Therapy today, in a word, was intense... digging deeper to further my understandings of the monster I became and loathe. Putting aside what I may be now, or what I believe myself to be... the corner's cobwebs have mysteries unseen, when the light fails to the reach through them. I shared with him today, that I've been thinking a lot recently about my childhood and the sexual events that consumed me over the years... trying to find a place for these memories and understand the impact they had on my fragile mind and tainted innocence. It's unlikely that I will ever fully know all of the details and instances of my abuse... what lies beneath was laid to rest because the child inside needed to hide from them. It's this "not knowing" that consumes me now... not the events or the trauma. Like notebooks awaiting to be filled with lines of code, I yearn for the data... each touch, each penetration, each ejaculation. Answers I may never know need to be mourned... the ripping flesh and violent thrusts left more than mere scar tissue, it left an empty void of knowledge.
When I was a child, my father would have "parties" at our house... while my mother was away at school or work, he'd invite over men and women alike to indulge in drinking and other such carnal delights. I remember very little about these gatherings, but the little that remains intact is disturbing... leading me down a darkened path, with hazards unseen and void of foreknowing. It's hard to remember an age, perhaps 4 or 5, if memory serves well enough... how moments bleed without discrimination. They would gather in the den, just off the kitchen, at the end of the house and fill the walls with laughter, drinking, and stale smoke. I'd be among them, always being fondled by someone, men and women alike... I remember no direct touching or contact with my genitals, just the constant fondling of my warm, young flesh. Drunken embraces may be a more appropriate description. Always in my "underoos", my uniform of childhood, and sometimes without the top... which was always my favorite part, a badge of courage and shield of strength. My guess, is that someone else had removed it from me during the gatherings... I can't recall the details, but I wouldn't have removed such a treasure on my own. I remember being passed around, from lap to lap, each one taking time to embrace my youth and encouraging sips from their bottles of beer... I still remember the scent on their breath and the taste within my mouth, a drunken child as entertainment. The clearest event tattooed in my mind, was sitting in a women's lap, facing her as she kissed my face and rubbed my bare back... questioning me about "playing doctor" as a childhood game and pastime. I can't recall if she said, "Have you ever..." or "We are going..." ... all I remember is simply, "playing doctor" and her laughing as she fondled my skin and kissed my face. After a time, we weren't allowed to be home with my father alone anymore... when my mother was away at school or work, we would be brought with her. I remember seeing a lot of university hallways, laboratories, and countless Godzilla / King Kong movies in the staff room of the Rescue Squad.... a thousand quarters spent on Zaxxon and Frogger and endless cheese crackers. I can't remember ever being told why, all that was certain is that we were not to be left home alone with Daddy.
Why the change in routine? Why couldn't we be there anymore, sipping beer with all of those happy people? What happened behind those walls while my mother was away and did she discover something that warranted our departure? I'll never know... and that cuts the deepest. No matter the answers, part of me must know. You'd think I'd be accustomed to disappointment... it's just something I can't accept.
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