Thursday, January 17, 2013

Thriller: "Too Much Fucking; Too Many Murders": recovery from abuse, incest, addiction.

I just posted Chapter 1 of a thriller I wrote. Gratuitous sex and violence!  A couple years back agents/publishers said really good, but too much sex, too gay. That's the point, since that's my life, right? 

Monday, January 23, 2012

II. Hey, brain, a little help here!

Some New Year! 

Capt. Bad-Ass Depression and his band of Merry Mental Pranksters still got me paralyzed. Dr., I says, gimme shelter. Doc Spider says, we gotta shake things up, do something radical, so Fly this here Remeron.

Now I’m sittin’, thinkin’, blinkin’, sinkin’, down in the depths where I'm blue at night; mopin', dopin', maybe just-a-hopin', some little lift gonna light my sight. Don't wanna be alone but I love just stayin' home. And that is what Mick Jagger said.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

II. Jesus, the emotions hurt.

For the last 5 days I've been sliding into a depressive state. Started with horrible emotional demons trying to surface from below. Now I've had my 1st intake interview for a program of 4-or-5-days-weekly psychoanalysis. Would be essentially no cost, working with an analyst in training. I can feel the undersea demons trying to come up cause I'm essentially ready for dealing with them. But, Jesus God, they're awful to deal with. I want to cry but I stop myself involuntarily. My stomach feels full of horrendous psychological pain, and empty at the same time.

I want to feel the emotions. I have to, to get better. I increased my Effexor dose to the old level, although I won't see my psychopharmacologist for 12 more days. I have no sexual desire. I was too paralyzed to post here to my running commentary.

I was able to spend some wonderful time with each of my adult daughters but nothing else for the last several days. I'm pretty sure that I'll get to start analysis soon. The therapy is helping.

Jesus, I suffered horrible damage as a child, and it hurts so much now.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

II.G. Cure my overeating chocolate? Easy!

Well, this is a fuckload of delight. Stop abusing chocolate????
I am queer, after all.
Cure my eating disorder of compulsively gorging on delicious, smooth, high-end, yummy, brain-chemical-filled, caffeine-filled, sugar-filled, anti-sleep-potion, happy-making, expensive, fat-addiction-craving-killing, glorious chocolate? 

Especially at night, when Dear Old Daddy's Ghosts of Rape wake me up every hour or 2, as they have every night for 50 years?

Who's your Daddy?
Easy! Allow my demons to come up with their gifts of overwhelming psychic pain and terror and rage. Invite those demons in: “Send up that free-floating terror in whatever super-villain disguise will scare me most! Hey, guys, cramp up my stomach 'cause it hurts so much! ”
Daddy decorated my stomach, like, constantly.
Feeling the goddamned feelings. The worst part is that it fucking works. I can feel the goddamned emotions, and do color commentary at the same time: “Now the nightmares are running onto the field! Watch them flex their muscles and throw bombs! Feel their long, slimy fingers scrabbling for the control buttons!"
Daddy's control button. Guess which one is me.
"He's awake! What now? He turns on the light cuz he's afraid of the dark! But wait! This is amazing! No run to the kitchen! He holds his post! Holy cow, what a play! He goes back to sleep, he just plain goes back to sleep!”
In my dreams.
I done this feeling-my-fucking-anguish before, several times over the last 20 years. Always works, at least for a year, often for much longer. I lose weight, I sleep better, I have more energy, it zaps a booster under my abuse healing work, and my body is healthier overall.

But oh, God, do I miss eating huge quantities of chocolate,

Thursday, January 5, 2012

V. Funny Shit.

With enough multi-generation sexual abuse, like my mom's Irish family: 

Champion alcoholics from the day we were born!

IV.D. Sex Addicts! Ain't We Got Fun? No.

Another common result of sexual abuse:
(From the excellent UK organization AMSOSA,

Although not often recognised, acting out sexually for male survivors is a common theme for most men, and that can include having random multiple sexual partners, with either men or women, and often both. This occurs when in a relationship or marriage and often occurs when stress overcomes the survivor.
To fit into 'society', you had to pretend to be 'normal' yet if you have concerns or doubts about your sexuality, it could cause you to perhaps act out sexually with men, more often than not repeating some or all of what was done to you as a child, that can cause you emotional problems, sexual problems and lead you to cause more damage to yourself in the process. Try and avoid labelling yourself as either gay or bisexual or confused, because that won't help you come to terms with what has happened to you and what you are doing when feeling sexual. And if you do act out, please try and be gentle on yourself afterwards, as harsh judgements will make you feel even worse.
Male survivors often say that they were to blame for what happened to them, that they went back for more, they failed so to say no, they enjoyed the touch/sensations, and yet they eventually see that no matter what, they are not to blame to what happened to them or for what was done to them, and that they can make changes and overcome the past, if they choose to do so.
The primary cause of this confusion and acting out comes from the forms of abuse done to you, yet you grow up thinking that you are the one that is dirty, confused, maybe think you're gay, or even worse, have issues with your gender identification. (See below for more on that issue)
It is only when survivors start to analyse their previous or current sexual behaviours, that they see there is still a form of abuse linked to their

mistaken behaviours, which often leaves them feeling less part of the world and more isolated.
Some real life scenarios for you to consider: (permission granted to share two of the stories)

One male, acting out sexually with other men, yet defined himself as straight and 'normal', but when questioned about what types of abuse took place when he was a child, he recalled that it was the same sexual acts he was carrying with men. That was a real shock to him, as he had never seen the connection before and realised that it was not him, but the abuse that caused him to do what he did.
The realisation made him physically sick, in that he threw up, and the whole issue repulsed him that he was acting out that way and since he started working on the issues he has remained free from the past and remains straight and 'normal'
Another male, who masturbated 10-15 times a day, every day, in very unsafe situations and places, yet failed to see the connection between what was done to him and how that affected him as an adult. He is a married man, with a sex life that was being badly affected by his behaviours and until he addressed those issues, he was close to losing his wife, who wasn't able to understand what drove him to do these things
Sadly another male, who acted out sexually with countless females, yet never felt complete as a male, said he never felt loved or wanted, yet never allowed anyone to get close to him so avoided relationships at all costs, until he became severely ill and died, alone. That was a tragic waste of life.

When sexually abused as a child, there can be issues left that confuse you as to who you are and what you should be, sexually.
Consider this, if you were raped and abused, and in the process you were told or made to act out as if you were female, that alone would leave behind thoughts and feelings that will continue to haunt you, confuse you and even make you act out sexually.

Even more damage is done if the abuse continues over a period of time and te abuser continues to call you names and demands that you act or respond as a female.
More often than not, this is done to equate the abuse carried and to minimise the abuse, and is just another sick way that abusers carry out the abuse, under the impression that it does no harm.

Some, but not all men who have gone down the gender role assignment, have also suffered sexual abuse as a child or teenager, and that alone can confuse them enough more, because they are left feeling less of a man, whatever that is supposed to be, and therefore feel that they should be female, and in effect, passive in all ways.
I have been given permission to share one man's experience, which he suffered as a young child, in the hope that it helps you understand and appreciate the complexities that sexual abuse and rape can have upon some men
Aged just six years old, 'Tom' was raped and abused, whilst made to wear to female attire and during the abuse, was called by a female name, and told/made to act feminine. Photographs, wearing female attire, were taken of him.
Over the years, those effects made 'Tom' question his sexuality, his sexual identify and his confusion as to what was done to him as a child.
As he grew up, he was left thinking that as he failed to fit into what he saw as the normal world, that it meant he was female, and as he grew up, questioned his whole life. As he grew up, he questioned where he should have a sex change, whether he was gay, or that he should kill himself, which he thankfully failed at, and eventually went on to marry and have three children, yet he was still haunted by the past, and continued to use alcohol and drugs to mask the pain.

In order to gain some control over that, he started acted out sexually using a online persona, that allowed him to gain some control over the abuse he suffered. He kept that secret for many years and in the process, became very confused as to who he was and what he was supposed to be.
Western society states that he be a red blooded male and a sexual conqueror, but the remnants of the abuse confused and scared him enough to make him retreat in a fantasy world , where no one could hurt or abuse him, apart from the damage that he was causing himself.
Other damage that is caused is if the abuse was done in silence, and then you were told you were bad, or dirty, and that can impact upon your daily thoughts and life and cause you to doubt who you are, which makes you struggle daily, yet all the abuse, and pain that came with it belongs to the people who hurt and abused you, so break that silence and gain the power back, as it was NOT your fault.

All rights to this article belong to AMSOSAUK 

Saturday, December 31, 2011

II.F. My goals for sweet little me.

What I wanna change:

1. inability to form emotionally intimate relationships;
2. free-floating fear and anxiety that result in my staying in my rented room for days at a time;
3. deep fear of contact with other people in any form;
4. inability to use my skills, talents and gifts;
5. inability to perform in any organization or work capacity including freelance work;
6. a devastated sexual life; 
7. inability to do things that will improve my situation;
8. have real sleep;
9. deal with the eating disorder that makes me need to eat every time I wake up at night, usually every hour.

Thus spaketh me, on my app to the analysis institute.


Friday, December 30, 2011

II. Psychoanalysis? Psychoanalysis. Psychoanalysis!

I just applied to be a freebie patient with the NYU Institute of Psychoanalytic Education. I've long wanted multi-session-weekly therapy or analysis. Over 23 years of sobriety, with enough therapy to de-claw the entire National Hockey League, my Humpty Dumpty now demands really productive cracking. I haven't been able to clean out my self-made, imaginary obstacles so that I can make a contribution to the world.
Obstacle No. 1.  Solve.

I really love to talk, so a video blog would be perfect. With major costume direction my constant nakedness might be hideable, although then what's the use of being naked anyway?
I do naked to remind myself that I have a body and sexual organs, and that they are not evil.

By now, I've already recorded a couple of clothed, respectable videos, filled with wisdom of the ages and cynical observations.
Although, with Gingrich chasing Iowan corn, 
he kinda out-grotesques cynical jokes.

But the videos are too long to upload, as far as I can tell.

Maybe my destiny is to enjoy writing science fiction, which I love to read and enjoy thinking about. I've already written some, and serious people in the NYC publishing world make very positive noises.  But unless I actually put those on the web or send them to magazines or something business-like, how can I be Ursula Le Guin on meth?
I gave up on running for president in the late 1980s when my 1st child was born, cuz who wants to go to neighborhood meetings when you can stay home with a beautiful baby, especially when they all say they want you to go home, immediately, don't worry about them, sighing with relief, as if I was, like, not advancing my balls?
Not me, anyway! I decided many years before that any child would be my 1st priority, and I would put my children ahead of career, money, even chocolate, even seriously good chocolate. I think I was a really good father: I just had to do the opposite of what was done to me by the alien monsters disguised as my parents.

I can't even write porn, I confess, weeping Kim Jong Il. Imagine porn! Naked men -- yay nakies! -- and more naked men, and treegroves fruiting naked men! Datsa my garlanded eden, Durante now.
Nakie men: also available in generic.

Here's the conundrum:  conundrum is a fancy word to fuck with friends!
Except I don't fuck with Russians, really, I promise, no need to visit!  
Altho, Russian young men, say 30, are very handsome naked. 
Hmmmm. Bodyguards. Kroink!
But now for real, a porn logic problem: 1)Almost everyone in porn is scuzzy, buggy and druggy;  2)I'm not;  3)Answer:  we're geniuses!  

Besides, I'd written lots of explicit sex in serious writing I'd already done, like my disguised Christ-crucifixion-resurrection allegory with the first sentence "Hardon sprong.", one chapter for each of the 12 days of the Passion of the Christ, simultaneously brilliantly portraying 12-step healing from sex addiction in those sane 12 chapters by violently revenging my war-father's sexual abuse, all in a spy story, no less, multibillion box office for sure, plus murders! Woo-hoo!  It was (honestly) good lit, not Jiffy-Lube for mandrake extraction.  This nouveau pauvre don't wanna knee-drop down to writing execrable anti-verse about bumping uglies. Or even bumping my now-sleeping beauties, whimpering for therapy heel kisses them awonk. Or swooping Santa's chimney.
Ye bran' new bag.

So now I'm hoping that I can dissolve some of my internal obstacles to doing things so I can choose to do things I want to do. Four-times-weekly sessions might do that faster and better than any other way. 

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

V. Funny shit.

What we are not going to do, because we don't want to, but other people think we should. 

My New Year's Resolution: find more funny pics and cynically inspirational sayings.
Now, see, THAT is something that I want to do.

Monday, December 26, 2011

II. E. Holy horrible memory, Batman!

Feeling down on December 19-22. Couldn't even e-mail or post here about how paralyzed I felt.

I thought it might be a memory surfacing. Was Andrew Lloyd Webber putting a memory into my head? Was I having holiday yucky? Could I ever figure out what on earth was going on in my strange brain?

Friday therapy. Closed my eyes. Free-associated 5 min. about my childhood winter house at Christmas. Segued directly into this memory.

I'm asleep in my bed in my second-floor room that I share with my brother. I'm 4 or 5. My father appears, standing over me next to my bed. 
I'm terrified, I can't move, like a Nazgul he seems to be an empty hole to a lightless hell, I know he's going to hurt me terribly, I can't move or make a sound, I'm lying on my back paralyzed. No escape.
He sits on the bed next to my right hand. With his right hand he pulls the sheets and blankets down to my knees. His left hand is wiggling somehow between his legs. With his right hand he rubs my stomach under my pajamas up and down to the top of my chest, and down to rubbing my genitals beneath my pajama bottoms. My genitals have no feeling in them, no sensation. I can feel his body grunt and tense up. After a small time he stands up, pulls my pajamas back to regular, puts the covers over me, and leaves. I don't cry, I don't make a noise, I just lie there unmoving in the dark, with my eyes open, unable to feel or perceive anything.

None of it is precisely new. I've had snapshots of all these actions before. The snapshots were never connected, and were mixed with other similar snapshots from many other occasions. But this was the 1st time I've ever had a video memory of one of his rapes.

One amazingly significant thing. As I related the memory to my therapist, I reached inside myself to say what I knew was true. A couple of times I fumbled, said a few words that didn't feel right, then immediately continued saying what I somehow knew in my core was correct. I believed in my own memory. I felt no question about whether it was true, as I somehow questioned the snapshot memories over the course of my 4 decades of therapy, and during my continuing sobriety of almost 23 years.

Another amazingly significant thing. Believing in my memory instantaneously increased my belief in my own worth. I doubt myself less because I realize that I do not need to doubt my recollection.

Immediately after the session I became cheerful and happy. Friday evening was a fun hockey game and reading my fun stupid fantasy sci-fi book. Saturday I was in a good mood all day, happily left the apartment (!!!) to buy presents for 2 grand-nephew-equivalents, came back for stupid fun movies and more chocolate cake.

[That's not me, obviously, but the happiness was!]

Went to sleep happy, next morning woke up early to spend Christmas day at one of my children's apartments and had a wonderful time. Then I had a wonderful dinner at my best friend's apartment with a couple of other close friends.

And today I've been happy all day. This has been an amazingly emotionally available and emotionally intimate Christmas. I'm still very happy about it and about what's coming during the next months, whatever that is.

And all because I believed in a video memory that surfaced.

Monday, December 19, 2011

II. D. Daily HorrorScopes

Yuck! All I want for Christmas is my paralysis to cease. When I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord to stop me from waking up every hour in fear, and eating something in order to squash down my anxiety. When I wake up early in the morning, or in the middle of the afternoon, I need to go right back to sleep. Hiding in my room, safe within my womb, I can keep my fragile psyche from anybody's touch. Oh, beautiful for spacious skies outside my window as long as I don't have to go outside.

Lots of people, when I think of them during the holidays, hit pain nerves that must be especially sensitive right now. My memory is a minefield. Emotional times push the mines closer to the surface. Right now I especially don't want to think about Maine, about law school or lawyering, about meeting new people or dating --

-- or about any kind of emotional pain.

My adult children and their worlds bring magnificent, pure happiness to me. I'm so lucky about that! When I see them or think about them I know that they have the strength and confidence to go for what they want and try to overcome obstacles on the way. That's totally amazing, to have them be happy and excited in their lives. They live right here in New York City, and talk with me and spend time with me very frequently. I'm basically the luckiest father in the world.

I get fantastic emotional nourishment from my best friend. He is even further out at the extreme end of the Bell Curve of abuse than I am. He understands and believes in me and talks with great openness, and I trust and believe in him.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?

The rest of my time in these holidays I spend on distraction and licking my wounds. Hockey, sci-fi movies --

-- sci-fi reading, chocolate cakes and candy, re-reading 12-volume fantasies like The Wheel of Time  and its weirdly separated-at-birth-twin The Sword of Truth.

I can't do anything on my list of “Things I Won't Criticize Myself for If I Don't Do Them.” I surf some queer porn, but I'm not really able to feel horny or sexual.

And that's life in the big city. Huge trauma, important holidays that are fraughter than I thought (hat tip to “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum”), luck that I can survive well on Social Security and a small pension, the huge blessings of wonderful children and a couple of great friends, and mind-blowing psychic pain (thanks for that, mom and dad!).

Thursday, December 15, 2011

I.C. Parable: a child's questions.

 The little boy looked up at his father and asked, “Daddy, sometimes I feel like there are 2 puppy dogs fighting inside me. One is a nice puppy dog who likes me. The other is a mean puppy dog and I don't like him. Daddy, who's going to win?”
The daddy says, “shut up and suck my dick.”

V. Funny Shit.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

I. B. Cock of the Walk.

Dear old bad dad comes into my room at night when I'm asleep. I'm 3 years old. Just like Your Wicked Uncle Ernie, down with the bedclothes. He rolls me onto my back. He rubs his hands on my body, stomach and genitals. My pajamas are partly open. He rubs his cock with his hand, and jerks off until he comes. He cleans up and leaves.

That happened several times a month until I was 11 years old. Sometimes we got to have oral sex, fun variety! Or he would hit the big time and come on my stomach.

This is so hard to write. The memories of his hard cock coming towards my mouth. The image of his hard-on burns in my head. My recurring nightmare of a monster coming into my room, and I could not move.  The fear of falling asleep. Being afraid of the dark.

I told my mother, once at least. She yelled at me, yelling that he couldn't have done that, making me the criminal. I don't remember ever telling anybody else.

I have to stop now.

Friday, December 9, 2011

IV. Madness Church

Holy Catholic Confession, Batman!  This Irish church's stained glass window: it's a Revelation!

Thursday, December 8, 2011

II.B. Holidays '11

Part II.  The Way We Live Now
B.  Holidays 2011

I like the Christmas and New Year's holidays. Memories of those times are better than most other times while I was growing up. I'm sad, though, because my siblings are uncomfortable with my talking about my being sexually abused. They love me, and have the best intentions, and I love them.

But the effects of the horrendous abuse touch every part of my life. I live on the income from my mental health disability payments, I am incapable of working, I have essentially free NYC health insurance for my many medications and doctors, I spend lots of time doing healing recovery work, and my focus has become reading and writing about sexual abuse of children.  I’ve learned lots about brain chemistry, effects of trauma, alcoholism and addiction, DNA modification caused by life events, and human psychology in general.

So, unfortunately, I can't avoid talking about some aspect of my abuse, at least some of the time. In one way, I want to stay away from it so that I don't distance myself from my family. But I won't be silent, I won't keep secret about my abuse, I won't avoid the topics when I want to talk about them, I won't agree in advance when I am asked not to talk about certain subjects or events. I rattle my family's denial blanket about our parents and what they did to all of us. I cause them to question their own narratives about their own lives.

So it is difficult for my siblings to spend time with me. Unconsciously, my siblings slightly shy away from being with me. We talk on the phone, and they are very nice and loving, except that they don't want to talk about any aspect of my abuse.

Sadly, I feel that my relationships with my siblings are conditional love, not unconditional. I am 50% responsible for my situation because I won't keep silent in order to make people more comfortable. So we all stumble along, trying to keep in touch and be as close as we can. Sometimes it has meant that they have told me that I can't come to visit, revoking previous holiday invitations. That hurt a lot. But I want them in my life.

I'll try to see them whenever I can, and talk with them as much as I can. I'll try to be sensitive about what I say. I won't insist on talking about my world any more than is appropriate, consistent with my integrity and my soul.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

IV.B. Abuse: brain damage

Abused children's brains work like soldiers' do

The brains of children from violent homes function like those of soldiers
when it comes to detecting threats.
Eamon McCrory at University College London used fMRI to scan the brains of 20 outwardly
healthy children who had been maltreated and 23 "controls" from safe environments.
During the scans, the children, aged 12 on average, viewed a mixture of sad, neutral
and angry faces. When they saw angry faces, the maltreated children showed extra
activity in the amygdala and the anterior insula, known to be involved in threat
detection and anticipation of pain. Combat soldiers show similar
heightened activity (Current Biology, DOI: 10.1016/j.cub.2011.10.015).
"Our belief is that these changes could reflect neural adaption," says
McCrory. "Maltreated kids and active soldiers are adapting to survive in a
threatening or dangerous environment." Although this could help children survive
their early years, it may predispose them to mental health problems in adulthood,
such as depression or anxiety, says McCrory.
A related study, published this week by Hilary Blumberg of Yale University School
of Medicine and colleagues, demonstrates that areas of the brain important for
emotional processing are deficient in grey matter in adolescents who suffered
from maltreatment as children (Archives of Pediatrics and Adolescent
Medicine, DOI: 10.1001/archpediatrics.2011.565).
"The studies suggest that childhood maltreatment ‘gets into the brain', and becomes
biologically embedded," says Avshalom Caspi, who studies mental health at Duke
University in Durham, North Carolina.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

IV.A. Jung pisses me off.

"Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves."~ Carl Jung (1875-1961)
Something about Jung really irritates me.

Friday, December 2, 2011

III.C. More Sex!

Part III. Sex!

         C. I'll never fall in love again?
                                    2. Continuation.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

II.A. Meds! Pt.2

     Part II.  Ghosts, Daily Present.
                        A. Meds, glorious meds! (Cont.)

After 30 days without any Trazodone, I had fallen into terrible sleep, fear of people, avoiding doing anything, sleeping very poorly for 15 or 16 hours per day, and feeling total anhedonia. My excellent psychiatrist was extremely concerned about the poor sleep and lack of interest in sex. We put me back on my small nighttime dose of Trazodone.

Now, within 5 days, I sleep soundly for exactly 8 hours, altho I'm willing to sleep more, but can't. I wake up slowly over the course of one to 2 hours, mostly turning on music, then flipping through some politics and mental health sites and hockey news.

And today, day 5, I'm writing the 1st of my left-over e-mails, posting here for the 1st time in a long time, had dinner last night with my best friend, and actually thinking about planning things like saving for travel to Paris.

My medications fill holes in my brain chemistry. As my great psychiatrist accurately promised, my Ritalin has allowed me to put my finances in shape for the very 1st time in my life. I have a daily spreadsheet among many categories that I keep right to the dollar, now that my disability payments have put me above being broke since August. I am slowly and realistically increasing each of my several savings categories, planning each month's expenditures, and keeping track of how closely I can stick to my plan. Almost every day I find myself avoiding several impulse expenditures that I would have made without the planning. I feel a real sense of accomplishment about this.

I have a soft goal of hoping that someday I can slowly reduce my medications to 0. For the moment, and perhaps forever, I need them to function. I'm improving my nutrition, becoming mostly vegetarian and almost vegan. I'm on a track I recognize from many periods in my life that, absent reverses, will lead me back to regular and very beneficial exercise.

I'm certain that my major brain chemistry imbalances came from my horrendously abusive childhood. I probably had some predisposition from DNA reflecting my parents' own abuse when they were children, their own parents' alcoholism and schizophrenia, and my parents' own lifelong alcoholism. By far the major part of my need for medication, though, comes directly from how I was treated.

Everybody's gotta follow their own path. Mine was getting sober and going to Al-Anon, then huge amounts of therapy and the beginning of psychotropic medications. I've had to keep modifying my medications as my needs change. I wouldn't have been able to make it without them.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

III.C. Sex & Love

Part III. Sex!

C. I'll never fall in love again?

Well, damn!

Date plans with a good guy top, enact fantasies that mysteriously erection my cock with humiliation and pain and nakedness and submission.

Enter Terror, growing from unconscious below into volcano. Fantasies that track my sexual abuse harden me. But making them life, I suddenly feel, will re-traumatize me. I canceled the session. Right away I knew that it was the right thing to do for my soul.

Wow, that sure throws a hand grenade into my understanding of my sexuality.  On the one hand, the S&M fantasies that pull my cockstrings don't work with real people.  On the other hand, in the vanilla world fear blocks my body's feelings and my dick stays wilted. On the 3rd hand, there is no 3rd hand.

I'm really upset about this. I fear that it means that my life can't include any real sexual connection. How can I have a hope for love when I can't see how it would integrate sexual pleasure with it? Yuck.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

IV.A. Madness

Part IV. (cont.) Madness Takes Its Toll.

A. (cont.)  Horsing Around in the Showers
               with Anal Rapist Jerry Sandusky.

Perhaps the publicity and the extreme nature of the horror (anal rape of a 10-year-old!) will serve to spread awareness, and lessen the incidence of sexual abuse in the long term.  I hope so.

ABC reports of a seemingly terrific second-day response by at least part of the Penn State community to help rape and sexual abuse victims (abc web site):

"But this Saturday is about more than football.
Sandusky, once considered Paterno's heir apparent, is accused of sexually abusing eight boys over a 15-year span, with several of the alleged assaults occurring on Penn State property. Two university officials are accused of perjury, and Paterno and president Graham Spanier were fired for not doing enough to prevent the alleged abuse.
The scandal would be damaging enough to a university that prides itself on its integrity. That it involved Paterno, major college football's winningest coach and the man who'd come to symbolize all that was good at Penn State, made it that much worse.
... candle light vigil held Friday night as a show of support for the alleged victims. "Tonight really gave us a place to put ourselves back together."
Instead of the usual "whiteout," Beaver Stadium was expected to be awash in blue in a sign of support for the alleged victims. Donations for two child-abuse prevention organizations are being accepted at the stadium gates. Other fundraisers taking place have already raised more than $200,000.

"We are supporting the victims," said Kristie Winiarski, a senior from Doylestown, Pa., who was selling homemade baked goods Friday to raise money for Prevent Child Abuse Pennsylvania. "We want to show the world we can do more than riot."

Others had a message that also was supportive of abuse victims, but not school adminstrators. A plane overhead pulled a sign overhead in red "Cry for the Kids Not the Cowards & Liars."

Now to see if the good response can be continued, and turned into a nationwide refusal to deny the breadth and horror sexual abuse. 1-in-4 to 1-in-6 children are victims, a huge percentage (90% ? higher?) by trusted adults. Publicize, send the officials to jail: the only way to overcome institutional power that seeks to cover it up.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

IV.A. Madness: Sandusky

Part IV. It’s a 
Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World!

A.  Pass the football, coach!

Sexual abuse is prevalent and horrible. Look at the horrendous Penn State conduct. We survivors know it happens. Let's use this hugely-publicized horror to show how much abuse there is, and the extent of the evil conduct. Here is one actual indictment quotation:

"Victim 4 stated that Sandusky would wrestle with him and maneuver him into a position in which Sandusky’s head was at Victim 4’s genitals and Victim 4’s head was at Sandusky’s genitals. Sandusky would kiss Victim 4’s inner thighs and genitals. Victim 4 described Sandusky rubbing his genitals on Victim 4’s face and inserting his erect penis in Victim 4’s mouth. There were occasions when this would result in Sandusky ejaculating. He testified that Sandusky also attempted to penetrate Victim 4’s anus with both a finger and his penis. There was slight penetration and Victim 4 resisted these attempts. Sandusky never asked to do these things but would simply see what Victim 4 would permit him to do. Sandusky did threaten to send him home from the Alamo Bowl in Texas when Victim 4 resisted his advances. Usually the persuasion Sandusky employed was accompanied by gifts and opportunities to attend sporting and charity events."

Thanks TSbarracks for the Penn State indictment quotation reference (via Toysoldier blogger).

TSbarracks is absolutely correct: we must use the real words, rape and anal rape and mouth rape, to show the horrible magnitude of what the criminals–-including Penn State itself–-did and covered up.

It’s the only way can we can overcome the powerful institutions that do evil.

Thursday, October 27, 2011


Part III.  Sex!
A. Punch Line Version:

These lucky guys just had sex!

It brought them pleasure.
They are really smiling.

Listen up, possums.  Sex is too important to euphemize, to allude to coyly, to disguise with courteous references, to ignore. [1]fn.1. Sex is our divinity. I talk about it with real words, truth, and honesty about what I perceive.[2]fn.2.

You don't like, you go away. My children, who are adults, don't want to read this and I don't want them to. Anyone else over 18, lay on, MacDuff![3] fn.3. 

1.  So get this[4]fn.4.:  I'm queer, a full-fledged happy homo. It's a spectrum, not a binary thing. I'm 90% gay. The freedom I get from lusting over a naked gay guy, from being naked with other queers, and from putting a dick in my mouth, nourishes my soul.[5]fn.5.

Athletes have very nourished souls.

2.  Please, lock me away, and don’t allow the day here inside… .

I am overwhelmed by even thinking glancingly about S&M. 

My specific triggers  are exactly what my parents did to me, as interpreted by a child's mind under attack.[6]fn.6. 

3.  HHeeerrrrrrrreeee'ss Why!!! [17]fn.17.  [18]fn.18.

Sexually abused children are caught in a double whammy. Every sexually abusive touch, whether gentle or violent, feels like a physical, painful violent attack. At the same time, the sexual abuse strikes into the very core of our brainstem, mutating the child's growing sexual persona to incorporate the abuse into the world of arousal. Like the many others who suffered extreme sexual abuse, I will never be able to separate sexual pleasure from my parents' rapes and violence.

I've had 22 years of sobriety from alcoholism. I've done enormous amounts of 12-step and other recovery work. I've had huge amounts of therapy that actually began 40 years ago, and ramped up to multiple therapies and sessions every week for the last 22 years. For 15 years I've taken various medications that actually rebuilt connections to parts of my brain that had been cut off by the abuse. (I've personally seen the demonstrative chromatographic MRI brain scans.[19]fn.19.)

I now sometimes recognize, a little bit better than I ever did before, when my repressed rage and self-hatred and other emotions would, in the past, have unconsciously controlled me. The stuffed-down emotions caused me to do things that were survival mechanism reactions from my childhood. The survival strategies are not useful in the present, and in my case were often harmful.

I still feel the feelings of rage[20]fn.20. and fear, but I feel them consciously more often than I did before. They no longer compel me, quite so often, to do things that are actually destructive in the present. However, my massive sexual abuse has permanently damaged my ability to feel sexual arousal.

I accept myself more and more every day. I fight to disconnect the outdated survival strategies from my human identity. I want freedom to be who I really am. I now know that for the foreseeable future my sexual identity is not simply a survival strategy. 

[1] 1. Can you tell I like funny word art and colors?  Fuck you.
[2] 2. Scared of the word ‘cock’? Fuck off.
[3] 3. Shows I got culcha. Be fucking impressed.
[4] 4. Or fuck off.
[5] 5. I like fucking too. Get over it.
[6] 6. They didn’t fuck me, although the fucking fucks did everything else.
[7] 7. Like public fucking.
[8] 8. I don’t overuse the word fuck.  Fuck off!
[9] 9. The following is absolutely true, I read part of the actual study: Harvard Univ. study a dozen years ago concluded employees were more productive, happier, and enjoyed their job more if they used the word fuck in the office.  There may be lots of reasons, who gives a fuck, cuz the point is I’m happier, more productive and enjoy my job more than you, you fucking slug. Except I don’t work, and don’t have productivity, and ain’t always happy cuz of my mental health problems.  I win!
[10]10. E.g., no fucking.
[11] 11. Do I use ‘fuck’ as a CDO?  (“CDO” means “obsessive-compulsive disorder” except I put the letters in the correct alphabetical order, as they should have been the whole fucking time, the fucks.)
[12] 12. And maybe some fucking.
[13] 13. Except for fucking. Mostly too psychologically damaged to get and keep a hard-on long enough to start fucking.
[14] 14. Maybe gang-fucked, too.
[15] 15. Not turned on by fucking in the porn, though.
[16] 16. Portnoy fucked his parents’ dinner, a piece of beef liver, in Portnoy’s Complaint. (Philip Roth, long time ago)
[17] 17. Johnny’s gone back in time.  Probably fucking. 
[18] 18. This is too fucking serious for silly pictures.  Bibbetty-bobbety-boo-dee-doo-doodle-dee-doo.
[19] 19. Fucking unbelievable, in fact.
[20] 20. “You have limitless rage, Jeff.” The psychiatrist emphasized it by repeating it:  “Limitless rage.” That’s a lot of rage.*
            *’Fuck’ is most often a word of pure anger. Probly why I use it so much.**
                                    **You didn’t really think I’d do a footnote without using the word fuck, did you?
[21] 21. Did you think I’d let you escape without another footnote here?*
            *You dumb fuck.**
                                    **Even my fucking kangaroo saw that one coming.***
                                                      ***Footnotes inspired by the great writer Terry Pratchett.**** 
****Can you read this from here?