The Problems of a Love and Groomed Child

I loved him, and (I think), he loved me.  The problem of a sexually precocious (and precious) groomed child; one who was (perhaps) loved somewhat by his abuser, and who loved him.

I’ve had problems all my life as a result of that thing – having fallen prey to another human’s ‘using’ me to meet his own needs and ends.  But at the time he was giving me what I wanted: a feeling of joy and being happy (while also being used) – of being loved by someone – no matter who that someone is/was or what he’d done.  It made no small part of me, resulting not in inner ‘mikie’ or some other being – but changing my outlooks and attitudes on things.

I “see too far” sometimes into things; understanding my abuser’s minds (and thereby – somewhat – forgiving them for what they’ve done).  I understand their frailties and emotions; I understand what they’ve done – not to me or for me (no, much of that still remains a mystery, and I’m fighting it – somewhat).  But in they themselves; how (perhaps) they feeling that they could do this thing.  And I’ve understood it from a different outlook: what it’s done to me over time; how I view people and people view me.

My mother was always a free-thinker; my father a staunch stick in the mud.  Both of them were abusers, and it was hard to tell if they were loving me sometimes – or just being cruel.  A little bit of both sometimes, I think: my mother punishing me as best she knew how – teaching me a lesson for a lifetime to come.  However her punishments often exceeded the measure of the damage that was done; creating even more damage in the process.  Our father?  He was just cruel – a petty cruelty that would spring from time to time, like a tiger from its lair – lashing out cruelly and at a moments notice, sometimes for nothing at all.  Just ‘BAM!’ – one minute you are sitting there and the next you are on the floor.  A child’s type of cruelty – I’ve come to recognize that in him, as well as a child’s selfishness and how it always is about “him” in some type of way – from the self-sabotage he’s done to the way he sucks up to folks all of the time . . .

But ‘me’ . . . and others like me . . .

Never “raped”, not in the ‘true’ sense of the word.  I wasn’t held down while some other boy raped me; I was never held down at all – though sometimes he would hold me afterward – and that always felt good, deep down inside – and yet left me troubled for I knew: this stuff was ‘bad’ and we couldn’t be found out, not at all, or else the ‘punishments’ would begin.  And (as stated) – the punishments were severe.  (My dad used to hold me by one ankle, dangling me in the air – butt naked, except for some underwear – and beat me and beat me over and over again.  My brother said he could hear me scream and scream and scream . . . until they would just dwindle away.  That was my dad: couldn’t stand beating you until he – and YOU – were ‘done’.  Quite literally with it.)

But we knew: to get CAUGHT would be a bad thing; it seemed my parents didn’t love me at all – no one did but this kid and some of the others – the lady next door, and the ‘other’ one . . . a father in the Hood …

But what this “kid” did (he was a teenager; I was 6 or 7 when it started – he was 13) – he gave us a sense of being accepted somewhat until I grew too old for him or him for me.  There were a lot of kids he abused; I know, I helped him some (another problem for the groomed child) – or at least tried.  To be quite frank, I wasn’t very good at it.  So nothing really happened, or at least I don’t think it did.  My ego was too busted up; about certain things I was real shy (like touching anyone ‘down there’ – without getting their permission and making sure it was okay.  Even as a kid I was like that.  And his little brother – my best friend – was not only molested as well, but was ‘trained’ to recruit others.  He was very good at it.)

But I remember HIM telling me “get this kid”, “get that one” when I was 8, 9, and 10 years old.  Usually the kids would be a few years younger than me – just a few, one, maybe two.  You could almost call it ‘experimental play’ between two young boys; two young kids – but my knowledge was much closer to what had come to the adults; I knew about things I wasn’t supposed to.  (Like: “you put this here in your ass” type of stuff – using some spit and things.  Nasty stuff, that . . . or is it?  It’s a part of me; I accept (but M3, me don’t LIKE) anal sex . . . Matthew, our Bi Alter, and “13” our ‘other one’, and perhaps Jeremy – all are “bi” or “gay” in some way . . . was it because of that kind of thing?  I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I just know I gotta go along with The Crowd (any large group or dominating faction of “alters” within me) when they ‘go along’ with something.  Not my choice . . . not by choice . . . just gotta kinda tag along, keeping an eye on things.

But knowing too much – like: Did it HARM me?  The sexual thing?  No . . . I can not say that it did.  The shame that followed, when he betrayed me (not just once but several times) – THAT had the greatest impact on me, affecting my relationships and views about love and sex for the rest of my life – a huge impact (and that is understated) – learning about ‘trust’ and things – the breaking of the TRUST of a CHILD’s love when he has gave you so much – his entire being . . .

Now that’s the thing that really hurts . . . and it’s been hurting (so bad, so hard, so sad – our inner child crying) – for a long time . . .

I don’t know if we’ll really ever be able to shake that sort of thing.  Nor our views on love; and the love of a man and our inner child . . . as screwed up as that may seem on some days.  But I comfort my ‘child’, and give him my love; our Matthew has come to love him as well (they are Brothers, now, in my mind, which is good).  And we all look ‘back’ unhappy and with sadness and grief . . . lost love, lost things; lost souls living in the past – and I wish I could go back and take ‘them’ into my arms, hug and comfort them . . . and so I guess I do, me and ‘him’ and ‘him’ . . . and a few others, too.

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