My dad hated me. I don't know if I reminded him of the competitive days living with his brothers or if he was jealous that his wife was giving this baby attention instead of him or if was because I was emotional, a musician, and he was a jock who excelled at track. Whatever it was, he wrote me this five years ago:
One problem that I have always felt I had with you is that we are so incredibly different. There is not one single way that we are alike. This made it difficult to be a good father to you. It seemed as though there was nothing we could do together. Our interests are so entirely different. It is really unfair that we were put together.... I deserved a son that I could relate to. How you came from my loins I have no idea. You should be at least half mine. Put instead you are none mine. You are entirely someone else than me.
I was never good enough. He beat me. My mom told him one night that if she ever came home again and I had bruises all over my body, she was going to tell his mother. He controlled everything. He said how much toilet paper we could use. He made us go in jars in the car so he wouldn't have to stop. The last time he attacked me was when we were painting the house. I was the class clown who tried to keep things light by being funny. Well, he didn't think it was funny. I ended up smashed on the couch with blood coming from my mouth. My mom used to hide me. I remember smashing myself between my bed and the wall until my mom came in and told me it was safe. By the way, my dad was our church minister.

When I was 5 or so we moved up onto my grandparents ranch. We lived in a log cabin with no utilities on about 150 acres surrounded by forest, so I was home schooled and there was no one around for miles. I don't know how it came about, but my dad's brother moved in with us for the summer. That's when hell began. My grandfather, the only hero I had in the world died. My family was so secretive that they didn't tell me he died. He just disappeared. I was young enough that I didn't understand. I was mad at my family for taking my grandfather away. In his place, here was my uncle. He would horse around with us and then complain to my parents that we were too rough with him. Then things started happenning. I remember waking up and being embarrassed that my underwear had disappeared from beneath my pajamas. I remember sneaking around the cabin trying to get underwear on before my mom found out. Then my parents left for the day. 150 acres of grass and trees. I ended up taking my clothes off and I remember laying in the grass, focusing on the wind and the trees while my uncle MB all over me. Even today, I get highly dissociative when the wind blows and the sky is just right. He must have done this more than once, but all I remember is grass and sky.

I remember another time. It was Christmas. Everybody was in the house. I remember the smell of wood and dust as he raped me in my great-grandfather's bedroom. I could hear people talking in the house. He left me in there, naked and covered with his stuff. I shook as I tried to get dressed and put together enough to make it to the bathroom at the other end of the house and through the kitchen where everybody was sitting at the table. I couldn't even think about it or it would show on my face. I had to smile and blend in so I could get into the bathroom and get cleaned up. No one could know what had just happened to me.

I spent most of my life outdoors. It was safe and free out there, away from my dad and where people wouldn't see me. But the wind and the sky kept messing with my head. I remembered the wind and the sky, the trees moving. And every time, my clothes would come off and I'd MB. Long after my uncle left, my dissociative retreats into the forest went on and on. It was like I hung onto nature and blotted out my uncle. And I forgot.

20 years later I started wondering about myself. Why did I have these compulsions? Life got difficult. I was out of work, sprained my ankle, and had to move my wife and me back in with my parents. That's where I cracked. I went through 20 years of life in 5 years. All of a sudden I wanted to pierce my ear, be gay, be a slut. I started flirting with guys, though I was way too afraid to do anything about it. It was like my world turned upside down. I started seeing images of teeth, my uncles grimace as he stood over me. I started reacting to smells--the man smell could send me running out of a restaurant or jumping out of a moving car. I hated my family all of a sudden. I started banging my head on tables and bruising any body part I could make bruise. I cut myself all over my body. My poor wife came home and it looked like I'd been drug through a razor wire fence. It was terrible.

All these memories, all the pain from 20 years came back. I wanted to die. I scared myself once, but I don't even talk about that to myself. Nobody knows about that attempt. It's been another 11 years and you know why? The pain is just as horrible, the memories just as bad, my compulsions always hanging there in the back of my mind. It has gotten better. I don't hurt every day--just when I write like this or when the wind blows just right.

Will it ever be over? Some days I wonder. And some days I give up. I write here to make them go away. I sure hope it works soon, because man does this suck. I just want to be well. I want to go back in time and knock off some people. Even if it means I can't be born, it would be worth it. Unfortunately, It did happen, I can't undo it, my dad, well you read what he has to say, and my uncle says nothing ever happened. He had two kids, a boy and a girl, that I can't think about. My uncle denies it all.

I try not to dissociate anymore, but it's hard. My heart goes out to every man who had to go through what I did. Peace.

"This search for the truth--it's not for the faint of heart."--Goren on 'Law & Order: CI'
"The former things will not be called to mind, nor will they come up into the heart."--Isaiah 65:17