Introduction
Over the last year I have dedicated time to recalling what happened to me when I was sexually abused. I do think that to just get over it is healthy. I often had emotional outbursts thinking about what happened to me during that time of my life; however, I am not doing this just to help myself, but (hopefully) to help others understand what was going through my mind while I was being sexually abused. I wanted to research this because I feel I can help others who have been sexually abused, and also educate parents and teachers on the subject.
Since writing this I have realized writing this article helped me a lot: I don’t feel so alienated by the experience anymore. I feel really good about myself for doing this and I have received feedback from many people, with great support. This article has had literally hundreds of reads on many sites across the world wide web where I have published it. I feel that growth in esteem and perhaps just getting older in general has made me change a lot.
The Abuse
How it happened, and how my behavior and esteem were changed by it
NOTE: The Freedom of Information Department has graciously done its job and allowed me to correct errors in this node. As of this day, at 22 years old (I wrote this at 17) I have bipolar disorder (type 1) and antisocial personality disorder.
The sexual abuse probably started when I was about five. It started while I was staying at my maternal grandfather's house. My grandmother was in the room when he first exposed himself to me. I was very curious as to what he was doing and why he was doing it. He made her out to be an evil witch, which was easy; she was horrible. She herself was a victim to physical abuse from the bastard.
It is not like he physically hurt me to do things to me, he didn't tell me that certain things were nice; he just needed to create physical pleasure. Part of me, I feel, knew something was strange about what he was doing, because of the pure silence he wanted that first time. "Shh!" he would say constantly, if I said anything that could be considered suspicious by my maternal grandmother in the room. This was when I was about five.
When I was about six years old, a teacher wrote a letter home to my parents. It stated that I was a very bright child, despite being utterly non-compliant, and I can remember well that I hated coloring and all I wanted to do was read. I would lift girls' dresses and all kinds of things. The letter spoke of suicidal ideation and all kinds of things I can't really remember, except a strong desire to learn how to just blow up the school. I am sure what went through my mind went through every kid that ever opened fire on his classmates.
The letter lead to me seeing a psychologist, Dr. John Redman, who is in Morwell, Victoria, Australia. I feel like pointing out who he is because the genius (sarcasm) noticed that I had a relatively high IQ of 122 and felt that "gee whiz, this kid has worked out his sexuality all on his own." I have this letter from him as well, in family records I discovered. I remember my genius parents told her parents, and that is when the worst part of it started. The bastard, as I shall call him henceforth, was furious with me.
I would say slightly sexual things at home, and my grandfather taught me to blame the grade six girls. I didn't know what it was about them. By the age of seven, I was at another school, and he would tell me how to do things to my female friends. Just about every night after school I would give a friend of mine a killer orgasm with oral sex. Around this time, I could get an erection, and he would perform oral sex on me as well. One of the worst memories from a recent flashback is of me on my elbows and knees, and he pushed my head so I could see him going inside me and out.
At around the age of seven it was discovered I had thrush, and that set off some alarm bells. I told the useless woman I called my mother what happened and who did it. All she did was cry about it, hysterically; her doctor had to prescribe her antidepressants just so she could "get out of bed in the morning," as she would say. In my moment of crisis, she decided to break down and give up on the world. Some people think I should be more understanding of what she was going through; this just sums up how fucking ignorant people were to what I was going through at seven years old. Literally nobody cared, and everyone seemed to gang up on me in a punishment bonanza.
The greatest hardship was society, especially at schools like my first high school. I knew it became a mechanism of constant punishment. In year seven, a girl accused me of groping her; I didn't. The school coordinator for freshmen called my mother, and my mother, the attention whore, told her. That year, any small thing I did that was sexual (and as everyone remembers from high school, everyone did things like that) it was suddenly like a crime of which I was deemed guilty until proven innocent. Molested guys have trouble with that. I will never forgive my mother.
By my second year of high school, as a result of what kept occasionally happening, I began to hate all women. Sorry girls, but I really did just hate women. With a few young teenage girls doing everything they could to complain about how creepy I was, I decided to use the new persona I had been given by those girls at school and even my own mother. On one occasion, a boy kept hanging around when we didn't want him to, so I simply bent him over with my arms and told him he had to fuck me (pretty nasty, but its not like I raped him, and I at least asked for his consent). My mother beat me the next day when the teacher told her, and told me I was exactly like the man who abused me. This kind of thing crushed me on the inside.
We moved to the suburbs from the sleepy town of Latrobe Valley. I had constant troubles with self-esteem at the previous school. At the new school, I had absolutely no social confidence; I didn't know how to stay out of trouble. So my subconscious did it for me. I never spoke to anyone, I never told anyone anything about myself. Off school grounds, I wasn't so bad; I could be talkative and I even had a girlfriend. I made a decision when I had that lovely girl, Bec, that I would be innocent for the first time in my life. I wouldn't seek them out and fuck them, I wouldn't do anything.
Eventually the problem got too bad for me, not talking. Anyone could bully me, as I couldn't talk, let alone fight back. Silence was my only answer and I built a world of my own in my mind. I tried to tell my mother, but she just assumed my problems were due to being a smartarse. This of course was, as usual, insane. My dad I can't blame for much, being also socially slow with a topping of naivete. Self-esteem was inside me, however, for the first time in my life, thanks to my father teaching me a lot about electronics and computers. A feeling of being superior to everyone kept me going for a couple of years.
After battling drug addiction, and other problems, I learned about Ayn Rand, and Objectivism. Thanks to that great philosopher, I discovered that my mind had value. I do things that most Objectivists don't. I have learned that the most forgotten entity is the individual in society. I believe this story stands as a testament to that valuing the collective over the individual. A lot of people reading this are seeking answers, and I assure you, they exist. You must learn to value yourself by your own standard, not by the opinions of others.
If you suspect someone is being sexually abused, it is not just the right thing to do to speak out, it is your duty and responsibility to do so. I myself am very involved now in helping people with sexual abuse, rape, and many other things, including domestic violence and child abuse. I have discovered it is not easy for most people to know what to do. I suggest if this is your circumstance, you talk to a counselor or a therapist that will know the appropriate path of action for the victim and the child.
I hope this essay can educate others. If you disagree with any opinions in the article, feel free to email me at john@johntate.org and share your points with me. Also, feel free to contact me regarding any of your own problems, questions, regarding yourself, your children, or your students. I don’t know everything, but I know of many resources, and people that can help you understand things.
I would like to thank Daniel Farmilo for assisting me with editing this article. I wish people would write articles like it for this node, so it can become a great place.