This is in preparation for an upcoming post; part of the on-line analysis we are doing.  Forgive us if this becomes redundant; this isn’t about you; it’s about healing.  We’re going to backtrack to see where we were when we last analyzed this.  Lately, we’ve become aware and have realized there were several critical and life/emotionally altering experiences which had profound and lasting effects on our’s, and other’s lives.

Why here? Why not?  Let someone else see the process; what we’re doing; trying to grow into a better, happier person in our pursuit of life, and this thing: ‘happiness‘.  Maybe some get a kick out of it (see what the nut is doing); for others it may help.  At the least, it’s an on-going documentary of one person’s life going through the journey of DID, healing from child abuse, and many other things.

Just a bit of forewarning – because of the intensity of the effects of this whole time period: we’re going to look at it hard, in detail.  After all; this is the beginning of M2 (the next controller) being created.  This, and some following events, were the seed of extreme damage being planted in a child’s mind, and in his psyche – one that would affect his relationships from here on; indeed, for his entire lifetime.  Nuff’ about that.  TRIGGER WARNING, okay?  Be careful and be safe with yourself.

Moving on: Tokoni: May 27, 2009.  (Not the first time we’ve examined this series of events, the emotions that it caused . . . feeling a sickening shudder; and realizing who it is, I gently embrace our inner child with love).


Time? Approximately 1969.  Hard to determine; as many of these things are, these disturbing things that went on in “the ‘hood“. My fault, of course. I should of kept better track, I reckon. But how was I to know? (How COULD I know? Did I know? I don’t know. All I know is that I knew it was ‘bad’ — meaning the grownups would not approve, and this was something to be kept hidden.) I do know it was around the time of the Apollo landing, for the camper in this tale of sexual abuse existed on the night man landed on the moon. You have to forgive me, and I hope you understand, if on some the ‘dates’ are fuzzy. After all, I was a little kid.

On with the story.

There were times when the teenager next door would invite some of us little kids to “go camping”. We called it “camping” though it was a night in one of our ‘forts’, our itty bitty Army pup tent, or in this instance, the back of his dad’s old truck. In reality they weren’t camp-outs – they were sex orgies for the him and us little kids.

In this one instance when I was about eight the teenager had built a two-room “fort” like a little camper on the back of his father’s dead truck. It was made from discarded plywood, and had a wall about 1/3rd of the way in towards the cab with a hole cut in it as a ‘door’. There was a roof on this thing; again, constructed from old plywood and shingles, perhaps a little tin, though the entire structure was flimsy. That didn’t matter to us, nor the teenager, I guess, because we used it a often for play and other things.  (Once we built a giant underground fort in his backyard – same purpose, different design, and another story altogether.)

This one particular night my brother, I, and my best friend (the teenager’s younger brother) had gotten ‘invited’ to go ‘camping’ with the teenager in the back of the truck. Most of our ‘forts’ were shabby affairs, constructed underground, and because the grownups considered underground forts too dangerous, we weren’t supposed to be digging one, much less existing in them. So that made this fort more unique, and a desirable place to hang out. Unlike dirt forts, it didn’t leak when it rained; but like the dirt ones, it had no windows for anyone to ‘peep in’, thereby lessening the risk of chance exposure and/or discovery.  It also made it hot as hell in the sun, which is why we preferred our forts underground, no matter how dangerous it was.  We just didn’t realize.  Later one of my friends & I did, to our horror..

On this night – I really remember it good — it was very hot and muggy in that plywood and metal ‘bin’. It had to have been summer, hence the muggy heat, and our parent’s permission to ‘camp out”. The ‘front’ room, nearest the cab, was the teenager’s “room”.  The rest of us were told we could sleep near the tailgate. It seemed as soon as we got in the teenager had us begin to have sex with each other, then we went to ‘compete’ for his ‘affections’.

You can imagine what the competition was: who could perform the ‘best’ oral sex on him. He’d have my brother, then I, then his brother come in – ‘work’ for awhile, doing our best to PROVE we were the best – the youngest and the most eager, and loving it – then he would dismissing that kid and call the next in to see if he was any or worse than the previous one. Whoever was left in the ‘outer’ room had to have sex with whoever was there (the losers). Needless to say, given young boy’s highly competitive natures, and my own drive for something resembling love, affection, and acceptance, I did my best with all that entails. I didn’t care if I choked.  I swallowed him with pride, going as deep as I dared to, until my throat hurt and my lips felt chapped and raw. If you’ve ever performed oral sex with a guy, you know what I mean. But here’s the thing: I was thrilled to be there, glad to be there, and would do anything he wanted as far as I could. And unless you’ve been there you have no idea what that really means in a little child.

At any rate both my best friend and I ‘lost’.  My brother had the enviable luxury of spending the night with with the teenager. Of course my friend and I made up for this as best we could – we did for each other what we’d done for the teenager, because the teenager, hearing our pleas to come in and be allowed to take part in the party, had ordered us to ‘do each other’. Which we then did. But my heart wasn’t really in it; I wanted to be in the other room, with the teenager, feeling him, being with him, and having that feeling of love and acceptance it brought (even if it was, in reality, just being used — something I have trouble accepting, with parts of me calling that child of the past “stupid” and “dumb” — even though I know logically that it was due to lack of love in my ‘real’ life, meaning “at home”. (Update, Aug. 29, 2017: It’s no longer true: we love him. It still makes us sad, but we’ve come to love him, and forgive the teenager a good bit.)

To this day I feel that sense of rejection he made when he chose my brother – my usually sexually reluctant brother – while I performed oral sex with my friend. It was the first of several sexual, mental, and emotional cruelties the teenager was to inflict.  In a way it’s kind of weird in I was still having sex – I just wasn’t having sex with the one I wanted. Odd, I think, that to this day I still resent my brother getting the ‘favored’ position of ‘treating’ the teenager that night; how I kept looking towards that ‘door’ hoping he would call me in to participate – while ‘going down’ on my best friend. It made me feel bad, unworthy at best — and hurt me emotionally. But on the other hand — I cursed myself for wanting it. While on the other hand I now know why I wanted it (love). While on the other hand it makes me sick to think I wanted it that bad. But on the other hand (running out of hands yet?), I wasn’t ‘good’ enough for my ‘friend’, the teen I so admired and wanted to be like. But on the other hand — I tried my heart out to be good enough. And yet on the other hand . . . well, I ran out of hands a few hands ago, but you get the picture — a very confused and sexually – and in terms of love, abused – child, faced with all this crap.  I hope you can see how this can kind of mess a child up. It wasn’t so much society’s views on sex as a child – or how ‘bad’ it might be.  It was that sense of betrayal and rejection by one you loved, and who you thought loved you . . . but then you had proved not to be good enough for them, or at least not for this most intimate of things, and times, and possible closeness.  (Sometimes he just used us, like a rubber or a balloon. Then again sometimes he would be nice & hold you afterwards, especially when he’d got done having anal sex with you.  It felt nice having him on your back, butt burning.)

You’d think that rejection would of lost some of its sting by now. (Update 4/29/’16): and it has.)  But that wasn’t the worst of what was in store later. I would find there was something that could cut and hurt even worse. But we’ll save that for another time. I can only take so much at a time. The thing to remember is: it wasn’t always ‘one-on-one’. Sometimes it was a ‘party’. Only it wasn’t a ‘party’. It was a kid orgy. And the kids weren’t reluctant to participate – indeed, we all were VERY willing, compliant, eager little subjects. And like a disease this disease was transmitted from one kid to another, to another, to another – eventually infecting almost every kid in the ‘hood.

Enough for now. I’m saddened and disgusted with my younger self, the so-called “child within”. It’s things like this which make it very hard for me to accept ‘him’ – no matter what the shrinks said I should do. And I hope you can kind of understand this — because I’m still trying to get some handles on it. (must of ran out of hands . . . some time back, I reckon.) Oh well, so be it. Sometimes life screws you up — and you never DO get a hand on it. (Okay, I’ve got a few bitter chuckles now, sorta mean to myself, but hey . . . that’s life, too, I reckon.)


Note the ending: WE ARE SURPRISED!  This is NOT how we are feeling NOW towards that child; Jeffery showed us the way: through love and understanding we feel compassion towards him; yes, a fringe of disgust; but that again appears to be from M2 (hates his moniker right now; though he agreed: system agreed: it would do this to protect him and his identity.)

But we find it of interest to note: THIS WAS OUR ATTITUDE THREE YEARS AGO: “ . . . saddened and disgusted with my younger self . . . make it very hard for me to accept ‘him’ . . .”  NOT our attitude today!

I think it a remarkable improvement that we have changed our attitude towards him (our inner child, sweetly misled inner one; so tender and cute and full of love that was denied – and thrown back in his face …. shhh, little one; we’ll talk about that one later, my  love and my child; the one I once was inside.)

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