 years old. Good balance. Never fell.).
Dad's sexual exploits and beatings continued with me until my sister (who was born about 9 months after the wedding) turned about 4. Then dad started having both of us... for himself physically and visually. He would force my sister to perform oral sex on him while he would perform oral sex on me while forcing me to perform oral sex on my sister. Then the next time we would all have to switch positions. Then eventually he started forcing my sister to attempt to have intercourse with me. It was difficult because of my very frequent inability to have an erection. But that always was followed by a beating or a breaking of something. It became such a terror to not have an erection that I began having erections from fear and not arousal (which is quite contrary to the physiologic manner in which an erection occurs through the parasympathetic nervous system - which is your "rest and digest", not your "fight or flight" sympathetic nervous system). I remember having an erection when the shop teacher was yelling at me for something or other. That was embarrassing as it was pretty obvious. At any rate, fear erections were just fine with good old dad as he could scare me into readiness for what ever he wanted me to do or to do to me or make my sister do to me or me to her. It was then quite difficult to have intercourse with my sister as she was just so small. But it was do it or die. I often chose the die. More often than not at first. But he would never actually kill me. He would just beat me until I was unconscious and then beat me again when I woke up. Then he would rape my sister. At first I remember thinking, "probably better that he does it 'cause mine's so much bigger" but then I realized that every time he would rape her he would beat her too. If she and I did what he said she wouldn't get beaten. If I did what he said, she wouldn't get beaten. Then one day she told me, "Yours hurts more down there but you don't hit me. Will you please just do what Daddy says?" F*ck.
When I was around 15 years old, I stopped feeling physical pain as pain. It was just a sensation that told me something on me had broken. Short of a break, I didn't feel anything at all. Nothing. Well, almost nothing. The only physical sensation that I really had was that of orgasm and that was dirty... well, depending on who it was with that is.
When I was in the 5th grade (I was 9-10 years old), I began having "consensual" intercourse with anyone around my age who wanted to. I never forced myself on anyone and rarely brought it up myself. It began with a small kiss by a girl who then showed me her, albeit tiny, breasts and wanted to see my penis. We kissed and "fondled" each other several times over the next few days. There were days she would ask me to touch her vagina and I would say, "No." She would always reply, "Ok, maybe tomorrow?" What? She didn't get mad? She didn't hit me? Then there were days that she would say, "I want to do XYZ with you but I don't have time right now. Can we meet tonight?" She was polite. She always wanted me to be comfortable, at least that's what I thought. She always respected what I wanted. I always respected what she wanted. She tried to get me to pick what we would do a few times and when I would refuse she would say, "It's alright if you don't want to do anything at all. We can just talk if you want." She confused the hell out of me. Then a few weeks after our first fondling she asked if I wanted to have sex with her. I wasn't exactly sure what she meant and honestly I don't think she did either at the time, but she explained it to me as "you put your penis into my vagina" and I thought, "Hell, I know how to do that. It can't be much different that what granddad used to do to my butt and what dad does to it now" and asked if she was really sure that is something she wanted to do. She said, "Yes," so we did. Several times actually over the course of several weeks and into several months. And to this day, I have never felt violated by this girl in any way. Then word got around to other girls that I had "done it" with this girl (her blabbing, not mine) and that I might be willing to do it with them also. It never seemed "dirty" with these girls. I felt like I was doing them a service that I didn't mind doing and they were genuinely interested in me for some reason. It felt good, both physically and emotionally. It never hurt me and brought me something that to this day I'm not sure what it was. I knew it was wrong and that's why we always had to sneak around and hide to do it. I enjoyed it, until...
My male cousin decided that he wanted a go at it as well when I was about 13. He asked me to perform oral sex on him and to penetrate his anus. Yep, you read that correctly. At first I said, "No" but eventually the fear instilled by him saying "I'm going to tell your dad everything you've done and tell him you forced me to do it too, unless you do what I say, then I'll always keep it secret" overcame me and I did as he asked. Everything he asked. That almost made me vomit. Almost. I hated every second of it. Then he told me I was gay. Very confused I asked, "what does that make you?" I'll never forget his response. "A victim of your gayness." But he was true to his word and never told anyone that I know of what happened.
I think that "experience" is what then fueled my twisted desire to have sex with as many girls as I could. As many as would allow me to. I would never force anything but I was definitely going to put a lot of female notches on my belt. I had to prove I wasn't gay. That and I enjoyed anything with girls. Simple kissing. Holding hands. Intercourse. Whatever. It was all good. As long as I wasn't forcing it on anyone else.
So after many years of fatherly beatings and abusings, mom packed us up and sneaked us out, "leaving him for good this time." We went underground to hide from my truly psychotic father. There had been several attempts to kill me and my mother, but never my sister for some reason. While in hiding with several of my mother's friends and acquaintances we experienced several "family rapes" where we all got to enjoy being "gang banged" by multiple men at the same time. All three of us. Tall, skinny guy gets off of my mother, who he had just raped while she was being held down by another guy, walks over to me, puts a gun to my head and says, pointing at my mother, "Go suck her titties, boy. And take off your clothes first. I wanna see your little dick get hard." I loved seeing breasts. They were something I had only seen and touched on the girls I was having sex with and women in magazines. Dad didn't have them. Grandpa didn't have them. My cousin didn't have them. There were no wrong feelings in regards to breasts. I liked them. At first I was excited but then I realized who he was talking about. Mom? I looked at her and she motioned me over and said, "just close your eyes and do what he says." Hell, I was used to leaving my eyes open and doing what some jackass said, so might as well keep us alive and I did everything they told me to do, including "see that white stuff dripping out of her? That's mine. Lick it until it's all gone.... Now stick your dick in her, boy... keep going... keep going... lady, he better cum or I'll kill all three of you..." "Cum son, cum..." "Inside her, boy. Don't you pull it out..." "Do it inside me, son. Do exactly as he says..." "Good boy. That's what I was talking about... now when it starts dripping out, lick it until it's all gone... don't let any of it hit the floor..." "Now let that man f*** you in the ass, boy..." "Can you lick it out your own ass, boy?... No?... Have that little girl do it for you... and have your mom lick it out, too..." "Just do as he says, son. It'll be alright." "How'd you like getting your ass licked, boy? I like it, come lick my ass, boy... right on the hole..." That was one of the physically less painful nights "underground." None of us got beaten that night 'cause we'd all been good and "done what we were told."
It was somewhat of a relief to get out of the "underground" when mom began the actual divorce proceedings. Things were relatively calm for awhile. We moved back into my grandparents house but I wasn't sleeping in the bed with grandpa in the mornings anymore. I was sleeping on the couch in the living room and he never did anything again. Grandma was another story though... She started talking about my "tom turkey" a lot and how I used to talk about granddad's "tom turkey" when I was little. Then she started grabbing at it, you know, just jokingly... right... I would laugh, jump out of the way and shrug it off as best I could. Then there was the day I was sitting at the kitchen table across from her. She brought up the subject of sex and I thought, "Sh*t, I wish she would just get it over with and f*ck me or whatever it is, if that's what she wants. I can't take this game sh*t anymore. Talking about my "tom turkey" all the time, trying to grab my crotch... I can't take it anymore." That's when I realized that she knew exactly what had been happening to me all those mornings in her bed. She wasn't asleep. She knew. She didn't protect me. She protected my father more than she had protected me and he wasn't even married to her daughter at that point. And I got angry at her. That was the first time I remember being angry about any of it. I had felt hurt, betrayed, gross, dirty, wrong, everything except angry. Then I was angry at everyone. Everyone. Next door neighbor asked where my father was... "I like him... He's so nice... Haven't seen him around lately. Where is he?" My response? "F*ck off." Angry.
But not at mom. She had kept me alive. Us alive. She was the only person I thought I could trust. I told her some of the things that "Dad" had done to me. She knew. Still wasn't angry at her. She really, even now as an adult thinking back, couldn't have done anything more with that problem. Then she confided in me that granddad wasn't really her father. He had adopted her when he married grandma, who was her real mother. From the time that she was 5 years old until she was 10 years old her adopted father would fondle her in the front seat of the car on the way to church every sunday and that grandma knew about it because she was right there in the seat next to her. But grandma didn't stop it. I told her that I knew grandma wouldn't stop it because she hadn't stopped it with me either. Then I realized that mom, who I thought had done such a good job of protecting me, had been taking me to her abuser's bed and plopping me right next to him... for years... Goddammit. Son of a f*cking bitch. Oo... that's me. I AM a son of a f*cking bitch. She started this whole f*cking mess. F*ck. Then I got angry with mom. And I started having sex with girls because I knew she wouldn't like it if she knew, not just because I wanted to. She never did. And still doesn't. I had sex with a girl on my grandmother's bed - right where my little "tom turkey" was the subject of so much. I had sex with a girl in every seat of my mother's car. And in her bed. And on her couch. And I masturbated on her pillow. I was angry. Then I started masturbating every day, whether I was going to have sex with a girl or not. Sometimes several times a day. Sometimes just once. Always felt guilty about the jerking off. Not so much about touching girls' breasts or beyond. Sometimes a little guilty but rarely. And never guilty for having forced anything on a girl 'cause I never did. She said, "No," everything stopped. If she said, "Start up again, but just not what that...," fine. Whatever they wanted.
After the divorce went through, Dad was given visitation rights every weekend. Friday 6pm until Saturday 6pm. 24 hours of pure hell. Mom told me that I was old enough now that I could protect my sister from my father. She didn't seem worried at all about me protecting myself from my father. I guess she figured my penis was larger than his so I could handle myself. It certainly wasn't because I was otherwise physically larger than him. He had me by several inches (and still does by about 3) and he was a manual laborer. He was strong as an ox. But her only concern seemed to be my sister. Years later I learned that truly was her only concern. I had gotten angry at her for trying to protect us as best she could and failing. She no longer was quite as concerned about me as she had been. But she did charge me with protecting my sister. I failed. Miserably. In both protecting her and protecting myself. Nothing different with him. Same old, same old. Until...
I saw him having sex with his best friend's wife. When he noticed me and saw that I knew what was happening he called me over and it became my "turn". At first she resisted with a slight chuckle, like he was kidding or something. After my father made me take my pants off, she looked down at my penis and said something to the effect of, "Well he certainly got his share and more. I think I'd like to try some if you really don't mind..." To which my father replied, "I can watch, right?" "You can coach, too, if you want." "No let's see how he does on his own..." She jerked back a bit as she pulled me inside her with her legs and said, "Oh, my God. Wow. That's nice." That was different than most of the other girls who said, "Ouch. That hurts. It's too big." I vividly remember whispering in her ear, "Am I supposed to cum?" and her reply of, "only after I do. Give me a few more seconds. Oh, my God." To which I said, "you tell me when I'm supposed to and where." "Either right where it is or in my mouth. Your choice." Wait... She was giving me power? She was letting me chose? "What if I chose not to?" "I think your Dad won't like that. Do it anytime you want now. I'm done." "Where?" "Wherever you want." Really? Seriously? Women are awesome. They give me choice and power. Girls are awesome. They give me choice and power. Just as I was thinking this may actually be okay for me to do, Dad asked her if she liked it. She said, "Oh, God, yes." "GET OFF MY WOMAN YOU LITTLE F*CKER!" At first I thought it was my Dad's friend walking in on us. Oh, sh*t. Then I felt the familiar fist on the side of my head, then on my jaw, then an eye. It was just Dad. Good thing. He wasn't going to kill me, but I'm pretty sure his friend would have. She started crying, begging my father to stop hitting me. He said, "he never came did he?" "No," I said. "Then he wouldn't have answered 'Oh, God, yes' if I asked him if he liked f*cking you would he? What the f*ck do you care if I beat the little bastard?" Just as I was thinking, "I think I was liking it," she made the fatal (not literally fatal) error... "Stop it! You're just jealous because his d*ck's bigger and you haven't made me cum and he did! Easily!" Oh, sh*t. Dislocated shoulder, torn rotator cuff, several broken ribs, one missing tooth, and a "slightly" depressed skull fracture. I was lucky to be alive after falling 30 feet out of a tree. He told me not to climb it. I should have listened.
So visitation rights continue for several years. This all continues until I'm now only 3 inches shorter than dad and no longer feel physical pain. I've gotten to the point of no longer caring about my life or anyone else's life. I'm supposed to strip naked for a few of my father's "lady friends," one of who is his new wife. I said, "No," and just took the beating. His wife came in to my bedroom that night to apologize for his behavior. She gave me a kiss on the forehead. Then a kiss on my nose. She ran her fingers through my hair and kissed the top of my head. Then my lips. Then she said softly, "I'll make it all better. I'll kiss it all gone." Then she's rubbing my penis with one hand and unbuttoning her shirt with the other. "Get back at your dad and f*ck me. If you find me attractive that is. If not, it's ok, you can say no." Again with this power and choice thing from a woman. What the hell? I remember vividly thinking, "she thinks this will get back at him... she is beautiful... Wow, look at her breasts.... she wants me to... but she's letting me choose." We had sex and I felt guilty for the first time after having sex with a woman. I mean real guilt and it was because of it being his wife. That was the only reason. That next morning he asked me if I like the sex with her. I got so scared. I thought he was going to pound me. I didn't answer him at all. I just stood there. Then he asked me, "Did you cum?" She said, "We both did." I knew it was coming... that terrible beating. But he just said, "See, you liked it. Just like when you cum for me. You like that, too." He stood up, grabbed me, and started to grab at my pants.
If you count the number of street fights I have been in and the average number of glasses of milk that an American drinks in their life, the fights would out number the milk. I had an amateur boxing record of 115 wins, 0 losses and 1 draw. I was an undefeated championship wrestler through college who was known for overaggressiveness and extremely painful submissions. I was angry. I was angry and no longer cared. I have never beaten anyone as long and as hard as I beat my father that morning. I said to myself, "I'm going to kill him today," but then for a few split seconds I thought, "I want to go to college. I want a friend. I want a mother. I want to be... anything but him. God... anything but him," and I stopped, walked out with my sister literally under my arm, got in his car and drove away. I drove her to my 5th grade teacher's house (another story for another time but he tried so hard to help me) and dropped her off. I have only seen my father one time since. That was during Christmas break of my junior year of college. I had that year just won a major boxing tournament and my uncle (father's sister's husband) who's house the family had gathered at asked me very kindly to just stay away from my father and assured me that he would stay away as he had become afraid of me. He then said, "If he comes anywhere near you, yell and I'll kick his ass. I may even kill him. I don't mind going to jail. I just don't want you anywhere near one."
I am still trying to cope with several issues that have plagued me since I was young. I feel on one hand helpless because I don't know what all of the issues are and have so much trouble controlling the ones I know about but on the other hand I just feel like an ass. I have gone from the "it was all my fault" to the "I must have chosen to be this way" to the "I want to die right now" to the "I care for no one" to the "sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex... with any woman who will" to the "who the f*ck is this guy saying hi to me? Who the f*ck does he think he is?" to the "f*ck life" to everything in between.
I am still very angry. I have suppressed it with varying degrees of success for years but it is starting to eat me raw. My wife has real issues with my anger. I have never hit her or my children. I have spanked their little butts from time to time, but I have been laughed at with a "Dad... seriously? If you're going to spank me there should at least be some sound when your hand hits my butt."
When I met my wife and eventually married her, she knew nothing of my past. Nothing. I am extremely good at hiding when I need to. She knew nothing of my anger, outside of a boxing ring or wrestling mat at least. She knew nothing of the girls I had slept with, she knew nothing of my father, my grandfather, my mother, 30+ year old women when I was 10 to 16/17 years old. She knew nothing of me masturbating. She knew nothing of my love of nude women. Looking at them live, in pictures, it didn't matter. I take it back. She did know, because she asked me if I was a virgin and I didn't want to lie, that I had sex in the 5th grade with a girl. That's all she knew but she said that didn't count because I was too young to know what I was doing. Yeah, right.
I recently confessed all of the sexual activities I had had in my past to her as much as I could remember. Everything that I had done. Everything, at least with non-related people that is. I also shared with her some of my "twisted" sexual desires (nothing dangerous or anything like that - mostly simple things like wake me up one morning for sex). She laughed and said, "Certainly I can take care of those. I feel so close to you right now. Thank you." She started to fulfill those "desires" for a few days, but then suddenly stopped. We don't really have sex much anymore. She never did fulfill the two "most wanted" requests which I thought were the simplest and least "twisted" of them all (one really was waking me up in the morning for sex).
She still doesn't know what has happened to me from childhood. I have tried to tell her several times but she gets glassy eyed (not teary eyed), and things pop up for her to suddenly take care of. She always says, "I hate this but I have to... I really want to listen to you but... " Sometimes I think she doesn't believe what happened. She has spoken to my mother several times about things and mom has always told her, "It is far worse than he will ever tell you. Whatever he says is sugar coated. It is not the entire truth." And she's right. Even after typing all of this, I realized this is nothing. I haven't scratched the surface and I have toned it down way more than I had intended. I really intended to just blurt out everything without censure. Sorry I didn't do that.
We aren't speaking much currently. I don't know why. I'm having trouble looking her in the eye. I just don't feel comfortable with it for some reason. When we do speak, a small fight starts, I ask to be left alone, she takes a few more verbal jabs at me and then a big fight starts. I then get blamed for the entire fight and the escalation. I know I have to have something to do with it but sheesh. I thought I asked for it to stop. Then out comes something I did 6 or 12 or 14 years ago (we've been married about 20) and the jabs start at me again.
I think I know what it is, although she denies it is the reason. Several years ago I cheated on her with two women. I had my reasons at the time. I just felt horrible inside. I felt horrible at home. Constant fights. I couldn't do anything right. If I went to mow the grass I was ignoring her. If I wanted to do something with her I should be mowing the grass. We rarely had sex because she "didn't feel close to me" anymore. I started to get angry at her. Then along come these two women who didn't judge me. They enjoyed my company. Next thing I know, I'm alone with one and we start kissing and it went a little from there. It progressed with her to the point of interrupted intercourse when I thought, "What the hell am I doing?" and stopped it. Then the opportunity arose with the second woman and I had already "f*cked up my marriage and everything" with the first girl that I thought "What the hell..." Then I thought, "What the hell am I doing?" and again interrupted intercourse. I confessed this all to my wife at the same time that I confessed everything else sexual that I had done. I thought by framing these cheats with some background information about my being so screwed up it would help her understand. I took some lumps and then she said, "I forgive you." Wonderful relationship emotionally and physically for a very brief time after that... She even wanted to surf some porn together as she had always wanted to but thought she would corrupt me by asking. Then she started getting upset with me. She denies it was the cheating. She says she's way over that. It's just everything else about me that is bothering her. I think it is the anger. I feel angry and I tell her it's safe for her and the kids physically and she says she knows it. She beat the living crap out of me with a broom when we were first married because I asked her if she was sure she loved me (yeah she's got some issues too ha ha). I just took my lumps. I've wanted to punch her a few times but I never would. I don't want to be my father.
My life is just falling apart and I'm sure it is my fault. I just don't know how to stop it. I thought I had hit rock bottom already, but I realize there's a long way left for me to fall. And I realize that I'm the one who initially jumped.
Holy shmoly. It's 5:45am. I've been typing this for a few hours. Looking at it, it really is just a small smattering of my "experiences" for a lack of a better word. I have tried to, I think subconsciously, not tell too much and tell too much detail. Falling back into the shell even while trying to let it out. Fail! Anyway I'm sorry if I have crossed any lines, upset anyone, offended anyone. Maybe sometime if it's alright I could unload more?
So for anyone who has gotten this far, first off - amazing you seriously read all this?... second, thanks... third, please, comment away. Psychoanalyze. Bring it on. Anything is fair game, except my spelling, capitalization or punctuation. Those are off limits. Not really, but please don't read anything into my not capitalizing mom or capitalizing dad etc. It was just the middle of the night and I'm being lazy. Remember YOU CAN'T HURT ME. Bring it on.