I have talked it over again and again with my therapist and others and I know I should not, but I can’t prevent myself from feeling guilty about certain aspects of the abuse. At very young age, I learned that it would hurt less to do what my father told me. By the time I was 8, I was trained to know what he wanted and do it before he needed to tell me. He made me believe that he’d only abuse me because I took the initiative. And I did. When he came home, I went to him, took off his jacket, brought his shoes and it was more than once I got down on my knees right there in our hall.
Does that remind myself of what I do for John? Sure it does. Many aspects of our relationship are mere revivals of my childhood experiences. I tried not to see it, but when I’m honest I knew it ever since we started. During our first games, John kept asking me “did I hurt you?”, and I always answered honestly. We both noticed that we both wanted and needed it. We were only satisfied when it had hurt. The more and fiercer, the better. Once he said that if my brother knew what he did to me, he’d be mad at him, and I replied, my brother likes to think of me as an asexual person. At least that’s fine, but I am not. Moreover, I think I’m oversexual because of the abuse. If you’d let me, I’d solve most problems and arguments with sex only.
When I found the courage to tell John about what my father did bit by bit, he was shocked and felt guilty as well, because what he did to me was so reminding of what my father did. John asked me whether I’d think of him as an offender, but I did not. I do not. As I have written before, we have tried to have what we think may come close to normal sex and it did not do it for us. Shall we feel guilty forever because I was abused and now like being dominated and because John is dominant?
I’m so fed up with that, really. I wish I could just accept that getting abused conditioned me to be submissive and savour pain and stop questioning it over and over again. But to make it worse, I sometimes think of my father when I’m aroused. It was the ultimate experience of being helplessly at his mercy, and whether I like it or not when I’m not aroused, it turns me on, no matter what my therapist thinks of it. I know by myself that I’d never think of my father if he had not abused me and that it’s only a kind of self-injury. But I can’t stop it. And even worse, I don’t want to. In my really, really bad moments I’d be pleased if John would fulfill what my father started, put a fucking gun to my head and shoot me while pounding me.
I know that’s insane and I feel bad and guilty about it. On the other hand, I know there’s a reason for the diagnosis of a mental invalidity. If I could build myself up from the beginning, I’d make myself a better man. A healthy and normal man with healthy and normal passions. I’d be more like my brother and less like me.