7th-8th grade, 8th school?:
Those two grades, in my mind, I label as living hell. There is some good, and I’ll visit that, but, besides earliest neglect, deeper trauma begins. I am bullied horribly. Told I’m a faggot in the shower-room for gym class, and elsewhere. That is a deep part of what’s been lifelong trauma. It reflected back to me, the rejection I saw all around me. It was targeted hate and derision and a peak of embarrassment.
The lifelong traumatic voice in my head, telling me how my body is worthless, I’m not a sexual being, I’m weak, a scapegoat for privileged bullies. It’s kept me wary, anxious and isolated. I have experienced rage at perceived slight, real or misinterpreted/imagined, manipulation, verbal attack, derision, etc…. Exclusion is very painful, and I’ve not managed to form self reliant self-worth to manage feeling left out. I’m working on it.
I was also physically bullied and hit, pushed, and tripped, punched and excluded (picked last). Each episode fixated others that I’m a faggot. They not only meant I was marginalized, but to know that I’m worthless and useless, The hardest part, is that it’s stuck up to the present! That voice hasn’t changed much all these decades. This is a severe degradation of my life. Causing me to refuse to do things that potentially expose me to enjoyment, an excuse not to date or seek intimacy, nor fun things like swimming, or whatever I feared/fear would expose me to embarrassment. A lifetime of fear, hiding and self derision.
Now I have to mention being molested. In 7th, I was molested by a 9th grade acquaintence. I had tried to befriend him after I discovered pot. He had some and shared. At some point I was sitting in bed, and he wanted to lay down, he made his move and soon ejaculated on my back. I think there were 3 times this kind of thing occurred and some other various. But, as I grew older, I noted others labeled things like that as experimental, not molestation? I didn’t recognize it is molestation until a short term group, sharing with other male survivors, and a lot of research. I had no experiences with sex of any kind prior to what that boy was doing to me. It didn’t mean anything particular, except confusion? Why wasn’t I good enough, what was this supposed to mean? Not until I woke to my rape trauma the summer of 2016, after 39 years, did the significance of this molestation become a concern.
I’ve not processed any of the sexual trauma yet, and this is Spring 2018, it takes a lot of work to get to that point. That molestation, and later my rape sexualized me with men. The experience of fellatio was first experienced during that molestation, and then (unconfirmed memory) during my rape. I don’t recall it being done to me, I tried doing it to him. I didn’t know what the experiences did to me? We grew apart after those few times. I will note, I had some experiences with girls during my childhood/youth. I kissed a girl in 3rd grade, and I had two make out sessions when I was 14 or 15.
During that 7th grade timeframe, I was introduced to the organizagtion Big Brothers. An example of a loving couple that I only knew from my Grand Parents and an Aunt and Uncle all of whom I rarely saw. I rarely saw extended relatives. Grandma and Grandpa’s from mom or dad were special visits. That older aunt and uncle we visited the most, and very rarely my mom’s youngest sister, husband and 3 kids up in Grand Marais, Mn.
His marriage exampled the only experience of a couple behaving as one together. they made me very welcome, and they tried to expose me to culture, fishing, boating and cabin life. I learned to mow grass, garden, some carpentry and was exposed to mechanics and engineering. They liked orchestra music, movies and museums too, and we had quite a few dinners together. He liked to take me to the local A&W or Arthur Treachers restaurants. I loved them and those times.
I repeated 8th grade at a 9th school. I expanded my pot smoking and tried acid for the first time. I did fairly well there, but hid my body exposure as much as possible. I had to shower with others, but somehow at this school being name-called only happened a couple times. I don’t recall physical bullying at that school either. I skipped some school though. This was the year that I had to call my Big Brother and tell him I now had a dad (my 3rd) and we couldn’t be together anymore. I was devistated. He was the first and last stabilizing presence in my life.
9th grade was another school so I’ll say my 10th. This was again a very traumatic school. I tried to smoke pot often, I skipped school and got angry a lot. I did some bad things too. I stole money from my mom, and vandalized a bit. School was intolerable. One event at gym was the worst. We were playing flag football and I ran patterns as a receiver. I kept getting open and mentioned it to the quarterback. However, for some reason that pissed him off and out of the blue, a no warning punch to my jaw, an uppercut knocked me on my ass. Stunned I just listened to him retort I had it coming for being an idiot!
I became very withdrawn, and I had been very isolated already. Only acquaintences. By March or so I had skipped maybe 35 days. One day some school official stopped by the house and I hid while he searched the house. He didn’t find me.
That weekend I had an argument with my brother, he and my sister on the couch. My mom in her bedroom. I was so mad I wanted to be dramatic and make an assertion of my anger; a desire that I be noticed for how much pain and rage I had. They sure took notice. The dull steak knife I grabbed for the effect of drama, and threw on the floor at my brothers feet stirred all against me. It wasn’t a knife throw, just a hard plop at his feet, flat. My sister got up in my face and went to tell our mom. I retreated to my bedroom.
I was probably told to go to my room. I realized I was in trouble, and since it gave my mom power to make new rules, because of their grave reaction to my drama, I tried to be good. I went to school that Monday. The last time I would live with my mom as a kid/teen. I was 14 in early 1976, so I must have been 14 at that time, I turned 15 later that year.
That Monday in school I was called to the school office. I was told to go into the inner office, where I was met by my mom and two men. Apparently I was such a threat that two large men were needed to assure the safety of all present. I was a docile, fearful, a weak boy, and terrified of what they were about to do to me? I was taken to a place where kids/teens awaited there next destination. I was told I would be waiting for a place for drug treatment.
In about 3 weeks I was taken to a treatment wing in St. Paul, Mn. I spent about 4 weeks there. I lied about how much I used and focused on how my life was lonely. It was, but I certainly smoked a lot of pot for a young teen. At least I think I did? When the treatment was done, I was told I would go back to the same place that I waited for treatment. I was told I would end up going to some place that did evaluations. Eventually learning it was emotional and mental evaluation.
I need to stop, so if you’ve read all this, you’re getting a picture of me. I’ve written a lot, so, there’s more.