More memories that I felt I needed to get out in the open.

I am posting here because it is in regard to adult abuse and because this particular forum is where I feel most comfortable talking about these shameful things.

I do not know why I still blame myself. I was put into a situation where I had no choice yet I still feel as if I should have, or could have done something to prevent it. At 20 even though I was emotionally young for my age in a lot of ways, I had been pre-disposed to a lot of ugly and hurtful things and that made me older than my years. A grown man, I should have been able to fight for myself but instead I convinced myself that I deserved all that was happening. It was just easier to get through it thinking I deserved it than to fight it. The same applied to me as a child.

I am so very ashamed of that.

At one point very early in my time served I had filed a complaint with the powers that be; I had confided in and asked for help from a few staff members who I thought could force some action. Staff therapist, staff MD and clergy. Nothing ever came of it. In fact, I remember being told to just keep my head down and walk the line.

One of the staff spoke to me about statistics with regard to the type of person most likely to be assaulted in prison i.e., smaller, weaker, meeker white guys. Unfortunately that was me. He gave me the impression that I was simply a statistic and nothing more and that made it ok. You are kidding me right? I remember thinking “what the hell is wrong with these people?” They turn the other way and pretend like nothing is happening. Of course, isn’t that exactly what I did growing up? Pretend like nothing was happening.

I knew the routine well but this was different. This was not my father, these were strangers who made no excuses, they meant to do me harm.

I was told first and foremost; do not become familiar or friendly/personal with anyone. Do not trust anyone. Keep to yourself; keep your personal opinions to yourself. Stick to your own race but do not be a racist. Maintain a manly appearance. Do not ever appear feminine in speech or actions. The list goes on and on.

Sometime after I filed the complaint, the person whom I filed against found out. Needles to say, I am lucky to be alive. On one particular evening being led back to the block I flew into a fit of panic and rage, I refused to go back into the cell with that animal. The guard on point at the time did not take well to my acting up. Him and another staff came after me and beat me badly with their clubs. So badly in fact I was blinded in one eye among other things including the loss of my short-term memory, specifically concerning that event.

I got the message loud and clear, I never approached anyone with a complaint again.

After being released from the facility hospital I found out, on route, that I was being transferred. I suppose someone higher up decided that I needed to be reminded again about the rules and “my place” in the system. They assigned me to a new cell along with a known rapist. I was trying to figure out how I could kill myself before having to endure being locked up with this person. I thought I would much rather die than go through this anymore. They left me there with him and I broke into pieces. I begged him to go easy on me. Told him I would do whatever he wished if he would not hurt me. I got on my knees and I cried at his feet. Everything that made me a man was gone and I did not care.

He never touched me. He never hurt me, he never threatened me, never assaulted me in any way. I did not become friends with him but he left me alone completely aside from the occasional nod of acknowledgement or disagreement. I think in a way he felt something for me, but I will never know what or why.

I was never the type to seek out protection for favors. I felt bad enough about my life and could not imagine becoming that person, turned-out, pimped-out. So I held fast to whatever morals and beliefs I had, I stayed honest even when my honesty got me beaten and raped. If and when I gave my word, I kept my word even when it meant being humiliated or psychologically tortured. I kept to myself, read a lot and did my best to avoid trouble, although trouble seemed to come my way almost every day. I supposed there is something to be said about being that statistic. Even when I was sleep deprived, food deprived and at the very end of my rope, I still held onto the truth. I still do.