From: anon-1474@twwells.com (Tito)
Newsgroups: alt.sexual.abuse.recovery
Subject: Poems...
Date: 4 Jan 93 12:33:03 GMT
Organization: Anonymous Posting Service at twwells.com
X-Email-Accepted: yes


**  MAJOR SPOILER WARNING **



This is someting that I wrote to an internet friend, in response to 
something he wrote to me... I reckon it may be of interest to you all...






Hi,

Thanks for the stuff... My background goes something like this :-

As I have mentioned a few times (!) on the list, I was raped when I was 11. 
*Very* quickly, within about a week or two (I would say), I forgot totally 
about it. I just completely erased it from my mind. My parent's marriage was 
on the rocks, and they had no time to listen to their 11-year old son who 
was trying to tell them something...

I was going to an all male school, which was about 13 miles from where we 
live, and I did not really have any friends outside of school (where we live 
is rural Ireland, and we were "townies", just after moving from "the big 
smoke", alias Dublin). So, social life was nil. And so was contact with 
women.

Until I went back to Dublin to college. I feared women. Not so much that I 
could not work with them, though. At this time, my sex education was less 
than nil. There were two reasons, I suppose, for this - one being that I had 
been raped, and the other being that my (only) sister was an unmarried 
mother. I suppose, to me, anything with anything got to do with between the 
legs was a threat. The fact that my sister was an unmarried mother made me 
sort of say "gee, my only sister went out into the big bad world (she is 
older than me) and got pregnant - the big bad world must be really bad - 
everyone must be hopping into and out of bed at a great rate (cue alarm 
bells)". When I was having my wet dreams, I used to train myself to wake up 
in the middle of it, and command my body to stop...

Then, one day when I was in a deep depression about a particular female, I 
picked up a good sex education book ("Everyman"). Shortly afterwards, after 
reading the instructions from the book, I masturbated for the first time. I 
was 18. I began to understand a few things about my feelings and my body, 
things that I should have known a lot earlier. Basically, I have not stopped 
masturbating since.

I used to feel terribly guilty about it, and maybe I still do to some 
extent. There are a couple of things that I do not like about my 
masturbation habit though.

One, I rarely do it for the enjoyment of it. It is much more like a 
compulsion. It is also linked to my need to have everything under my belt 
under *strict* control at all times. For my sexuality to become spontaneous 
is *far* too much of a threat to me at the moment.

Two, its frequency. I know that many people say that it is a sort of 
self-regulating thing, or something like that, but, for me, between say 3 
and 8 times a week is too often... What I should do is invest in a good 
diary, and get good data on *exactly* how often I do it.

Three. Hmmmmm. This is the main guilt-stirrer. Although, as time passes, it 
is getting easier. Occasionally (say 3 times a year), I *need* to do 
something weird - go for a "swim" with my clothes on. I *always* *always* 
feel like shit afterwards, as I am getting the clothes washed and dried. 
Yet, I still do it.

(person's name deleted) wrote to me about forgiveness in the context of my
post, saying that "God always forgives when asked. It is you that must learn to
forgive yourself". I reckon that there will have to be a lot of forgiveness 
dealt out between me and my sexuality. It reminds me of a poem I wrote over 
Christmas, that I should probably post to the survivors list.


  Sex
  ===

Sex is the enemy,
that so badly let me down.
I was only eleven
how could I stand my ground?

Today, each day, I punish
those parts of me that betrayed
and played into her hands.
Oh, how I wish those parts would die.

Life would be so much simpler,
I would never have been raped.
For how can you have been raped
if you've got no balls?

I see my friends show affection,
I see another enemy.
Yet, no man is a rock
and an island only dies.

I know these parts are not enemies,
I know they have a purpose.
Yet, how do you give such knowledge
to a child, so badly betrayed.

Come back, my rapist, and love me.
Yours is the only love I've known.
For I am so lonely,
and your big hands are so grown.

Dear God, my friend, help me,
for those parts are wasting away.
Under the burden of an evil woman
and a young man, who is growing grey.


Another poem I wrote over Christmas is a bit stronger. It goes :-


  My Rapist
  =========

My Rapist, my gaoler,
you touch me, you handle.
You strip me, you keep me,
there is no escape from your fondle.

Why do you do it?
Were you raped too?
Is it your pain
that I must suffer by you?

Not even for a day
do you leave me alone.
You are with me always
right through to the bone.

Who are you?
I would really like to see.
As I remove the mask, I find
that my rapist is me.




I am now going away for a few days, to celebrate the new year with friends. 
A happy and prosperous new year to you...

Chris.  (phyobyrne@bodkin.ucg.ie)

(For those people on asar who are reading this - I read asar through a 
*very* indirect method. If you can, please forward responses/comments to me 
via private e-mail, anonymous or otherwise).



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