Thank you so much to all who are posting here. Neverquit, Napoleon, and well-intended for posting originally... this stuff is not easy , it's really tough to see clearly when so many emotions are involved.
One thing I like to say is, the evidence is in me. To this day, My body is a crime scene. Shit happened that left its mark. If nothing happened, there would be no wake of stuff. When the denying and blaming messages my parents told me during my confrontation with them EXACTLY matches with the messages I told myself (that I wrote about here:http://malesurvivor.org/board/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=356404#Post356404
and the smile and laugh my dad did while I was telling him I remembered him raping me, and him covering his mouth with his hand as he's smiling... exactly matches my image of the sinister clown hiding behind a happy smile....
what doubt can be left when everything has lined up.
A happy childhood does not leave bloody stains. All the evidence I need is in my behaviors, my body sensations, my memories (visual, sense, flashbacks), my reactions, my PTSD, my coping patterns, my fetishes, and the obvious BLAME that my parents have tried to put on me, with my mom even calling me a pedophile twice.
I mean, when I want to deny it because it's so difficult to comprehend how parents could DO THAT, because I love my parents, because I don't want to loose my parents, etc etc.. when I go to that place of self-blame, I only need to say hey... are any of these things indicative of a healthy childhood? did my parents respond like loving parents? do i behave like a survivor or do i behave like the 'bad boy' with flawless parents that my parents want me to believe?
My parents are middle-class highly smart highly educated people. My mom is a physicist who holds patents on liquid crystal displays and my dad was an aerospace engineer. Their 'picture perfect' family albums and quiet but good family image has always been something they put a lot of polish on. But it is the polish that hides the deeper darker secret of what went on in that basement, something that has left its stain on me 25 years after the bloody deeds were perpetrated on me.
The facade of the good suburban family is what my predators feed on. They invent props to displace blame and responsibility, while warping the self-esteem and image of their son to the point where I believed all that... just to survive.
It is not only my story, it's the story of countless others who suffer in silence in 'well-to-do' neighbourhoods filled with happy oblivious neighbours thinking 'that-sort-of-thing-can't-happen-here' thoughts. Picture-perfect.
And those that threaten the brittle facade are called drug addicts, deviants, and low-lifes who couldn't get their lives together and decided to join a club crusade to blame their parents for their problems. They are called unreliable flakes with false memories, dangerous psychotics who invent stories to terrorize innocent parents. In a bizarre attempt to twist time and space, they are called all the things that their parents in fact were. They are made out to be malevolent when they were only children at the time of their abuse.
I know my childhood basement very well. The rope ladder, the swings, the places where I was tied and raped. Not all the details are present for me. How could they be, when I shut my eyes to try so hard to make it go away. Thinking it was just me, so full of denial just so I could survive because, I had to live with my mother and father until I was 18. No sheriff came to rescue me. No one would have believed or thought it was happening there. Years later, with all my self work and confidence, some I've told still deny it, still laugh and call me names. They alternate between denying it ever happened and telling me to get over it. How amusing, considering I am sitting right in the middle of it, and they are dancing around like children, frightened by what they see in the mirror I show them.
This will never go away until people acknowledge the dark side of human nature, and that anyone, ANYONE is capable of such terrible crimes. Myself included.
But there is another truth, beyond the darkness, that shines brightly and gives me hope. It is the truth of happiness, of opportunity, and of being given a chance that all children deserve. I deserve it too. And I believe that God is giving me that chance now.