The past and the future

I wrote this stream of consciousness but I revealed too much and it was all over the place. I will reveal everything in good time, bare with me. But I flipped a heads and so I'm starting again, this time more structured. First I should mention this is deeply personal, it involves some content warning-worthy stuff related to sex and stuff so just be warned.

Act I:

I guess the best place to start is at the beginning, when my parents walked on me giving oral sex to another boy. The memory of this I don't think is mine because I remember it in the third person, but it definitely happened because again, other people saw it. I was told after the fact that I needed to stop doing that with this boy because otherwise I'd never be allowed to see him again. Now, before you start thinking my family is homophobic consider the important thing, I was 5. The boy was a little older than me (7) but not that much so, either way I guess it can be chalked up to kids playing doctor, this happens all the time when kids wanna experiment. But this was not kids playing doctor.

What my parents had walked in on was a sexual relationship that would last up until I was 15. I don't know how it started (and I deeply want to know how but I don't think I'll ever get that answer) but those were the facts. We didn't stop, instead we continued in secret, going under the covers at the slightest footstep and hiding as best we can. From that day on we were never caught although I don't think we weren't without suspicion.

There is a huge portion of people that start sexual relationships when they are very young, some of them were abused in horrific ways and some of them weren't. For the ones who weren't, I guess like me, it might be tempting to say it is fine. After all this seems like the politically correct thing to do, stigma of sexualized relationships can harm people and so why encourage that stigma. I'm sure a lot of people reading this, hey I would wager even most people, have had some sexual experience when they were young and if it wasn't abusive then hey, they turned out fine so these kind of things must be OK. It was this mindset that kind of caused a lot of grief for me though. So perhaps I need to talk about a few other things in my life that maybe weren't usual that might explain things more. I wish I could explain it in one word, but I can't, so here we go onto...

Act II:

I wasn't poor, I was white and I lived in a family with a brother and two parents so I can't really say I had a hard life. But there are parts that are harder to explain, because fundamentally as a person I've always been wired differently. A small surprise, or maybe lack thereof, is I am autistic and while I like to think I don't really show any signs of it now, when I was a kid I was an entirely different person. I was so angry, I don't know why but I was so angry that I beat a kid half to death cause I thought he stole my, simply misplaced, loneytoons candy. I of course feel very guilty for that and if that kid ever reads this just know, I am so sorry. 

I was in the special ed category of my school, something I don't think many people would believe today. And I didn't have many friends, for reasons that are totally legitimate, it wasn't just that I was weird, I was flat out abusive. Everything needed to go my way and if it didn't I would have a massive tantrum, I was controlling and selfish I was honestly a horrible person. So I only had three friends, one of them who I'll call R, was the one who I was having sex with.

At school nobody would play with me or associate with me, I played with myself in my own little world. I constructed a vivid fantasy, many stories, including a big space universe that even today I still build. I would be enthralled by my fictional universe to the point that I would stop realising what I was doing in reality, it was like I was never there. I would make noises and jump around because I again, I was in my head, people could talk to me and I wouldn't hear them, I was doing my own thing and building incredible stories. Some of my most vivid memories occurred within this fictional universe, something I might talk about later but it sounds silly to talk about it now. I will admit, I still go into this universe, even today... just in secret. But as you can imagine, I was constantly bullied for it.

At home my parents fought a lot, my dad and mum stopped liking each other probably a little after I was born. I don't think it was because of me, but I think my dad stopped caring and my mum cared too much. My mum is an amazing woman who worked fulltime and took care of two kids the best she could and my dad is a caring left-wing pacifist who used to teach me lots of stuff, our relationship wasn't horrible. But in the side lines my dad used to hit me, sometimes he'd hit me very hard if I misbehaved, I don't think this was out of abusive malice, my dad is a person who couldn't hurt a fly but his dad did it to him and I don't think he knew of any other way, especially of a kid like me. My mum would drink a lot, she still does but she's very functional, but when I was a kid and she used to drink with my friend's mum Louis, she'd be very drunk. I remember a few times when I would say something like "I love you" and for her to respond with "Fuck off". Again, I don't think this was out of any actual malice, my mum loves me more than any person could love another human being, but she gets drunk and has fun and then this needy kid tries to steal it away from her, it happens, nobody can be perfect all the time. I hold no resentment for any of that, I just know as a kid I didn't like interacting with her when she was drunk.

My brother was the worst of it during my years, sibling rivalry and all that. He used to beat me up, sometimes really bad, most of the time I probably deserved it cause I would intentionally annoy him. None of that I really care about what I do care about it is my brother knows me more than anyone else, more than my boyfriend who was the first person I ever told secrets to. My brother doesn't know my secrets, he knows less than a lot of people know, but he knows me, he knows how I think and why. I don't know how he knows this but he does, he's incredibly gifted with that kind of stuff, he's an incredibly smart person even if he is a alt-right blackpiller. So he would tell me things that would affect me greatly, it is his words that have changed my life so significantly for the better and for the worse. He taught me about the philosophy of relativity which to me is what gave me empathy, understanding of social cues and is what made me the person I am today. But he also created insecurities, insecurities about me wanting attention which has caused me to hide all this for so long, Insecurities about me only liking sciency stuff because it makes me look smart. Just insecurities in general, lots of anxiety and stuff associated with that, I never trust myself or my own self assessment, I don't believe that I can make any rational judgement on myself, too many bias.

In general, I didn't like life, I never have, I don't think I ever will. Even now when I have my own apartment, have an awesome job, have a loving boyfriend, get to work on an awesome video game, even when everything seems to be going my way, I still don't really wanna live anymore. I just don't think I'm really right for this world, what keeps me alive isn't the pleasures of life, but the fear of death. Read my previous article of that, but I think the fear is a biological one, not a logical one. Maybe it was an accumulation of all the bad things that have happened in my life. When I learned the F word and said it several times to my dad, only for him to take me to my mums room and hit me as hard as he could several times to the point it left marks for weeks. Or when my parents divorced, or when my favourite uncle died of a drug overdose, or whatever. But if I can pin it all down to one thing, it wasn't any of that, maybe those contributed. But it was with R, the sex, and how that tied everything together. Leading us to.

 Act III:

No rape. There was no rape, at least that I can remember but, and forgive me for those that have experienced sexual trauma this may sound really horrible, I wish there were. In the end I was in a world where I was isolated, where I was a burden on everyone and everything, where I was horrible person and everything seemed horrible to me. Even the three friends that I had (R being one of them) seemed to not like me, we had fun from time to time but I was hard to like because I was fundamentally not a good person to be around. But when I was with R, when we were having sex, and I don't just mean oral or playing around, I mean real proper sex, I felt loved.

Maybe for a time he did too, he did say that he loved me. When we were a bit older (maybe 8 years old for me) he used to tell me he loved me. We would kiss sometimes and sometimes we would just cuddle, but always after sex. I liked to make sure he was happy and I would do anything to please him and I wanted to do this sex stuff all the time with him, to the point where I would suggest it. Because I loved it, it felt good and the way he treated me was nice, I was important to him and he was important to me in a time where nothing seemed important. His life wasn't good either, his parents broke up and he was more poor, I have a feeling he was abused but I can't really know.

We would hide it from everyone, I wouldn't be able to tell anyone and I wasn't going to because that notion kept going in my head, if I told someone what we were doing I would never be able to see him again. I didn't want to lose that sense of lovingness that I just don't think I had anywhere else. I know my mum loved me but I dunno, maybe I just never felt it, maybe I was just broken in that way because she did everything she could to make sure I knew she loved me. But again, I didn't want to lose him and we kept doing that stuff, I'd do things I didn't want to do that he didn't ask me to do just because I thought it'd please him. He wasn't abusive, he wasn't doing it out of any malice, I don't blame him for what happened, I blame myself. Because I became attached to him, through actions that were neither our faults I turned it into abusive relationship where I was dependent on him and his sexual gratification. He was a kid like me, none of us knew this was happening.

On new years by the pool at my friends place, under the fireworks we kissed. No sex, just a kiss. The first time, maybe the only time we did that not in a sexual context. I knew it from then on, I loved him and what I didn't know is that he had been lying because he never loved me. We struggled together about whether each of us could be gay, we kind of figured we weren't even though we were two boys having sex. I just think it was this dissonance, I slowly discovered that I might be gay and I think he slowly discovered that he might not be, and that's when our relationship ended. 

Our sexual relationship made me feel uncomfortable in sex ed, when people would say no one was allowed to touch you but yourself. But they'd always say it like it was an adult, and so I kinda figured it probably didn't apply to me. I dunno why they didn't pick up on it that despite being so young I knew everything there was to know about sex, maybe because I seemed very knowledgeable about other things they just figured I did my research. I always prided myself on that, people would say stories in primary school about where they thought babies came from, but I knew, I knew what sexual positions felt comfortable, I didn't know about safe sex though and I didn't know about lube. I just kinda figured sex was supposed to hurt a little.

As time went on and we became teenagers our relationship drifted apart. He saw me less and when he did we would do our sexual thing and then he'd leave. He wouldn't say he loved me anymore, he wouldn't kiss me, I'd just give him a handjob or blowjob and then he'd leave. I didn't really think much of it, I just liked pleasing him again but looking back I should have seen the signs. Eventually he stopped seeing me, I asked him to come over and he'd say no. I asked him if he was gay and he said no. I asked him about all the stuff we did and the last words he ever said to me was "Forget about it", and that was it, I never saw him again. And for that moment I was alone, really alone. I had no friends, I had no lover, I was broken and still couldn't tell anyone, it was too late for any of that. To top it all off I had to come to terms with my sexuality, and I had to tell people about it. I thought about killing myself, almost did once, but life moved on like it always had and I just became bitter.

Then uni happened and life changed a lot, for the better but in someways for the worse. I became sexually active, for real this time, and I quickly discovered everything I thought I knew was a lie, we were kids, we learned the wrong way to do things. First of all I tried to replicate what I did with R, I tried to please my partner and I let myself be vulnerable. I had sex with people I didn't find attractive and didn't want to have sex with, I had sex with people with STI's with the slightest bit of pressure put in, I let people explore fetishes that made me feel uncomfortable later. I chocked it up on discovering new experiences but really it was all because I only wanted to please the person, I only wanted to have that acceptance and I didn't get it there. 

I never told anyone about this for a while, I felt telling people about it was a bad thing because it meant that I was seeking attention. After all, I wasn't raped, so how could this affect me so much? But for the moment it felt like I was used, something to use, something that didn't deserve life or anything of the sorts. I just moved on with guilt, I just moved on with pain. I still do, maybe I still don't really understand the reasons why. But I still do. Last year, my boyfriend went through hard times, I felt extreme anxiety because of not only this but also work and then I found out something too, from my brother that pushed me over the edge.

R had been doing stuff with other people too, and tried to do it with my brother. This whole time. Even now it angers me, it upsets me, but at the time it was the straw that broke everything. With work mounting stress, with this past constantly hurting me and the only person I felt could help me suffering to a degree I can't imagine, it was too much. I had a very vivid plan, late at night, a bad night as they say, but I had a plan to off myself and I knew exactly how I was going to do it and exactly what I needed to do, and I was going to do it. But a friend convinced me to see a doctor, not for that, but just to get some sleep, so I could sleep on it. They forced me to go to the emergency room (I hadn't slept in a few days) and nothing really happened from it, I was let out on the day and wasn't given any medication or anything. Still it made me ponder, I took a few weeks off work and just pondered things. It helped get out of that bad spiral.

But every day, every fucking day, late at night I still feel this burrowed horrible feeling of sadness and emptiness and I don't know why but I am sure it has something to do with this. It used to only be sometimes, it used to be periods of great depression where all I wanted to do was hurt myself, but now it seems like every night I have a milder form of it, where all I want to do is cry and just lie in bed. I've gone to therapy for it but it hasn't helped. Nothing helps with it and that's partly cause I don't understand it. It just is. And so I just am.

Act  IV: Final Act

Why did I write this down? Am I the attention whore that I always thought I was, the feeling that always stopped me from writing this down, that stopped me for so long for getting help with this? Maybe. I know some people would find this interesting, so it is here. 

But it's the feeling that no one understands that upsets me. Because I tell people this and they always say the same things, that it was fine that I don't need to be upset, that my conscious mind is probably making a mountain out of a mole hill because I am searching for a reason to be unhappy. That I should have enjoyed it cause I was having sex with a lot before most people could get some and so having that experience should be good. That I was not in anyway sexually abused because it wasn't forced and the only reason I am upset over it was because well I did something that I now regret, and those things happen. That I shouldn't dislike the person because it wasn't there fault, I knew that. 

Maybe all of that makes sense, maybe all of that is true, but it doesn't feel sincere. It doesn't feel like anyone understands, I just dunno, maybe I'm clinging to something because I have to, I have to feel like there's a reason everything happened. 

Why I write this down is so people have some idea, so that they have all the information. This stuff does affect me, maybe I'm still not certain why but I want you know it does affect me. Maybe if I was raped I would feel worse, but I don't care, I don't care anymore about what you think or say. It affects me, I am hurt, I'm allowed to be hurt. 

Everything that has happened has been bad, I want to move forward, I want to stop thinking about this, I just want to stop ruminating. I guess that's it.