Letters

I've been trying to write down my thoughts for ages, I never found the courage to actually do it... So this is just a try, I'm not a good writer, not a good talker, not if it's about myself... There are just a few things I have to get off my chest, and it's somehow easier to adress this to the people I'm talking about, so this will be a letter diary... So far I've only written one, perhaps it will be the only one, but the plan is to write more...

I tried to write it as careful as possible, but still....

++++TRIGGER WARNING+++ could trigger those of you who experienced abuse and/or violence++++TRIGGER WARNING++++childhood trauma++++

Dear father,

It's almost 16 years since I saw you for the last time, 16 years without your terror, 16 years, half of my life... With every day more I've spent more time without you than with you... And still, you're haunting me every day... I see you in every man with a blue shirt, I hear you in every raised voice, I feel you in every nightmare... I'm telling myself I'm over it, the last half of my life has been so much better, the good overweighs the bad, the horror is over... I am happy with my life, I have people around me who love me and which I love more than my life... Oh and yeah, even if you tried to cast that out of me like exorcising a demon, I'm happily in love with a man, perhaps abusing your son wasn't the best way of curing him of a misguided sexuality....

talking about raising a son, we have a son, he's a wonderful human, he's so kind, so sensitive and fragile, scared of the world and the people in it, but he's amazing, you would hate him, cause he's like me, he's different and he's broken but yet so perfect and I would protect him with my life... It is so easy to raise a child, they are so perfect as they are, all they need is a bit of affection, a helping hand every now and then, a gentle touch, a loving word, that's all... For your children you are god and you were mine, a vicious god, a disgusting and overwhelming god... You destroyed me a billion times, you broke me in pieces, with every punch, every kick, every broken bone, every bruise... You shattered my soul with every touch and I've been a good boy, because of the little presents you left on my nightstand, I thought that's normal, I thought that's how it has to be and of course nobody talks about it cause you don't want anybody be envious of the presents you got... I knew others didn't get presents, so I thought they probably didn't behave well enough or they aren't as loved as me... The others thought I have a great father, cause of course I told them about my presents, not what I did for getting them, cause then they would do that too and would get presents, but I showed them around... And well, the bruises, the broken bones, after all I've been a boy, a very fragile boy... And people tend to see what they want to see, a little boy who's quite clumsy, who loves to ride, who loves to dance, who loves to be inside and who's just a bit quieter than others, nothing to worry about... Nobody knew how I spent my weekends, that according to my behaviour I either spent them in my room or in my cellar room... Nobody knew that I couldn't decide if liked it better to be a good boy or a bad boy, what's better, a bruised body or a bruised soul? Pest or cholera? In the end it didn't matter, that's what I started to realize as I grew up, no matter what I did, how I behaved or not behaved, how I tried to be... Normal boys climb on trees, that's sth you once told me... I tried that, and I liked it, cause I always liked trees, but my trousers got dirty and you made me decide between the belt, the branch or the crop... I prefered the crop, hurts more during the beating, but heals better...

After all those years, I honestly would like to talk to you, have a totally neutral and reasonable conversation with you... I would really like to know why you did that, how it feels to abuse your own son again and again, how it feels to be satisfied by your own son, how it feels to see your son starving himself, cause eating is the only part of his life he is able to control, how it feels when the arm of a tiny 14 year old breaks under your hand. I'd like to know if you really thought you were right. But you knew you aren't right, cause if, you wouldn't have found excuses for the doctors who took care of my bones... Of course you knew that, you've never been dumb, you've always been so proud of all your degrees and your success, so certainly not dumb... But a man has to be tough to be that succesful, right? You know what? I am a man and I am f** tough, I survived, I may be broken, but I'm not defeated and I still can be a loving parent, I still can love my man, I still can be tiny, I still can wear make up if I feel like that, I still can have long hair, nothing of that makes me be less of a man... You couldn't defeat me, you couldn't change how I am, you only made me stronger, you made me more sensible for the cruel world we're living in, you made me more understanding for people's needs, you made me be more me, not less me... And in the end you were right 'you get what you deserve' wasn't that your favourite saying before beating me up? We all get what we deserve, I got a loving family....

Your son