New Rewrite of My Story

Last year, I posted my story, telling of the sexual abuse I suffered when I was a little boy. I was asked to write a shorter version of the story to read out loud to some therapists. This draft still tells the truth, but goes into more detail of my emotions, as well as the effects of the abuse. It leaves out other details which are in last year's post. This is what I read out loud to the therapists this Monday:

I believe it’s important for me to tell my story. I hope that by sharing it today and posting it on various websites as I have that it will help other male survivors of childhood sexual abuse to speak out and get help. Also, I hope by getting more men to speak out, we can help others to see that sexual abuse of males is a real thing and something that needs to be taken as seriously as sexual abuse of females. We need just as much understanding and support.

Before the sexual abuse, I dreamed of what adulthood would be like, being married and having kids, having a job and coming home to a loving wife. Those thoughts disappeared when it happened.

I’ve never been married, never had a love life, though I’ve always wanted one. I’ve never even been on a date. I’ve always loved one woman or another from afar. I could never imagine anybody ever wanting to have anything to do with me. I’ve never been able to be intimate with anybody in any way, or have a meaningful connection with anyone. All of my interactions have been at a superficial level. My social ineptitude and inability to communicate with the women I liked or loved made me hate myself more.

In the spring of 1969, I was sexually abused by a urologist in Waukegan, Illinois. This abuse included genital torture. The torture happened several times. I turned eight years old during this time. He knew how to make things hurt, as he was an expert in the male reproductive system. I looked in his eyes while he was doing it and he grinned at me. It helped me understand why he was doing it. He enjoyed it. I was horrified.

My viewpoint changed. I no longer saw people as good, but evil. I didn’t feel like I could trust anyone anymore. I was right about that a lot of the time, too, as people I had thought of as friends turned out not to be friends, but people who just wanted to use me. I trusted the wrong people for many years. While I was a boy, I thought my parents wanted to get rid of me. The world was much darker and dangerous. It was scary now. There was risk of being hurt everywhere, and no one to protect me.

I’ve often wondered if the medical stuff I went through, along with the torture, had anything to do with why my body is the way it is. It’s very humiliating and embarrassing. I’ve been impotent for over twenty years. My genitals seem to be mutilated by the torture. I’m ashamed of them, for the way they look, and for being so vulnerable and sensitive. I wish I could get some answers about that, but the doctors don’t take me seriously.

I can’t stand to be examined by male doctors. I try to see female doctors. When you’re a man asking a female doctor about problems with your genitals, they get suspicious and think you’re a pervert of some sort. They don’t want to examine you. This is so wrong and unfair. I haven’t had a thorough physical exam for many years.

I didn’t tell anyone what happened because I thought my parents would punish me for talking about that part of my body. That was against the rules. Also, it was a very embarrassing and humiliating experience, as well as horrifying and painful, so how could I talk about it?

I was taught that boys weren’t supposed to complain, to whine, or cry about anything. It wasn’t about being seen as less of a man, as some people claim: it’s just what we were taught: boys aren’t supposed to cry. Our teachers punished boys for crying, to teach us to be quiet and hold it in. If a girl cried about something, she would be comforted. If a boy cried, he got spanked or had to stand in the corner. They drilled it into our heads to keep silent and stop our tears from coming.

As time went on, it was just too embarrassing to talk about and I had no one to tell. Girls had places they could go to talk about sensitive topics, such as school nurses and student counselors, but boys did not. We weren’t supposed to go to anyone about any personal problems. Over the years, I’ve found that most people don’t take men’s emotions or feelings seriously. They don't take our personal problems seriously. They think of us as superficial, simple-minded creatures. This makes it hard to find someone to talk to. They tell me to “man up” or “grow a pair”.

My father called me a worthless piece of shit for the first twenty years of my life. He was my father, so I believed him. I don’t know what his problem was, but he was very angry most of the time. He was obviously not someone I could ever talk to about something that was bothering me or to ask for advice. When I’m sitting still, I can imagine my dad calling me lazy again, though he died in 2006. I can imagine him insulting my housekeeping skills. At all of my jobs, I had the feeling that he was there, looking over my shoulder and criticizing me and my work.

In school, I was beaten up on a regular basis by a group of bullies because I was the smallest boy there. I was an easy target. I got good grades from time to time and would get beaten up for that, too. This led to chronic stomach problems.

During and after all of the abuse, I came to the conclusion that my dad was right: I was a worthless piece of shit. That became one of my core beliefs. I would be lucky if I had any friends. I knew no girl would ever like me. No woman would ever love me. I was certain that girls and women could see through me and see me for the garbage that I was. I was going to be stuck alone for life.

I saw three different therapists from about 2000 to 2006. I couldn’t talk about the sex abuse with them, so I was just wasting time and money.

In the spring of 2019, I went to my fourth therapist. She was the first I told about the sex abuse. She almost sneered at me. She didn’t think that sex abuse of males was a serious thing. She thought it was trivial. This experience was almost enough to make me give up trying to get help. When you're male, no one wants to take you seriously when you tell them you've been sexually abused. They either don't believe you or they think it just doesn't matter. This was 50 years after the abuse took place that I first told someone what happened. I feel that those 50 years of my life were lost.

Later that year, I had a devastating experience at my 40-year high school reunion where I encountered a woman who meant very much to me. She didn’t even remember who I was. I felt like I’d been stabbed. This led to a two-month period in which I cried for the first time in 50 years. I cried several times then. I had never hurt so much. 50 years of pain hit me all at once. I realized I’d better find another therapist fast or I might hang myself.

I saw a new therapist in December of 2019. She made me uncomfortable. Maybe there was a personality clash. She did nothing to make me feel at ease with her. Halfway through my second session, she said she couldn’t help me, but didn’t say why.

I’m on my sixth therapist now and she’s good. I’ve been seeing her since January of 2020. The therapy has helped me in various ways. One way was she helped me identify my mental illness and its causes. Another way is that I feel like I’ve unloaded a lot of garbage from my mind. I still have a lot of garbage I need to get out and it may take a long time.

The abuse affected me in many ways, profoundly and permanently. It has affected my ability to live in the world, keeping me from feeling like I belong in society. I haven’t had friends or a social life for most of my life. I never kept a job for more than six years and have been unemployed for over 13 years. I’ve had an intense pain inside me since I was seven years old which is emotional and psychological. This pain grew steadily like a fire burning inside me for 50 years until I couldn’t deal with it any more. My emotions have been a storm that I had to hide, repress and ignore.

Thank You