In my mind i'm the last person that should be posting here. I guess that says a lot about me, or at least who I think I am. I don't know where to start. The beginning? makes sense... but, I fear i will just end up telling a "poor me" story, and searching for pity. A bit of empathy may not hurt, but i don't want pity. I guess I'll start with an introduction, i'm sure you may have a different opinion of me than i have of myself, but this is how i see myself: I'm 36, white. male. 6'3". About 200 lbs. People typically find me attractive. I'm not athletic, but im not "out of shape". I'd guess i'm a good 3 month in the gym away from being pretty fit, although i don't work out. I'm a problem solver. A salesman. A talker. Rational, for the most part. I'm long winded and i am insecure. I come across to some people as cocky or arrogant as i try to sell myself too much, from my lack of self security. I am a great lover. I love with all i have and wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm not afraid to show my emotions. I can get disappointed, but i don't have much of a "temper". I fight with my head and heart, not my fists. I don't believe in physical altercations. I'm not sure how to explain this next part. I have told my "story" to a couple people, but i realize i do it to get them to like me. See, if i tell them all the bad things i have done and have had done to me, up front, they tend not to hold these things against me. It's very manipulative, but i justify it with the thinking that no one in their right mind would want to deal with all the issues i have had, if they just keep popping up over time. So i barrage them with it all at once and they tend to be understanding and supportive. In fact this thinking has effected every part of my life. If you have ever met that salesman that you like, but just won't shut up, so you buy from him to stop him..thats me. I am scared to be alone. I am scared of having an empty bed. i am scared that people won't like me. I am scared that i will die alone. I am scared that i will live life with regrets and unfulfilled experiences. I'm scared that i will be a bad roll model for my children. I digress. I guess i want to tell my story, and find out what i can do to change my life, if you can call it a life. (Deep breath) My parents were divorced when i was a baby. Depending on who you ask, i either lived with my mom for 3 months and then went to my fathers parents, or i lived with my mom and her parents until i was almost 2 years old, then i went to live with my fathers parents. (The truth? i don't know) My earliest memories are of growing up on the farm with grandma and grandpa, dads parents. Dad was a poor father. He wasn't around very much when i lived on the farm. I loved the farm. The freedom. Family. Fresh air and daily excitement of relatives always coming over, farm activities, etc... For me, these were the "good ole days". They didn't last long. When i was 8, i was informed by my cousin, on the tire swing, at a family event, that the woman my dad had just pulled up with was going to be my "new mom". I didn't need a mom, i had grandma. She was my mom. This lady seemed nice enough, but why wouldn't she? I liked everyone. I was a bit concerned when i found out this was happening in 2 weeks, but adventure was my middle name, and this was excitement. After all i was 8. Or was it 7? no, i was 8... i think. The news that dad and "mom" were moving to Texas 1 week after the wedding was were it all started to go down hill. They were married. 1 week later WE moved from Minnesota exactly 1 million miles away, to Texas. It killed me. I lost my "parents", no i lost my entire family. In one swift act my entire family was gone. I was horrified, it was the realization that everything i knew had just changed. The adults in my life had changed. I had new parents. I had a new state. a new school. a new house (not a house, an apartment). a new city..a BIG city. I knew something wasn't "right" almost immediately. One example that sticks in my mind was when i was worried that S.H.(mom) was mad at me. Before dad got home i had tried to ask for a pop or a cookie or something and S.H. wouldn't respond. She had to hear me, she was right there. For almost an hour i tried to figure out what i had done to upset her so badly that she wouldn't even acknowledge that i was there. Over and over i asked, in different ways "S may i have a ...", " S, are you mad at me?" "S i'm sorry if i did something wrong"...yet nothing. When my dad got home i asked him what i had done to upset "S" so badly. It was as if i had said a foul word. He asked me what i called her, i replied "S". This was my lesson that she wasn't "S" she was "mom" and if i wasn't going to call her "mom" then she wasn"t going to listen. It seemed as if rules were made until there were so many that you couldn't help but break them. I was "walking on glass" every day, all day. I think that they didn't feel like they were parenting unless they were telling me how i did something wrong, and to" not do it again". If i got everything right, and boy did i try, i would find out that a new rule had been made that i had broken and that i 'should know better". I was "to be seen and not heard". this was a hard one for me to follow, as i had a lot of energy and stress. We moved 3 times that first year in Texas. My baby sister was born also, that 1st year. 2 new schools. I started having the the headaches sometime during the first 3-4 months in Texas. I don't know if headaches is even the right word. "episodes"? My head would ache so bad that i couldn't move. I puked, cried, and slept. They would last for a day or two usually. The morning was hard during this time because when i opened my eyes i would try not to move, as i feared that i would still have the pain. As long as i stayed still and just thought, i couldn't tell if they were gone yet. Sometimes when i finally moved they would be gone, other times they would still be there, heartbroken i would roll over and cry, wanting the pain to stop. At some point i was finally taken to the doctor. After all, my parents were god parents..just ask them. They gave me something, and i can't even remember if they helped, as the "something they gave me" was worse than i could bare. All i knew was that i was "broken" and if i wanted to feel better i had to pull my pants down and let my dad or mom, push the medicine up my butt. Why they would give an 8 year old suppositories is beyond me, but apparently that was what i needed and that is what i got. I tried to hide the headaches after this. When it got to the point that i couldn't take the pain anymore, i went through the embarrassment with the medicine. I was on a roller coaster. One day i would feel great and everything would be normal, the next i was the worst child in the world, the next day i was bed ridden with pain. How i acted wouldn't change anything from making the day better or worse, but damn, i tried. It was "duck and cover" until you knew what mom and dad were going to be like that day. They started setting up appointments for me to see a doc/shrink, about 6-8 months after we got to Texas. Why was i so " up and down", happy then sad, energetic then bed ridden? Well mom and dad knew i had to be "fixed" and they sure tried to find the doc that could fix me. The first few we went to did more harm than good, because they did their job. They told mom and dad that i was fine, that i was a normal kid, and that they should maybe think about seeing someone to assist with their issues and parenting skills..or lack there of. The back lash from this was directed squarely at me...usually across the face, back or head. I don't remember the first time they started hitting me, but later i will tell you about the last time. Finally, after several attempts they found a doctor that would tell them what they needed to hear. I was diagnosed as hyper active and given Ritalin. I can't tell you if it helped much, as things happened based on mom and dads attitudes, rather than the reality of my actions. They fought a lot. We all did. About 1.5 years after we moved to Texas moms father got sick. She was an only child and came from a small, not very close, family. For me, nothing better could have happened, so i thought. Moms dad passed away and we moved back to Minnesota! Yes! I was home. But i realized 40 miles away from "the farm" changed nothing, i may as well have been in Texas still. To make matters worse, when we came back for the funeral, before moving they tried to get grandma and grandpa to let me stay with them for a month or two while they moved us back from Texas. Grandma and Grandpa said "No!!". I was devastated. why didn't they want me any more. Why couldn't they see how hurt i was. Why didn't they care? How had i became such a bad kid so fast? They tried to explain it was to hard on them, and it would make things even harder when i had to leave for a second time, when mom and dad returned from Texas. I couldn't hear this though. After moving back to Minnesota, i began my 4th school. I was 9. The hitting got harder. Yelling got louder. Harassment got more common, hourly rather than daily. Finally the solution was found! I was so excited, mom and dad felt warm and fuzzy about it...I was going back to the farm!.. Well not "the farm" but it may as well have been. I was going to live with my great uncle Melroy who had a farm just around the corner from grandma and grandpa and everywhere around us was my family! I was going to walk to grandma and grandpas when ever i wanted. The Aunts and uncles and cousins would be over to our place or me at their place all the time..I was again, sooo excited. That's not exactly how things worked out. I was able to go to the same school i had went to when i was with grandma and grandpa, but i never saw them. The family never came over. I was not allowed to go see them. In the 9 months i lived with Melroy i saw Grandma and Grandpa exactly 1 time, even though they lived less than 2 miles away. That was at Christmas. Knowing that i was so close to utopia and still couldn't have it, hurt me, however i soon realized i had bigger issues to worry about. Melroy was a single 50-55 year old man that ran a farm. He was respected in the community. In his younger years he was the place that "troubled boys" were sent to "work it out of them". Before half way houses, before Juvenile detention centers ... they had Melroy. Melroy had a huge house, successful farm and no one but his mother living with him. (the stereotype is correct) He never married and lived with his mother his whole life. When i came along, several years after he stopped having troubled boys in, his mother was pretty ill. But, Melroy was pretty "ill" to. To this day i don't know if i feel worse about what he did to me, or that i didn't tell anyone for so long and maybe could have helped some of the other boys that he had hurt. Melroy was a pedophile. I was trapped in a house with a pedophile. Sunday was the worst. He had a "sunday schedule". It started with the day being perfect. He would be so kind when he woke me up. I would dress and go do chores with him, if i wanted to drive the tractor..it was all me. If i wanted to shoot the gun..it was all me. I was treated like a king. This part of sunday was great..even though i knew what was coming. We then would go in, eat breakfast that his mom had made..full spread..a farmers breakfast. We then dressed for church. After church we had to change out of our "sunday clothes". His mom was always tired and had to nap as soon as we returned. Although we really didnt have to do anything, Melroy made sure we changed our clothes right away. This part of Sunday wasn't so good. I hated how he smelled. I hated his breath. i hated him whispering how much he loved me. I hated feeling his rough spots that he had missed when he shaved. I really hated that stubble on his face. It's kind of weird, out of all the things i hated that he did to me, i will never forget the stubble. I hated myself. I couldn't tell anyone. Who would believe me? where would i go? back to the physical abuse and emotional abuse? i held on to the dream that grandma and grandpa would save me. They never did. After all, it was grandpas brother. My GODFATHER. How could i tell on him? How could i tell on me? Then, everything changed again. I was told that mom and dad were coming to visit, which was very unusual. But, as i was told, they showed up. I was very happy to see them, as they were waiting at the house after we got back from church...his "sunday schedule" was ruined. Melroy was not very happy. I felt like i had just won the lottery. After a short conversation, they informed me that they were taking me home! So this ended the Melroy part of my life. well, it ended the part were i had to be molested..now i just had to deal with the memories and guilt. Now i was on to my 6th school and away from "him". I was ready to start making something of myself. I wasn't going to be bad anymore, so mom and dad wouldn't fight. I was really, really, really going to work hard at school. Sure i would mess up a bit, and mom and dad would get mad at me when they shouldn't, but i was going to deal with those "few" instances, and give them no reason to hurt me. The headaches were gone, and at this point in my life it would have taken an army to get anything near my ass hole again. I was also getting wiser. I knew how to "duck and Cover" both physically and emotionally. It turned out that "few" wasn't really that "few". Most of the time i just stayed in my room or tried to get out of the house. A slap here, and smack there. As long as i kept moving they usually didn't get up and go after me. I just had to be quick. In those times that called for a "chase" i got a bit more than the smack and slap. When it was bad enough that you could see marks, i hid them. When i couldn't hide them, i lied. When my lies didn't work at school, they called the police. Mom and Dad were always sorry...to the cops, to the school, mostly to each other for them each having to go through all this "shit with me".. I felt sorry for them. They were not sorry to me. I was scared of them, but i also felt sorry for them. I loved them. I still do. I was also very protective of my little sister. She got the same treatment, but i was usually able to deflect a lot of the real bad stuff towards me. If the school or police could help, it was hard to tell. Sure they said all the right things, and really seemed to care, yet nothing ever changed. I was trapped. I hated my life. I was unhappy. I was doing terrible in school. I had no friends. I had no nice clothes to be proud of at school. I had no ..anything. I would only be given something i wanted to be used as hostage for a later punishment. Why would any kid want to be friends with me, when they have so many "normal looking, normal dressing, normal acting" other kids to choose from. i had nothing positive going for me. I knew how to lie and "duck and Cover". i had self respect only when it came to protecting my sister. We moved again when i was 12? A smaller town outside of the larger city i lived in prior. Smaller town, bigger "clicks" in school. Friends? nope. After 6th grade i had to go to the high school where the 7th thru 12 graders went. This would be number 7 if my count is correct. I had been very athletic. I ran fast, kicked hard, and understood rules...so sports up to this point were easy for me. However the few "aquantances" i had from sports soon went away when all of the other boys started to "bloom" and i stayed a child. I played with a few neighborhood kids, but wouldn't ever call them friends. In fact the deal was i could hang out with them, as long as no one else knew i was. They didn't want to ruin their reputations. Girls? not even a thought. The only time a girl would show any interest was if the nice ones would step in to stop a bully from picking or beating on me. But they would have done the same for a dog. I was probably a poor friend anyway. I didn't know how to act, i lied, i looked like crap, I was a stick with hair. buck teeth and had issues. I made more enemies by trying to stay in sports, as i brought the team down..and i knew it. I tried to wrestle in 9th grade. 103lbs. they had kids from the 7th grade wrestle me, since i was so lite. I always lost. I didn't shower after practice because i was ashamed that i had no hair anywhere that the other boys had. I believe i hit puberty when i was early 17.